Where's my hairbrush? How we become real moms.

So, for just this moment, I'm still going qualify myself as existing in the group of "wannabe moms" who project into their mom future that they are somehow going to do it differently than everyone else. Those moms are going to wash their faces at least once everyday. They will get a shower everyday. They will rake a comb or brush through their hair everyday. And maybe--just maybe--even brush on a little mascara everyday. The really ambitious "wannabe moms" are going to actually pluck or wax their eyebrows and touch up their blonde roots before going out in public becomes ridiculous--oh yeah, those same moms are actually going to make a habit of going out in public.

The reality of my existence is that I'm so freshly "mom" that I am actually in a weird limbo state where I am aware of the space around me and how it has changed, and I can almost stand outside of that space and watch as the change takes place.

In a very real way, I have been a mom for about 16 years. Jeph and I got our first dog together about16 years ago. From that point on, I have always had at least one little life to care for. And over the last few days, my 13-year-old dachshund has reminded me how deep that love is and how that love is exactly as deep as what I feel for my furless baby. Non-pet people judge all you want--I don't care--the love really is the same depth, even though there are differences.

I think the major difference is the literal, physical connection I have to my daughter that I will never have with any other living thing. As I was working on another writing project this morning, it occurred to me that I understand why all the "wannabes" think they can maintain everything they are used to doing, and why so many of them (us) fail.

While I was pregnant, my sweet, loving husband (no sarcasm--seriously) would occasionally tell me that he didn't want me to lose my "pin-up" style after I became a full-fledged mom. I assured him each time that I would do my level best not to. In the last four weeks, I have occasionally gotten about four or five consecutive hours of sleep--usually due to an intervention by that same husband. Otherwise, I am up about every two to three hours overnight, and because I am a loser at trying to create a "schedule" for my four-week-old, I never follow the rule of sleeping during the day when she sleeps. I always want to fit a load of laundry in or clean the kitchen. Or maybe I want to clear out e-mail. Or as with today, write a little so I don't completely forget myself.

Two nights this week, our daughter chose not to sleep for most of the night. I was rescued both times, and am so grateful and lucky. Over the last three days, our furry daughter has not been feeling well, and I am not ready to accept that she is in her physical 80s or 90s. So, today, I've had a little time to wallow in my worry over her and shed a few tears during the time my furless daughter has been sleeping. I just walked into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face and it occurs to me that I haven't used a hairbrush in days, my lower eyelids have never been darker or puffier, and I have only sneaking suspicions about the various spots of things on the T-shirt I am wearing.

I could really use a little moisturizer and some eye-makeup right about now.

Moms don't make time for things they think are bullshit. And most moms--right or wrong--see taking care of themselves as bullshit. When we get up in the morning, we take care of every other living thing in our proximity before we take care of anything we need. Four weeks in, there are already times I realize that I have just sat down to feed my daughter--which could take anywhere from 10 minutes to half an hour--and I desperately need to go to the bathroom. Somehow, I manage to get her fed before I explode, and that reinforces for me that this is the way things are supposed to be.

Twice this week, I have had "spur of the moment" outings with only about an hour to prepare for leaving the house. Neither time did I manage to eat before leaving the house, or even manage a bottle of water. It's true, both times, I not only got my daughter cleaned up, dressed and fed, but I managed some semblance of putting my hair in order and straightening out my face. I imagine as the months go by, food and water will override vanity--I'm not quite there yet--that's why I am still qualifying myself as one of the "wannabes." I'm still kind of deluding myself into the idea that I can at least maintain myself when I go out into the world. I think there's some crazy place in my brain that believes I "owe it to my public." Let's forget that aside from my husband, there is literally one other living soul where I live who knows me well enough to recognize me, and while visiting me in the hospital after I had my daughter, I'm pretty sure she saw me practically topless--so I really doubt she cares if my hair is in order or not.

I am really fortunate. The last several years, my pregnancy, and the birth of our daughter has brought my husband and I so closely together that not even scruffy hair and dry patches on my face are going to "put us asunder." And he takes as many opportunities as he can to remind me that I am more than just our daughter's mom. One of those moments this week was unexpected, and it occurred to me that while I remember those kinds of moments, it already doesn't occur to me that I should expect those moments on any given day.

My girls.

It already doesn't occur to me that I have a place on my own list--my own list of priorities. I get up. I get meds to our dog and get her outside to do her business. I check and change our daughter's diaper and feed her. I get us dressed for the day and relocate all needed "work supplies" to the living room. I manage a load of laundry or dishes while my daughter sleeps for about an hour and a half, and then I start this list over. I know there's more to the list, but these are the dominating items. By the time I complete the list a couple of times, it's midday and I realize that I have neither eaten nor tried to grab a shower.

In recounting the list, it's not about feeling bad for what I can't manage, or about wanting anyone else to feel bad. It's more about what almost all moms are doing on autopilot every single day. I know there are a few moms out there who have their shit together and manage these things with the same finesse and style with which they have managed careers and lives before motherhood, but since I don't really belong to their club, I don't know any of them.

