birthday eve

photo from http://abeautifulmessinside.com

Tomorrow I am 44.  Forty-Four.
It has a nice, even, symmetrical quality about it, even if it is a number that feels a bit too big and a bit too foreign. In my mind, I think about 38 is right.
Even more so, since I am now 21 weeks pregnant with a baby girl child.
Being 44 and half-way there to birth is far more knackering that it was at 41.
I am tired and not so very patient.  Makes me want to take a bit of stock on just what and where I am today on my birthday eve.

I am:

• pregnant
• almost 44
• OK, we covered that
• tired
• ditto
• often blank of mind when I have 10 minutes of quiet
• in love with my bed
• illogically laundry obsessed
• disinterested in most current affairs
• nervous if I don't have both a book to read and a book to listen to
• eating much cheese
• scared to drive our newly acquired car (I haven't driven in the UK since the DAY of my test. In 2006. Hello)
• worried about having 2 children drain my waning energies
• worried that child 1 will be sad not to have his mum all to himself 
• worried that I have no recall on how to care for actual baby
• realising this list is not as whimsical and light as I imagined it
• trying now to think of really positive things
• blank of mind

OK. Let me try something else ... here's what I want for my 44th year

• endurance
• patience
• flexibility
• light-heartedness
• giggles
• family hugs
• embracing change
• ever expanding love supply for all my important people including myself
• financial stability
• ability to find the silly
• be the best mother, partner, daughter and friend I can be
• appreciate the many magical tiny moments I have each day
• one eye on the horizon so I can picture where we are going and start to get excited about being there
• gratitude for the ways which I know, I already have all of those things

greatest hits 2011

thank you 2011...

• fitflop slippers
• eternity scarf
• daddy pig
• the good wife
• part time nursery
• bbc radio 4 extra
• blakley fit eddie bauer trousers
• curly wispy lewis hair
• goodreads.com
• FJF tribute to quiet hero
• motherhood friends
• audible.com
• babychinos
• expecting baby number 2
• family, nuclear, extended and inherited
• full conversations with Lewis
• owning a car
• perfect pancake pans
• staying

two

I am having a really good birthday.
Celebrating the day of the birth of boy, that is.

Simple day: his parents, grandma, home made pizza, grandma- made white cake with chocolate frosting, red balance bike, red balloons (and a giant somewhat scary mylar "2" balloon) cards, books, digger wellies, car garage, playdoh, singing the happy birthday song AND blowing out the candle 5 times, and enough adorable clothes to make his mom happy. Enthusiastic opener, polite and equal attention to all (except the clothes). Time and the park, time at home.

And best gift of all is that all, he is napping. RIGHT NOW!

Happy Birthday, all of us. 

brave new look

or just lipstick on the pig?

Here I sit. A blessed Thursday of nursery for L, work for husband and no clients for me. The list of things to do is as tall as me. Time, particularly the solo variety, she is rare and she is precious. So what have I done? Spent 2 hours monkeying about with my blog template. (whaddaya think?)

I have been enraptured by the parenting blog brigade lately -- with really insightful and smart posts.   They are prolific. Posting near daily. New things to say. They all have nifty bespoke headers, copyrights, and all seem to be well connected to each other, with squillions of followers.  How do they have time for this? Do they not sleep or need to watch all their DVRed shows? Do they have children who sleep in their own beds? Do they not need to shower at night? Do they not obsess about the laundry?

Now this little blog, born in 2004 never set out to be more than an online account of what new groceries I found in the UK or the fancy accents I was hearing and feeling cool about being an expat.  And it has morphed, along with the rest of my life into coaching, marriage, moving, pregnancy and now parenting. I want the look to morph too!

I envy those fancy blogger people with their links to their facebook pages and smart subscriptions and fresh, new things to say.

Today I changed the look (thank you people of blogger). Today I change the sheets.