I am quickly slipping away from the "wannabe" crowd and into the "real mom" crowd. I am one of the moms who will eat cold dinners over the sink as quickly as possible--at least in part so I can complete the load for the dishwasher. I am one of the moms who will leave the house, not realizing that she did mascara and eyeliner on one side, but not the other (no, this hasn't happened yet, but it will). I am one of the moms who will still be wearing that red and white striped shirt I got at K-mart my sophomore year in high school while my daughter wears whatever they will be wearing when she's in sixth grade.

And while these things are playing out, I won't even feel like I'm missing out on anything. I will briefly acknowledge--only to myself--that I really should cover those roots soon. I will be thankful that I had a C-section instead of a traditional birth, because I will still be able to wait to go to the bathroom during feedings and other tasks without the concern that this might be the time I don't make it. 

From time to time, my husband will remind me that the line in front of me has gotten really long, and I will briefly be surprised enough by those reminders to realize that it happened without my paying attention along the way. And I won't remember any of those things I "wanted to be" as a mom. I'll just be a mom.

And when my daughter is old enough not to need me so much, only then will I realize there is no line in front of me anymore, and I will probably feel so lost because I won't know what or who to follow. That will be a sadder day than any of those on which I have nearly forgotten what a hairbrush or mascara can do for me.

Happily ever after and the folly of hopelessness.

So, there's something funny about how life goes. When you think everything is impossible, and nothing will ever be okay again, somehow, everything changes.

This isn't a new topic. I've hashed it and rehashed it a lot lately. I'm okay with beating a dead horse a little just now. The reason? I know that it's hard to be hopeful when you feel like nothing is going right, and everything you want in your life has either slipped through your fingers or could never be anyway. And I know that there are people who might read this who feel that way right now.

I'm not typically the Pollyanna type, but I want to put it out there in the world that when it seems like everything is at its darkest, things can change. I think that's always the hardest thing to believe, but hopefully it's more believable when it comes from the voice of someone who has truly been there. I know I never believe in anything like hope when it comes from someone who appears to always be riding the wave of "okay."

As I sit here watching my two-week-old daughter snoozing away in her swing, listening to some baby-modified Depeche Mode, I believe in hope. And as my husband of 18 years today sits in a room working at a desk where I can see him this Sunday morning, I believe things can be very good. Less than a year ago, I wouldn't have believed it, and there wasn't anyone telling me any different--or at least I didn't hear them if they were.

Every mom believes their kid is an angel, but for me, it's true.

There are days, as a new mom, when I feel like I'm not ever going to get it right. There are moments she cries for seemingly no reason. They're short-lived, and I'm probably too hard on myself about it, but when you've waited so long for her and you didn't believe you would ever have her, I think you go crazier about everything being perfect in her space.

This is the challenge of my day-to-day now. A year ago, it would have been getting out of bed and facing days of work and feelings of failure. A year ago, it would have been a sinking feeling of desperation about what the future might hold, and the only things that kept my head above water were my husband and my dog. Thank the higher power my agnostic brain doesn't quite believe in for those two, or who knows....

So, finding a place where I cry from joy and where I believe that a year from now, things will be even more joyful and fun than they are now is a giant leap, and more than I ever imagined my life could be.

Life isn't always about getting everything we want. Sometimes we can't achieve our goals, no matter how much effort, focus and passion we put into them. It's hard to accept that maybe we have set the wrong goals for ourselves and that we have to change directions to find happiness, or even just quiet contentment. Life isn't always about having our ducks in a row. It's great to think that things are going to go according to plan and follow a certain order that we have detailed in our minds, but a lot of times, it just doesn't happen that way.

By now, I imagined myself in a career where I was respected and "in charge" of something. I believed the work, effort, focus and passion I put into what I was doing "earned" that. But I set the wrong goals for myself. I couldn't have known that until everything changed. I always imagined that if we were going to have a child or children that we would have done it ten years ago. But we just kept doing other things that were easier, and that gave us quick hits of happiness that seemed to keep us going while we failed to achieve all the wrong goals.

The obstacles to achieving the wrong goals and all of the unhappiness we felt from being in places where we couldn't thrive were the smaller bumps in the road, and they just weren't enough to shake us out of our comfort zones so we could find where we needed to be and start setting the right goals. Sometimes, a freight train (or two, or even three) has to come plowing through an already broken existence and fling everything in all directions for change to occur. Sometimes, as hard as it is, you have to wake up at rock bottom and be forced to dig your way back up.

And when you're there at the bottom, in the coldest place you can possibly imagine, sometimes you are surprised by what your life can become. In the scariest moments, we are sometimes given the hope we never believed existed. And everything about that hope feels like it was meant to be, no matter how uncertain the circumstance in which you find yourself.

It's when you believe all is lost, that you stop looking for the things you don't truly want or need. And in that brilliant moment when you accept that you aren't going to find the things you don't truly want or need, you suddenly find everything you were supposed to.

In the last nine and a half months, I found a love that was right there in front of me all the time, and it renewed itself like magic. And we had the little girl I had given up hope of ever having.

Neither one of these things would have been possible living the way I was before. In the depths of despair, you can't believe what is possible. But today, without reservation, I can tell you that no matter how bad your heart feels, things can change. Other people will tell you that it's all up to you, and that you have to make things change. But I know for a fact that sometimes you find yourself in a place where you can barely lift your head, let alone make change. You can spin your wheels in the same direction forever before realizing you're in the wrong gear. Even in that place, everything is possible.

Just after Willow was born, a dear friend posted a quote by Roald Dahl on my Facebook Timeline:

Mr. Wonka: "Don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he wanted."
Charlie Bucket: "What happened?"
Mr. Wonka: "He lived happily ever after."

We don't always expect that we are going to get everything we ever wanted, and sometimes, even a slice of those things seems impossible. But when we hold on--just a little bit longer, and just a little bit tighter--great things can happen. I'm not telling anyone it's easy or that it happens when you want it to. But I want anyone who is out there feeling like it never can to know that it truly can. Believing in hope is hard, so I'm not asking you to. But try not to give up on believing in yourself, even when it gets really hard. If you lose yourself, you could lose everything.


Walk On--U2

It's all true--every single cliche.

So, I got a message from a friend today. She was thanking me (us) for time spent with our little family yesterday. She told me that sometimes dreams come true. My response to that was that sometimes when they do, they are even better than you originally dreamed them.

All the cliches about becoming a parent are true. Over the years, I have rolled my eyes at all of them a million times. The oh so over said "it's different when it's your own child." The completely trite "being a mom is unlike anything else you will ever do." The wistfully declared "being a parent is the greatest love you will ever know." All of them, and so many more--completely true. Amazing how quickly you learn this. It's only been eight days.

I think one of the results of learning that all the cliches are true is finally understanding why everyone has words of wisdom, advice, guidance and a cliche or two to share with you at every step along the way of becoming a parent. One of the other very commonly spoken phrases I heard as I was finding myself in labor at the end of last week was "it's different for everyone." At the time, I was very annoyed with that one. I just wanted to know if what I thought was happening really was. Needless to say, it was.

Our brand new family.

I spent about twenty-four hours in non-progressive labor. I wanted Willow out, but she couldn't make it without help. Ultimately, I landed in an operating room with my husband at by my side. After an impossibly fast minute--maybe two--our Willow made her entrance into the world screaming "la" at the top of her lungs. Her daddy and I were overcome with joy. That sound was like church bells. And even though we aren't subscribers, I think we were both thankful to know so quickly that she was healthy.

It was hard to be separated from the two of them as they whisked me off to recovery for nearly an hour, but Jeph made a point to catch up with the bed on which I was wheeled away to let me know everything was okay with our girl.

I've made it no secret here that it was a long and bumpy road to getting Willow here. We lost a pregnancy almost two years ago. I had approached becoming a mom in a rather nonchalant and only semi-committed mind-set up to that point. It was all the horrible moments associated with that loss that helped me understand that if you wanted to be a mom, you had to really mean it. Maybe that's why some higher power decided we weren't ready. That lesson took me down a path of crazy that most of my friends know all to well and luckily a few have forgiven me for. It was hard to wait for a chance to try again. It was just as hard to go each month trying, wishing, failing and recovering. And of course, as a dear friend of mine who suffers from fertility issues found, when you want most in the world to be pregnant, everyone else around you is. It's not fair to be envious, but when your heart is broken, seemingly beyond repair, it's easy to slip into being human, and at times, even a little sub-human.

As much as I wanted our baby, pregnancy was not any fun for me. I was unable to eat much throughout much of the time. I dropped weight--which is a good thing. I was unhealthily heavy before my pregnancy. But it was still a pretty miserable time. Our lives turned upside down with a massive career change for my husband and a move for our family. All of the downs and the little steps toward righting things brought the two of us much closer together than we ever had been. At times, especially toward the end of my pregnancy, I spent days in sorrowful anticipation that our time as a couple was drawing to a close. What if this massive change took away something from that special relationship we had? What if, deep down, I was still too selfish to understand this massive gift? I was more than a little bit frightened.

Last Sunday night, we found ourselves in a hospital room with a one-day old who was so upset that we were at our wits' end. What if we couldn't get her to calm down? And this was only night two. As I paced with her in my arms like a zombie, I too, started to cry. It's true--I was exhausted. I was in terrible pain and just putting one foot in front of the other was a struggle. I wanted to sleep so badly. But in the midst of this, only one thought popped into my head: I would do anything to be able to give this little girl whatever it was she needed to know that she was safe, loved, and wanted. I would do anything to make whatever was upsetting her so go away. Nothing else mattered at all.

It was almost like the entire universe had doors with giant, heavy locks on them until that moment. Somehow that thought was all it took to open them and I understood everything about everything.