Tomorrow may I be fresh. Tomorrow, may I be insightful. Tomorrow, may I be smart.

pause: 22 months and 3 days

sweetie grin

Almost two years old and it just gets more interesting. It is so nice to be able to have a conversation (of sorts) and make each other giggle. Our boy is outgoing, strong, remembers the weirdest (and forgettable) incidents for a long time, like buying a new broom or seeing a dog swim in the river.  Remembers people he's met and says bye bye to the taxi, the house, the cat on the street or the checkout lady at Tesco.  He can cling to my apron (literally) or run off with to the swings without a second glance, depending on mood.  He gets car sick after 15 minutes, loves to push his own pram, and still has the prettiest blue eyes.

• understands pretty much everything you say, possibly I am sure even the swear words
• comfortable chatting away: favourite words ''tiny', 'winnow' (window),  'oh dear' and 'wow' and 'what's daddy doin?', 'lewie do it" and 'home'  and noo neeee (for fire truck noise)
• loves diggers, dirt, water (drinking and pouring) swimming, books with diggers, Peppa Pig (daddy pig especially), throwing balls, climbing (especially ladders), spinning things, his friends Kit and Jamie, splashing in puddles in his boots,  sticky tape, going to the cafe in the park, and blowing raspberries on mummy's tummy
• before going to sleep, recounts highlights of his day to himself, processing people he has seen, the story lines of Peppa Pig, particularly exciting trucks or events like mommy breaking a cup.
• likes to choose his clothes and is very particular about his shoes
• loves dried apricots, cheese, toast, peas (frozen and cooked), sausage, noodles, ice cream, apples cooked in butter with cinnamon and brown sugar
• fights naps and bedtime sleeping and loves cuddling
• pushes kids big or small when he is tired or frustrated (we are working on this!)
• is very attached to his parents, his pram and his little man cap
• very much wants a bike or a scooter (shhhh- 2 year bday is coming!)

While they say it doesn't get easier, after spending the morning with 2 friends who have 2- year olds AND 6-7-week old babies, it sure feels easier than that. I need to relish Lewis walking up the stairs, pulling off his own socks and having an opinion about what's for snack.  His smallest independences are all victories. We are still learning so much together. Parenting is getting more fun and more rewarding (like the requests for "hand mummy"), I realise the stakes are getting higher. He is a squirmy, adventurous, curious boy. Keeping him safe and letting him explore are proving a tricky act to balance. 

May I continue to be the best parent I can be and may Lewis forget the swear words, or at least use them only at home.

our quiet hero, now rest

My Dad died a few weeks ago on 27 July.  He had a rough few years with his health, battling (and winning) lung cancer and heart surgery, with long, hard won recoveries. He recovered enough to enjoy a bit of this summer, taking a coach trip with the Korean War veterans to Washington DC, seeing a few local baseball games with my Mom, riding his bike, eating McDonald's ice cream cones.  But it was an infection from his surgery that got him in the end. He died in no pain, with no mental anguish, with my Mom, 2 of my siblings and the nicest nurse with him.

I am fresh back from my visit home to say my final good bye to my Dad at his funeral. It was a hard, loving, emotional visit that had flashes of normalcy and many sweet laughs as Lewis entertained and provided a tender elixir to the heaviness of the days.

Along with my Uncle Dave and a fellow Gray Beard, Korean War veteran friend, all of my brothers and sisters and I spoke at my Dad's service. The service was fitting to the man, simple, lovely with a military respect of the 21 gun salute and buried in his favourite green fleece.  It was an honour to speak of my Dad and I share my words here.

We have heard so many themes today about Frank, solid, loyal, kind, dependable and fun.

Until now I haven’t realised what a quiet force my Dad was. He was often in the background but he was always there ... steady, strong, available.

In my job, I often ask people what they want people to remember them for.

I can’t help but think Dad would be so happy and proud to hear that his small and large kindnesses, his friendly and warm company and his steadfast presence made us all of feel loved, safe and taken care of.

And I don’t think I ever got to thank him for that.

So now I take my moment to say thank you, Dad.