Becoming a parent really is the greatest love that you will ever know, because it erases every pain, every struggle, every selfish thought you've ever had from existence. No path is the same--it really is different for everyone. And as I have found myself already doing things I thought I could never do for her, I understand that it is different when it's your child.

All the cliches are true. Everything that every mom ever says is true--ten times over.

Dreams do come true, and sometimes they really are even better than you ever dreamed they would be. 

Sweetest Thing--U2

Porch lights, power outages and all that shouldn't be real

So, it's a strange morning. I find myself recovering from what feels like a very long night. Whatever sleep I got seems to have evaporated, and I feel so exhausted this morning that I could burrow under covers and not come up for air for the whole day. Late pregnancy is a contributing factor, I'm sure.

I had intentions about today--not energy, but at least intentions. My husband mentioned his plans this weekend to tackle the last details of preparing our home for our daughter's arrival. I obstinately intended to tackle as many of those details as possible myself today to lighten his load so I could squirrel away every little sliver of time we have left just the two of us to cuddle, wax nostalgic and just be. It didn't matter that subconsciously I know that for every task I think of to take off his list, he will replace it with two more that he didn't think he would fit in because he anticipated I would contribute less to the scope. It's not that he would question my good intentions, but more that he knows that I am physically drained by this pregnancy and I often accomplish very little that I hope to.

As I watched news events unfolding about my hometown on social media yesterday and last night, I thought I would find a way to squeeze in some deep thinking about the world and what everything means.

I went to bed thinking I would write today, and thinking I had a straightforward pattern of thought with which to form everything. This morning, I find myself feeling a sense of surreality and concern that with my chopstick mind, everything I am thinking about is just this unhinged stream of consciousness that I can't properly assemble. 

It was a night of strange dreams and odd circumstances. In my early years, I frequently had nightmares--bordering on night terrors. I remember multiple occasions having dreams so vivid that when I described them, my mom thought the things I was talking about had actually happened, and on at least one occasion, it drove her to knock on our neighbor's door in the middle of the night to confront her about things I dreamed she had done. It was crazy.

Over time, I think my brain rewired. These days, I very infrequently remember anything I dream about. Periodically, I have dreamed of things that happened to me growing up, and other horrible things. Those are always rough nights. I think the rewiring is a defense mechanism of sorts. Somehow my brain doesn't allow me to remember many dreams, because, possibly, if I did I wouldn't be able to leave as much of my past in my past as I do. Even on my best days, I probably don't find myself able to leave as much behind as I wish I could.

I had a strange dream about giving birth to my daughter last night--the only one I've had so far. People have told me that they don't remember the pain of childbirth and that this is Mother Nature's way of allowing women to repeat the act in spite of the pain. All I know is this morning, I wish I remembered more about my dream. I had other dreams too--lots of porch lights in all of them. One of them was a weird, almost survivalist type dream where the world had come unglued and I found myself completely terrified that there was no place safe, and that no person could be trusted not to cause harm. In this dream I remember looking to my husband and being filled with fear and saying the words "I am terrified that there is no one in the world that I can ever trust, and no place that is safe." Even in my dream, I knew that I was just placating him when I hastily clarified that I felt that way about everything except him.

The truth of the matter is that even in the real world that isn't a dream, but those hastily added words are very much true. I do find myself trusting in very few things, people and places that aren't associated with him. I feel compelled to say that--first because it's true and secondly because I so pointedly said that it didn't ring true in that dream.

Aside from the dreams, our power went out in the middle of the night, and while the pitch black and even more profound silence should have made it all the easier to sleep, the systematic checking into why and trying to take care of it that is the very nature of my husband proved as disruptive as all the dreams. And there were also all the visions of porch lights to which my mind kept drifting.

As I am sitting here this morning, trying to regroup and straighten my thoughts from the night, I am watching talking heads blather on about some "games" thousands of miles away, imminent weather events along our eastern coastline, fashion and nonsense that isn't any more news than if Justin Bieber will eventually be deported for all of his antics (which I think are strategic). And as I watch them, all I can think about is a family in the town in which I grew up--a family that will never hear their little girl's voice again. They will never get to hold her again. They didn't even get to say goodbye.

Maybe that's why my brain is so out of sorts this morning. I think about the night my husband drove from Kansas City to Joplin and arrived to find a place filled with chaos and destruction. Within a week, I found myself there and I could take in the visual inventory of the scene and understand much of what had impacted him so deeply. But I wasn't there the night it happened, and it wasn't my hometown. As I sit here this morning, now two weeks away from my due date, I wonder, is the kidnapping and murder of a 10-year-old little girl "my Joplin?"

I haven't cared about my hometown for years. It's been a place of bad memories, lost family and friends, and no hope for me. Until yesterday, the only recent additional considerations were the closing of my favorite Chinese restaurant due to health code violations that I am sure every other Chinese restaurant in town is guilty of too, and the fact that yet another person in my family failed to surprise me with their inability to make even the smallest effort to care about my family and me.

There's not much I can think of in the way of redemption for this town--at least not in my heart. And yet, when a former classmate virtually invited me to turn on my porch light last night to honor the memory of that no longer breathing and playing little girl, I quietly did so. This morning, as I watch the bobble heads of morning television laughing away and bantering about things that are going on all over the world, there's no mention of porch lights on in the middle of the day in Australia. There's no mention of porch lights on in all 50 United States and multiple other countries all over the world remembering this little girl. I find myself confused by it all.

As I flitted through Facebook posts this morning, I ran across one post regarding a petition that demands the perpetrators of crimes like these immediately face castration and the death penalty. I am a hardcore liberal and I have a very hard time with the death penalty. Theoretically, I do believe in "eye for an eye." That probably comes as a shock to those who know me and my liberal leanings so well, but in truth, when you have been "harmed" it's easy to justify the vengeful heart so fervently supported by this Old Testament phrase. The only problems I have when it comes right down to it is that I know there are innocent people in the prison system and innocent people on death row. I also know that even the most truly guilty often sit on death row for dozens of years while perpetual appeals attempt to save them. And unfortunately, I don't believe the crimes that truly merit the death penalty are deterred by it.

I'm not a psychologist. I am not an expert of any kind when it comes to profiling monsters. But I believe monsters are not built with the same brains that the rest of us, or even common criminals are built with.

A thief knows that stealing is a crime and that they need to work not to be caught. They know that there are consequences they wish to avoid, and most of the time those consequences are just dealing with the bad end of the law. Occasionally, thieves go too far in their pursuit of whatever it is they are stealing and there might be casualties. They may indeed cause bodily harm to someone.

I don't believe monsters think that way. I think the only consequences they are equipped to consider are when their master fantasies fail to meet their expectations--when their ultimate fantasy of destruction and death doesn't fulfill every twisted desire they craved. That's why they often repeat their efforts--in pursuit of the perfect fantasy fulfillment.

It may be that this is at least part of the reason I consider myself to be an agnostic. You hear people say things like "It's not our right to play God," when it comes to the application of punishments like the death penalty. I understand that phrase, and it's probably true. But I can't reconcile God "playing God" and allowing the creation of monsters, and I am not interested in any of the arguments that believers have for why it happens and why we should all soldier on and have faith in spite of it. I believe all monsters should be put down. I believe no monster can be altered to safely exist anywhere. My worries about the accurate application of the death penalty in every single case is the only thing that gives me pause. I don't care about the idea of deterrence, because in the case of monsters, I don't believe they can be deterred. I believe that if they say they are reformed, it's only so they can go back out into the world and resume their fantasies. They cannot be altered by anything.

So what's the answer? I don't know.

We moved to Arkansas about six months ago. Very recently there has been a public service announcement airing on local stations about the number of traffic-related fatalities that take place in my new state each year. The premise is that someone is talking to "the man (or woman) on the street" about how many fatalities occur in Arkansas every year. Everyone guesses wrong. Apparently the number is around 500. The interviewer follows up by saying that the state is trying to reduce that number, and they wonder how many traffic-related fatalities the state should try to reduce the number by. There are various answers, ranging from numbers like half and more ambitious numbers like just 100. The final question is how many traffic-related fatalities the individual would be willing to accept in their own family. Every person unequivocally answers "zero." No one would be willing to accept even one traffic-related death in their own family.

It's a moment in which the message is clear. How can we think it's all right for someone else to accept a terrible fate we are unwilling to accept ourselves?

And a message like that magnifies the idea that none of us goes through our days anticipating that something horrible will happen to us or to someone in our families. None of us is prepared to lose a loved one in any kind of event. And no matter how aware we all might be that the world isn't as "safe as it once was," we still live our lives with the unconscious thought that these are things that happen to someone else.

It's sobering, and I know my friends that often worry I filter the negative in the world more slowly than the positive, so it has a greater opportunity to impact me, will cry "doom and gloom." It's true. This is a little doom and gloom, especially as I try to joyfully prepare for the arrival of my own little girl. I don't mean for it to be doom and gloom. Truly. There's a lot to be so very happy about.

As the last month or so of my pregnancy has sped away, I have found the hormonal waves that occasionally hit me sweeping me down a river of tearful anxiety and concern about changes that may or may not come to be in a marriage that is more solid than it has ever been, and my ability to be everything my daughter will need or want. I know all of it will probably be fine, but we can't always control what we are thinking and feeling in the moment.

My mixed up brain this morning struggles with weird exhaustion, a seemingly disconnected world caught up in Vodka and makeovers, the further degradation of a town my soul thought it didn't need to mourn, and a family that has lost a little girl.

The demons associated with what may come after my daughter arrives aren't real. Life will continue to move forward with love and joy in my life. I know that.

As for the other demons wound up in dreams, porch lights and my hometown--I sadly think those are all real. I think as sure as a chunk of my husband's hometown was swept up and swirled away by a storm almost three years ago, in the last 48 hours, a chunk--or maybe even all that was left of mine got swirled away as well. I will recover from that loss, because I have long been recovering from a lost sense of an unreal home. In essence, I got a head start on "losing" my hometown many years ago. Luckily, with the construction of what my husband refers to as our "Nation of Two" and the building of our own little family, there are fewer holes for me to fill.