• -     For being the man that drove me to endless tumbling and random events all my childhood, with Sports Talk on the radio
• -      For being the best looking Dad in the pack
• -      For always smelling like clean aftershave
• -      Magically changing all my crumpled singles and big pile of change waitress tips into nice, clean 20s
• -      For wearing his kid’s logo wear with pride, or at least making us feel like he was proud.
• -      Playing with my fingers in church when I was little
• -      For being the man who documented things like the date we got a new toilet seat
• -      And taking pictures of things on TV
• -      For showing me that being a dad often means eating burnt toast and the black jellybeans
• -      Having the perfect architectural penmanship
• -      Hiding $50 bills at my house, for me to find later
• -      With limited success, trying to teaching me and Gary to bowl – shake hands with the ball
• -      Showing me that arguing bitterly with you spouse over Christmas tree lights is an annual event that your marriage will survive
• -      For forever cementing that lunchboxes should always smell of bananas
• -      For walking me down the aisle at my wedding
• -      For making me feel safe
• -      Driving us home from the lake and feeling so utterly secure that we always fell asleep that 45 minutes
• -      Insisting on filling up gas in  your car
• -      Hearing Mom and Dad’s low murmur voices in bed talking at night
• -      Warming up the car and scraping off the snow for you on cold mornings
• -      For being there when Lewis was born … 16 days late, and being the first person to call Lewis “sweetheart”
• -      For the example of hard work  -- like the rings he made for all his kids and for Mom, taking silver dollar coins and painstakingly pounding them into simple, string silver rings… much like Dad himself.

I know Dad was always so happy when he and Mom were on their annual vacations in Florida. He would go for long solo walks on the beach, in search of sharks teeth, sand dollars, and maybe a bit of chat with other folks he’d meet along the way, collecting scraps of information to report back to Mom.  He was tanned, happy, relaxed and utterly in his element...

I like to imagine he is on one of those adventures now – enjoying the view, collecting unexpected treasures, and forever basking in a beautiful sunny day.


So now we are all back at our respective homes. Back in the business of living. People have been heart-breakingly kind. Death does that. It shows our underbelly and our collective circles of friends and even acquaintances rally to hold our net. Makes us feel very very human and very alive in our pain. Now we are all sorting this through and feeling the soft spot where my Dad lived in each of us. Feeling lucky to have had him in a way we never acknowledged before.  Feeling just that much closer to each other than before. Feeling what's missing and holding on to what's not.

Our quiet hero, my Mom's rock ... now rest. 

good bye dear friend

Dear bed,

I think you may as well know. We are getting a new bed tomorrow. I am truly excited. A Superking (which is a normal King in the US). It will be HUGE. I look forward to the acres of space for all the sleeping beings in there. I look forward to a fresh mattress. New sheets. Yum.

And yet, yes, I am sad.  I have always thought one of the most depressing sights was seeing a discarded mattress on the side of the road, awaiting the garbage men. No doubt that mattress was the refuge of many wonderful nights of sleep, love, tears, conception, naps, cuddles, piles of clothes, and comfort. Seems so wrong to discard it all naked and stained to the world's cruel view.

We got you when you were going to be just "Mark's bed" in 2002 in Washington DC. I remember helping pick you out in the shop, feeling very grown up and proud that I was being consulted for such an intimate  purchase. I was the girlfriend and it gave me peace to think I could contribute my opinion on such a long term item. I remember thinking you were worth every penny for your pillow-top dreaminess.

Who knew that 9 years later I would be saying good bye to you after making you my own.

I have always loved you and felt you were a safe and welcoming place I could hide, dream, escape and unwind. You've earned your retirement. You sag. You've been subjected to all manner of new stains and indignities thanks to a new family member. And, bed, don't take this the wrong way, but you may have bugs.

We had some good times. You've seen us through 5 moves in 3 countries and never let us down.

Thank you for being such a good resting place. And don't worry, the nice men who are bringing your replacement to us will wrap you up and take you to your final sleep.

Night night.

the great unsaid

for sale at cafepress.com

I just read this on Honest 2 Betsy's blog -- "This isn`t an everyday blog. It`s not even an every week blog. It`s a when-I-have-something-to say blog."

Well said. I feel very much like that. And I guess the things I have to say have been said in my head. Are they blog worthy?

Such as:

-How cute is my boy, who is starting to use two words together like "tiny spoon" and "mommy, in"
- This weather sucks. May and June were 100% dismal. Gray, raining and cold. Even I, who hate the heat, was grumpy.
- I need a new look. My style is slowly disintegrating from new mum dishevel into toddler mum frump.
- We need to get a plan.  We have an income. And it is not ideal. We need to pull up our socks and get ready to make our changes happen. Life awaits and we are both sick of the holding pattern.

So, some items noteworthy, some trivial and many, many days of laundering, errands, toddler enertainment, trips to the park, big coffees to go, picking up small cars off all surfaces, making breakfasts, lunches, dinners and snacks for 2 males in my home.

Mombie mode is a murky gerbil tunnel. Occasionally you get a glimpse of the outside world, but then you remember that you need to get home for naptime. Maybe even yours.

why the playground scares me

I'll be the first to admit it. I am impressionable. If someone I like and respect tells me something or points out something to me I hadn't seen before, the seed is well and truly planted.

My grip in my parenting is often wobbly. I am finding scores of really interesting blogs and reads about kinds of parenting, ways to be positive, be connected, stay calm,  be an example, etc. It is just the kind of reading that hooks me and also frees me. Gives a bit of direction to point my sorry ass self in when I am stuck with my own temper or cluelessness about how to best help Lew.

(Here's just a few I am particularly obsessive about consulting)

• Ahaparenting.com
• Positive Parenting - Toddlers and Beyond
• Natural Child Project
• Dr Sears

So I read these and I feel good. I feel like I have some ways to "be" and a bit of extra confidence that I am doing OK by my boy and not totally screwing him up yet.   We are happy, we are connected, we are making it!

And then we go to the playground. The playground in the park near our house is really designed for bigger kids, but tell that to sweet Lewis, who has been conquering the big steps and big slide since he was 1.  It is fun it a little daunting to let him explore and play, albeit with a sharp eye, possible hovering and lots of "carefuls".  He loves being around other kids and part of the "scene." 

Here's where I go tense and want to leave:

 ... the big kids come.  3-5 year olds are HUGE. They are STRONG. And FAST. And truly are not yet wired to care about a toddler's feelings ("Go away" "Stop following us" or ignoring small Lew's wave hello) or well being as they zip by him or knock him over. So that gets me. I don't expect little kids to get it. I do expect their parents to be 1% watching though. And so often they just aren't paying a lick of attention.

 ... I also sometimes see parents treating their kids in a very different way than I want to treat mine.  Not listening. Bullying. Not watching. Ignoring. My stomach knots. I know know know that I do not have the answers and everyone deals in their own way.  My parenting instincts are mine -- I get that. It is just very hard to witness upset kids being ignored. Here I am full frontal faced with my fears of bad parenting. And. I. Must. Flee.

I sometimes think Lewis and I need this cocoon of time together for me to get better and clearer about what kind of parent I want to be. My impressionable side at this point simply cannot watch parenting behaviour that I do not want to copy.

I do not want to judge any parents. I don't WANT to be judged. It is a serious job and  we are all in our own boat. And yet I find that my incredibly helpful resources (see above) direct me in such a different way.

Until I can start to look at other families with more compassion, and be more rooted in my own gentle parenting, and Lewis can get up those slide stairs on his own, I think you'll see us at the playground only during the quiet hours.

Hopefully I'll be listening to Lewis, letting him play without too much direction, helping when he needs it, watching him, giving lots of love and we'll be walking home holding hands. 

for my next act

I feel like I should be ready for something.   Note the *should* in there. Never a good sign.

Much of me thinks the next thing is another baby. Body= ready. Husband= ready. Brain= ready. Age=hurrythehellup.

But at 43 (gulp) things are not instant. And what to do with my few available waking energies and fleeting moments. I know I can make laundry obsess-er, meal planner, nap police and supply manager a near full-time job.  While is it not entirely 'un' satisfying, the bloom is nearing its peak on household running.

I don't have much energy to do anything very time consuming or brain taxing.