But as full as my own life is about to become, I can't imagine the hole left in the family of that little girl. And I can't help but think of the toll that must be paid every time the rest of us discover that there is a monster in our midst. They are so well concealed from us, and almost always in plain site. I don't know how there can be a better way--a way where nobody has to pay the price of such discovery. That is the biggest hole of all.

And I love him.

So, I find myself in Northwestern Arkansas in the midst of another round of winter weather. I'm nearly 36 weeks pregnant, and suddenly I also find myself feeling in many respects, everything that really needs to be done has been done to prepare for the next phase of life. We have purchased and put together almost all of the necessities for bringing Willow home and getting her off to a good start. And we just ticked off the last must-do on my list--baby bump photos, both shareable and non-shareable.

I have respectfully been listening to, and occasionally ignoring the kindly advice of others, and frequently protesting that I am fearless in the face of becoming a new mom.

The truth is, last week, I did find myself fearful and profoundly consumed by it for about an hour and a half. I wasn't afraid of keeping Willow alive or knowing what to do for her. I think I will be able to keep her alive, and I know that I will just have to learn everything I need to do for her as we go along. What frightened me was thinking about the last 21 years with my husband--18 of which (almost) we have been married. It sounds like a long time in some respects, and in comparison to how most people play this whole starting a family thing out, it is a long time to be together--just the two of us.

But it still occurred to me that this time of just the two of us is coming to an end. It's a happy thing, of course, because we wanted Willow so much (and of course we still do). Even so, it's amazing what you fail to recognize and appreciate until you see it drawing to a close. And with the challenges of the last several years, we have become so much closer and stronger than I knew possible. That's not to say that the previous years weren't important or good--they were, but it was all so different. I think there were times that we forgot to be as close as we should have been and we let other things and people fill in spaces we didn't know were there. When push really came to shove for us, we were reminded of how much we needed each other, and how little the rest of the world really understood or mattered in the scheme of that need. Even though the hard times we have faced were so hard that I would never find a way to be grateful for them or want to relive them, I finally know the purpose they served. They recreated us as a couple and made us stronger than I could have ever imagined. But the other thing they did was make us incredibly close.

The day before we learned Willow was coming. An ending and a beginning in many ways.

In my moment of mourning for the time of just us coming to a close, my fear wasn't about the trips we won't still be able to take, or the concerts we won't be able to go to, or the other silly things we won't be able to do. The fear was that somehow, in the midst of this gigantic change, I will be swept away with all the things with which new, tired and struggling moms get swept away with, and in spite of my best intentions and efforts, the love of my life will get pushed to the back seat--that I will fail, and he will not have as much of me as I want him to have, and as much as he deserves.

And right about now, people in the know are protesting, "Yes, things will change for you, but they will change for him too, and you both will adjust." I'm a smart woman, and I do know this, but caught in a hormonal drift, all you know and care about is what you feel. And as I sobbed nearly breathlessly for an hour and half, and I find myself doing the same right now, nobody's wise words or logic really matter to me.

When I realized in the fall how deeply my life and my friendship with Jeph had changed, it became an urgent matter to me for him to know how much I depend upon him and love him so much. I have no regrets or sadness about the quiet of my new life. I don't find myself fidgety or lonely. It's because this love has filled all the spaces I used to allow other things to creep into. That's not to say I don't love and care about my friends, but it's different now. Jeph is my very best friend, and my person--my one person that I can't be without.

As we have entered February, and Valentine's Day is on the horizon, it occurs to me that most years, I write some blog about how you should show your significant other how you care for them everyday. Then I usually go on some rant about commercialism and blah, blah, blah. I'm not going to do that this year. I still believe those things, but I also know that sometimes it's hard for people to do what they should be doing every single day--for many reasons. And if you need a day or an excuse to open up and tell someone you love how much they mean to you--take it. It's good practice for when you figure it out and realize that you should do it every single chance you have, and in every way that you can.

I never expected to be eight months pregnant and so changed by a love that I have been a part of for more than two decades. I'm sure that the excuse of hormones and pregnancy could be the underlying "blame" for this profound difference in my emotions, but in so many ways, I have never felt this way before. I have never been so deeply in love before, and I have never been willing to be so demonstratively so.

I am grateful for his amazing understanding and acceptance of all of the challenges the last eight months have brought to me physically and emotionally--all while in the midst of trying to face so many obstacles and challenges of his own. I am aware of everything he does to show he cares, even when in some of those moments I am not appreciative because of my own issues. I am aware of how important this love is, not just to the two of us, but to our daughter as we raise her to know what love really is and what we hope her life will offer to her as well.

We don't always learn. We don't always get the opportunity to fall in love with the love of our life all over again, and more deeply than we did to begin with. But every single day, we have the option to love our people the best way we know how, and maybe the more we practice--even in small ways, we get better, and we learn to give things we didn't know we were capable of giving.