Mostly, I find in the few spare minutes to myself, I want very much to read. And then very much to sleep. And possibly have some time to stare at the TV with sole control of the remote.  The end. That feels almost enough right now. Yet, I judge.

Coach? Surely I could be using my nice coaching abilities to reach out, do more get more clients, learn more things.

Exercise? I see new-ish moms in the park, running in a pack with their prams all a jiggle, encouraged from a skinny guy wearing shorts and asking for "10 more" push ups.  A real workout? (Besides the 54 stairs I carry a 26 pound boy up thrice daily.)

Clean? Well, that seems much more like home-making again. And really.

Write? My pal Lexie always has something new up her sleeve and has written a little book. I am envious of her enthusiasm and determination. I'd love to write something more substantial then the 5 items needed at Sainsburys on tiny scraps of paper.

It all seems a bit daunting. Just going into town on my own feels a little like I am visiting a foreign land. I am not sure I am really ready for any big changes. Except the kind that take 9 months to cook.

My next act.

I know there is one. I just don't know what it is.   I hope it is something really interesting and compels me and calls me forward to be brave and stand tall and feel alive and do my best. I hope it involves a costume change or two. I hope it emerges slowly and when I am ready.

But in the meanwhile, this intermission feels important.  Now I just wish they'd quit yelling at me to take my feet off the seats.

ode to Fridays

• a slow, unfocused walk
• closing my eyes for whole moments 
• entering the inner world of my clients and being in someone else's shoes for a while 
• walking up and down each aisle, giving my full consideration to the vegetables 
• noticing the faces as I pass by unencumbered and on my own 
• the loose end jobs tied 
• contemplating the state of my fingernails and my wardrobe

• another cup of tea
• home in peaceful order
• 7 hours of being just me

19 (really??) months

Lewie loving Lambie

Alas, I look up and notice the time.
About a month since I last blogged.
About a minute since I did my last load of laundry.
And a million seconds of L's everyday getting bigger.

Today, my sweet sausage is 19 months.
Closer to two years than to one.
He is a boy.
A mama loving, dadddieee playing, wheel-obsessed, charming small person.  He knows who he is and says no when he doesn't want something. Although he still says it so sweet (noo noo) that the novelty hasn't worn off.

He discovered the love for stuffed animals lately, which melts my own personal heart into a quivering sop.  He kisses them, he feeds them (hello gross, stained furry mouths) and he gives them tight cuddles. Right or wrongly, I feel a certain pride that he may have learned how to treat his fuzzy pals in a gentle way, hopefully because we treat him that way.

It is a reminder that we are his models for human behaviour.  How to manage not getting our way, how to be when we are tired, how to treat each other, how to take care of ourselves and how to interact with the world. 

I must say I am enjoying this part of parenting way more then the wordless babe stage.  Now we communicate and we share and truly *do* things together. I feel and see the impact.

It is tender and hard and lovely and scary.
He sees us.
He is listening.
And is waving hello to make friends on the playground. And kissing boo boos - mine and his own.  And throwing things when he is angry. And melts into a fury when he is tired.
Oh yes, he is watching.
He is holding up a giant mirror showing me how I am.
What a powerful little mirror.
Hope I can keep seeing sweetness and be brave enough to change for both of us when I don't

living in the now

And here I am ... back. I have been holding my tongue and  my breath for a while now. Scared to write what was happening since I was working over time to not think too hard about it. And inevitably, if I open a blank blog page, the truth is sure to flop out.

It looks like we are going to be in Glasgow for the summer. After much hand -ringing, hallway-pacing, excel spread-sheeting, scenario list-making, nail-chewing and general fretting, my dear husband has landed a contract job for the summer.

Insert GIANT sigh of relief here.

Yes, this is a short-term solution. Yes, we still need to figure out what happens, erm, AFTER summer.

And yet, that, is not now.

Now I  can buy flour, baking powder, mustard and peppercorns... things I have been holding off on since a move may have been imminent. (No one ever can find a way to move a half empty jar of mustard across international lines.)

Now I can get my summer clothes out of storage. (Naturally only to look at since it is only about 55F here but a girl can dream.)

Now we can keep L in nursery for his 2 life-saving, child-enriching days a week.

Now we can hire a babysitter so we can celebrate our 5 year wedding anniversary along with Kate & Will's wedding on April 29. (yes, they copied us.)

Now I can plan a long overdue trip to the US to see my parents and other mid-westerners. 

Now we can enjoy the parks and the flowers and take advantage of the lightness and the warmth and enjoy. (a.k.a. chase Lew as he runs amok throwing gravel or trying to lick wheels, pet strange dogs.)

Now I can make a hair appointment to recreate something that resembles a *hair-style* rather than the multi-coloured, straggly ponytail.

Now we can plan, really plan, what our next step is.

Three months isn't all that long, really.

But to me, to us, for now

It is everything.

the beginning, the middle and the end

Things are changing in my life. 

Some faster than I can track, some achingly slow and some that are just hovering, waiting to land.

Not all of it feels comfortable to write *out loud* yet.  Even in my own head. 

And it made me think of this beautiful poem, Aristotle, by Billy Collins. 

This is the beginning.

Almost anything can happen.

This is where you find

the creation of light, a fish wriggling onto land,

the first word of Paradise Lost on an empty page.

Think of an egg, the letter A,

a woman ironing on a bare stage

as the heavy curtain rises.

This is the very beginning.

The first-person narrator introduces hirnself,

tells us about his lineage.

The mezzo-soprano stands in the wings.

Here the climbers are studying a map

or pulling on their long woolen socks.

This is early on, years before the Ark, dawn.

The profile of an animal is being smeared

on the wall of a cave,

and you have not yet learned to crawl.

This is the opening, the gambit,

a pawn moving forward an inch.

This is your first night with her,

your first night without her.

This is the first part

where the wheels begin to turn,

where the elevator begins its ascent,

before the doors lurch apart.

This is the middle.

Things have had time to get complicated,

messy, really. Nothing is simple anymore.

Cities have sprouted up along the rivers

teeming with people at cross-purposes—

a million schemes, a million wild looks.

Disappointment unshoulders his knapsack

here and pitches his ragged tent.

This is the sticky part where the plot congeals,

where the action suddenly reverses

or swerves off in an outrageous direction.

Here the narrator devotes a long paragraph

to why Miriam does not want Edward's child.

Someone hides a letter under a pillow.

Here the aria rises to a pitch,

a song of betrayal, salted with revenge.

And the climbing party is stuck on a ledge

halfway up the mountain.

This is the bridge, the painful modulation.

This is the thick of things.

So much is crowded into the middle—

the guitars of Spain, piles of ripe avocados,

Russian uniforms, noisy parties,

lakeside kisses, arguments heard through a wall—

too much to name, too much to think about.

And this is the end,

the car running out of road,

the river losing its name in an ocean,

the long nose of the photographed horse

touching the white electronic line.

This is the colophon, the last elephant in the parade,

the empty wheelchair,

and pigeons floating down in the evening.

Here the stage is littered with bodies,

the narrator leads the characters to their cells,

and the climbers are in their graves.

It is me hitting the period

and you closing the book.

It is Sylvia Plath in the kitchen

and St. Clement with an anchor around his neck.

This is the final bit

thinning away to nothing.

This is the end, according to Aristotle,

what we have all been waiting for,

what everything comes down to,

the destination we cannot help imagining,

a streak of light in the sky,

a hat on a peg, and outside the cabin, falling leaves.

I think we're alone now

This is desktop wallpaper called, Quiet, Still, Alone.

I guess this day was bound to happen.

Mark away for the day.
Lewis at nursery.
Me freaking hallelujah on my own on a day during the week, with no clients. 

It is a day I have fantasised about. 
Often.
No one to pay attention to except me. No nap schedule except my own. I could have on loudest music or be ensconced in calm silence. I could go see a matinee. Or wander aimlessly.  Or walk with purpose and intent to get somewhere. Somewhere NEW! Somewhere that babies aren't allowed. OR I could read! Or think clever thoughts. Call friends. Do some marketing for coaching. Take a water wastingly long, hot shower.

It is now 1:30 in the afternoon.