It's about five hours until he will be home. I know that I need to get over the hormonal shift--every bit as strong as the shifting of a tectonic plate--and remember that as much as things will change, I will have the only person in the world that I want right there as they do, and he will continue to love me just as much as I love him.

Magnificent--U2

"Who" will we make her?

So, I think it's important to preface this post by saying that I am not afraid of motherhood, or the immediate challenges that will befall me in a few short weeks. I have a reasonable sense of what I assume is a normal amount of anxiety associated with any new job, but I am aware that this is a full time position from which I cannot resign, and I have willingly signed on.

Now that we have that out of the way, I feel I can talk about what I am here to talk about, and hopefully I haven't given anyone the impression that I am shaking in my boots.

I had the opportunity to get out for lunch with a friend earlier in the week. She has an eleven-year-old daughter, with whom she enjoys watching "The Bachelor." I watched the show for one season years ago, when the man in question was a guy from my home town. I couldn't help but be curious. At any rate, as the season began this time around, my friend and her daughter quickly noted "who" each of the twenty-five women vying for this man's affections would turn out to be. In the course of discussing this, my friend revealed that it had made her think of "who" her own daughter will be. And as a result, it got me to thinking about what a giant responsibility it is, as a parent, particularly a mother to have a hand in "who" their child, particularly their daughter, will turn out to be.

My friend believes that I am at a giant advantage due to the benefit of additional years and wisdom associated with becoming a parent later in life. She asked me what I want for Willow as she grows up. While in my heart, I hope that most people want the same things for their children, I know everyone defines those things in very different ways. I mostly just want for Willow to grow up knowing that she is loved and supported, no matter what path she chooses for herself, and that she will find a path that gives her all the happiness in life that she desires. Some folks might answer the same question by saying that they want their child to get a great education and to be successful and productive.

Maybe the answers aren't really that different. But I think they probably feel different. After living a while, I realize that what I want now and for the rest of my life is very different than what I wanted twenty years ago. And maybe that does make me a fortunate mother.

My friend voiced the idea that young mothers are usually just at the cusp of trying to figure out who they are in life. How, therefore, can they have a handle on helping a child figure out who they want to become? I think it's a valid question, but it's honestly one I never thought of before.

I often think of friendships and people I have known over the years. We all know people, and have known people at many different stages of their lives. Women are very different people at different ages. Most of us go through a "mean girl" stage at some point, and we fail to have compassion for others. Some of us are so caught up in finding career and financial success that we forget to make lives that fulfill us beyond that new purse or apartment we must have. Still others of us spend so much time celebrating our youths that we overlook the value and comfort of making a home and settling down.

Fair or not, the people around us decide "who" all of these choices make us. Maybe it's not fair for me to say it, but I don't think that men are judged in quite the same ways as women. I think men are viewed in a much more narrow and black and white sort of way. I don't think that makes how we raise boys any less important, but I do think that within the very deeply carved grooves of our patriarchal society, the paths are so greatly defined and marked that if we are seeking to follow tradition, the way is well lit. It's only when we seek to support our boys--our children--within any construct they choose--traditional or otherwise--that we face greater challenge. As a wibbly-wobbly, touchy-feely mom-to-be, of course, I think that leads to the potential for much greater reward for all involved as well.

It is probably also unfair that I would use the women on a "reality" show to form an argument that it's more challenging to grow up as a girl, and inherently more challenging to guide a girl along the path than a boy. After all, there is so little that is real about about these "reality" shows. But stereotypes exist for a reason, whether we like it or not. Out of twenty-five women on a reality show, there probably will always be someone who is a "plotter and schemer." There will always be someone willing to use her womanly gifts to turn the man's head. There will always be the wallflower who can't seem to get in "the game." These shows are built around finding or "inventing" all of these characters in order to make the show more interesting and enticing. Otherwise, why would so many people watch?

But each girl's life is her own reality. As parents, we are just as responsible for creating a world within which they build that reality. We can only give them the plot of land, the tools and the materials. I know what I want for Willow. I'm pretty sure her dad wants the same things. We will have a hand in "who" she becomes, but undoubtedly that "who" will evolve and morph throughout her life.

I hope that she will have good friends and be well-liked by others. Life is so much easier when you have that. But more important to me than that is that she is a friend to herself and that she like herself. In the darkest times in life, sometimes you are the only person you have. I hope that she will have good vision, and that she will be able to see things for the way they really are. We spend a lot of time as women telling ourselves many harmful lies, because we are unable to see the truth about ourselves, and those around us. I hope that she will have self-confidence and stand up for herself when she needs to. I think teaching her courage will be the hardest thing, but the most important thing we try to do for her. How do you teach someone to be brave? I hope her daddy will help me with that one.