No long leisurely shower.  (OK any shower for that fact)


No smart thoughts about anything.


No dancing in my underwear a la Risky Business.


I dropped off the boy and ...

I have eaten nachos.

I have washed and folded 3 loads of laundry.

I have emptied the dishwasher and all the garbages. 

I have organized the recyclables.

I managed a Sainsbury delivery.

I changed the sheets.

And I have cleaned the flat.

And now, I think ... I don't know what do.

There is only a little bit more free time.  It is fleeting. And going fast.

This is what happens, I think, to mothers. First reaction is to do the normal things. 

And do them in peace. And fast. And with concentration.  Alone. Blissfully.

It feels so relaxing to be alone. To take one's eyes off the ball (or kid as it were) and just let the mind flop a bit. 

Is this the new dream? To be silent in my brain? Those other things sure sound nice. And what feels even nicer is to know those things are still out there.

I just think I'd need several weeks of this quiet to remember how. 

going under

Friday's  note from the Universe told me that wisdom arrives in silence.

Silent is what I have been feeling lately. Not that I have nothing to say. But more that my words go in circles. I find myself at a weird juncture, causing me to walk carefully without attachment to my current situation.

Looks like dear husband's job really really going to end soon and we are now looking at some rather dramatic options to our next step. Rent out our (lovely, big, perfect) flat and go live somewhere for as free as possible. In Laws. And await a job. And decide if the US is that next place to be.

This level of Get Ready to Jump is putting my running our household/laundry doing/house stocking/cleaning/care taking//friendship nurturing /social outreach right into a state of emergency. And then ultimately a state of unattachment.

Do I have to let go of *this* in order to reach what's next? How tight is my grip on keeping things the same? What am I preventing by this? What do I need to let go of? What's really important here? What's scaring me about leaving? What scares me about staying?

Yeah- those are the twilrlings in my noggin. All big thinkings and all insider jobs, done a bit in, well, silence.

What's emerging in that silence is sometimes complete acceptance. (Hey, I am not MARRIED to Glasgow, we can make new friends and lighten our load of *stuff* and just GO. ) Othertimes it is more desparate clinging and hand wringing (I LOVE our home, we finally own everything, I love our friends and the neighbourhood and out life here and Lew is happy and we are settled, finally settled for a while and I DON'T WANNA GO. Stamp foot.)

What else is emerging is that I have done this all before. What I need is trust. Hope. Lean into what's possible, dream more about what it is we WANT in our future. ( I see Seattle, a cute house, Mark's GREAT job, more babies and a lovely lifestyle)

AND AND AND ... it may be something else.  Something I have not yet dreamed of.

What I know is it matters that we are a) together b) happy c) OK.

The rest can come.

Even as I type I can feel the undercurrents of this going under.

It resonates.

When I am silent. 

upwardly mobile

Two developments have really surfaced these last weeks.

Walking
We have a full-on bonified WALKING boy. Outside. In the World. Where there is glass and cigarette butts and giant bumpy holes in the sidewalk where little feet can trip. Where cars/trucks/bikes/taxis/buses and all manner of the wheeled which we look at and point to from the pram or out the window in our flat are  in 3-D... zooming past, parked on the street and omnipresent. 

Mixing with the world
Nursery for 2 days a week. It was a rough entry for me us.  It was hard to be away from him and he came home absolutely exhausted. But within weeks he slept there, played HARD at really fun things that we don't have at home (music class and giant cars and 8 other toddlers), charmed the ladies and now runs to get there in the morning.  I vacillate from missing him and exuberant rejoicing. I run around the house like  on speed and cram in all the Need 2 Hands jobs. I eat lunch in front of the TV. I savour the quiet. And zooooom. It is time to get him. I get excited butterflies as I walk down the stairs to get him at the nursery.  It is a blissful reunion each day. He is all smiles and all arms out running towards me. For that alone -- the short time apart so we really really miss each other and are excited to be back in each other's company, it is worth it.

now we're talking

We are entering a new phase with our boy ... words. Or moreover, pointing and demanding to know what something is called.  It is darling, really, except is becoming a game show of guessing.