I'm not afraid of my new job, but I respect that it will be the most significant job I ever do. Being a hand that helps to create a person is a huge responsibility. There are lots of terrible people in the world. Jeph and I have always said that we didn't want to be parents unless we made the effort to create someone who in some small part makes the world better. It doesn't have to be "better" on a grandiose scale. Sometimes the world is just made better by a person who takes time to smile at a stranger, or help someone carry a heavy load.

We can't know "who" Willow will be yet. But maybe we are starting to know "who" we want to be for her. At the beginning of the day, that's really the best we can do.


Original of the Species--U2

Just do it--resolve to feel good enough

So, it's the first full week of 2014, and not surprisingly, everywhere you look, there's something to see regarding New Year's Resolutions. Most of them revolve around getting fit and losing weight.

I'm in a pretty good place this year. I've unexpectedly lost over twenty pounds, and in the last two months of pregnancy, weight loss is not even on my radar just now. But as I see all the commercials about exercise and dieting, I know that there are a lot of people out there who aren't facing the year feeling okay with themselves. And that's what really frustrates me about this time of year, and how companies prey upon those of us who really struggle with weight and body image.

Every time I see the Curves commercial with Jillian Michaels, I just want to scream. To me, it's just about the worst. I've never been to a Curves before, but when they initially opened, my impression of their business model was that these were facilities in which the average woman who wants to get in shape and feel better about herself could walk in and work out without feeling like she was a fat slob. In the current ad campaign, there seems to be only one woman in the commercial who has a body shape that is even close to what I pictured--and frankly, if I was at her fitness level, I'd probably feel pretty damn good about my body.

What gets my ire up most about this commercial is the mindless drumbeat drone that the only way that you can be happy is if you are thin. My answer to that is that the reason why we can't be happy unless we are thin is because people like Jillian Michaels keep telling us that we can't be happy unless we are thin. The fitness and weight loss industry makes their dollar by making us feel miserable about ourselves and any accomplishment we may have achieved because we don't have a six pack. Some of them might make the argument that it isn't about the way we look, it's about health and feeling good.

I'm not going to try and argue that being overweight is a healthy lifestyle. I know that it's not. One of my biggest fears about becoming pregnant was that I was already overweight, and any weight I might gain would put my health and my baby's health at risk. It's only a weird twist of "morning sickness" and fate that I have managed not to gain a single pound. I'm not even excited about the twist, because I have truly missed my food and any sense of normalcy about eating and diet. It's not what I planned or hoped for.

Over the years, I have watched people I care about struggle, beat themselves up, and starve themselves because they want to achieve some "ideal." I've been frustrated for them, especially because most of them have already achieved greater fitness than I can ever imagine for myself. I've also watched people closer to my own situation struggle and fall back multiple times. I relate to their sense of failure and defeat. I've definitely been there, and even though my current situation is different, I know that after my daughter gets here, I will remember that I am still heavier than I should be, no matter how much I've lost.

When I see the commercials for weight loss products, services and scams, I am more determined than ever to find every possible way I can to teach my daughter that you can't live your life for a number on a scale, a clothing tag, or a caliper. I hope to teach her about living a balanced lifestyle. I'm not going to hide the television, but I want her to know the joys of running in the grass and riding a bike too.

There has been so much talk in recent years about helping women and girls feel better about their body image. It makes me crazy that for all of that talk, the images of über sculpted women in next to no clothing far outweigh the images of the average woman who is just doing the best she can, and trying to live some kind of balance in life.

It all makes me feel like we can't win. Just trying to be as healthy as we can--mentally and physically--isn't good enough. And because it's not good enough for everyone else, it feels like it shouldn't be good enough for ourselves. It's one of the things I have noticed more, and been so disappointed with in human nature during my pregnancy. It seems like some of us just naturally seek to judge others for not doing "it" (whatever "it" is) their way. Whether it's how to have and raise your child, how to be successful in your career or relationships, or what it means to be healthy--someone always thinks their way is the only or best way.

I wish everyone who hocks a pill, a piece of exercise equipment or a nutrition system for weight loss could spend one moment in the shoes of the person feeling inadequate and insecure because of their bodies. I know some of those folks actually have been overweight and struggled too, but it seems like they forget how it feels. They forget how much they might have benefited from someone accepting them, loving them and thinking they're beautiful--just the way they were.

It bothers me that we live in a world where it is more acceptable and even more desirable to change everything about ourselves physically and otherwise to be valued than it is to offer each other understanding shoulders, acceptance and love. I'm sure it's an idealistic view, but when I think about the women in my family lineage and how so many of them have been pear shaped and all kinds of other not-so-desirable shapes, I want my daughter to grow up feeling that her shape is perfect--whatever it is, and that she doesn't have to turn herself inside out to be worthy of love--whether that love is from someone else or just from herself. I want her to grow up in a world where we don't voyeuristically watch others struggle with weight loss, body image, personal hardships and missteps to line the pockets of networks and companies that profit from the misfortunes of others. It doesn't seem like a dumb thing to wish for.

If you have to turn yourself inside out to be worthy of something, how real can that something be?

Just the Way You Are--Bruno Mars