Lewis: pointing up,"Da???"
Mommy: Sky? Light? Birdy?

Lewis: pointing to his head "Ha"
Mommy: Hair? Head?

Lewis: pointing to the street "Ca"
Mommy: Cars?

Lewis pointing in the kitchen: "Ma"
Mommy: Mug? Water?

I just keep naming things until he smiles. I had thought it is because I named what he wanted. Now that I think about it, it is maybe just that he is finding my frantic ping ponging of naming exercise humorous.

He can name cheese (cheeeeee) cream cheese (chee cheee), chicken (kik), balloon (baaallo), ball (baaa), dog (daaa).  And anything with wheels deserves a point. Cars, buses, bikes, prams. Over and over and over. And has put together that something like water is in the vases, in the sink, in his cup and all sorts of weird places.  Pots (pa) and pans (pah) have covers (off= ooof and on = ahhh) and putting various their lids on things is enormously fun.

What is enormously fun for me is seeing his brain literally expand right in front of me.  I can see the lights of understanding go on. Wow. And we can talk!  I say things and he understands me.  I ask him to go get something and he does. Miracle.  I can tell him what we are going to do.  (Time for bed, let's go outside, let's have a snack, let's find Daddy.)  It feels respectful and collaborative now that we can *be* together in a different way.  He points to people in photos around the house and names them.  I am pleased to note he has recognised me in a picture, as well as Da and Baba (Auntie Barbara!)

I can't always guess or translate his insistent "ba!!!!!" and enthisiastic pointing but I can try.  I can listen to him and hear what is is saying behind the words. What I want him to know is that I am here and I hear him.

it is all working out perfectly

Isn't that a lovely way to think?  I have been living in a bit of a white knuckle existence lately.  Getting through the day has been enough, and no space for dreaming or believing. Instead, I have been super glued to the outcome of  *this is how it must be*.  It is a very narrow corridor to live in.

After talking to my dear pal Lex, she has inserted magically (she is sneaky) that thought into my brain ... things are working out perfectly.  Huh.  I know I, like everyone in the world, can get very attached to How Things Are. And it is scary to think about the unknown or about change.  Letting the notion that things are actually working our perfectly is so liberating.  It loosens the vice grip and drops the shoulders and lets my brain sigh with relief a bit.

I know this on some cellular level after all.  I recall a very bleak period in 2004. My job sucked, I was 36 and the love of my life moved to another country, my studio apartment of over 10 FREAKING years was closing in, and I felt very very stuck.

Ah, yes, then enter coaching, gulps, bravery, big leaps, learning, and we all know how the story unfolded. Me in the UK, married, baby, happy career, way expanded way of living and a completely different life. A good one.

I never could have seen what goodies universe had cooking up for me. I never could have dreamed this one up.  So I know (KNOW) it is an axiom that works.  It is all working out perfectly.  I just don't know how yet. I do trust that the wildest dreams are not so crazy.

I just don't have the whole board game in front of me ... but I can trust that the moves I am making, the cards we are playing are going to get us a really great outcome.  Somewhere.

And the best days can be and are ahead.

What would be different for you if you believed that too?

Try it on for fun ... see how it sits. 

ready for the miracle

Sigh.

Seems we have been here before -- a time when jobs and contracts and futures are uncertain. Continuity of income unclear.  And somehow at the 10th or 11th hour, things work out. Usually for the best. Usually pretty seamlessly.

So why does this feel different? Because we have an actual mortgage? Because we have a child? Because so much of my time, attention and dwindling energies are all but spent loving and caring for a 15 month boy and I don't have much to "do" except support and hope?

Yes.

It is time again to believe in the universal goodness that things will evolve as they should. And trust that.

An 11th hour miracle would do nicely, but how about at the nice and early 8th hour instead?

21 2011 intentions

1. drive
2. read
3. procreate
4. laugh
5. learn
6. earn
7. savour
8. love
9. parent
10. expand
11. improve
12. choose
13. write
14. relax
15. tickle
16. hug
17. cook
18. sleep
19. enjoy
20. befriend
21. intend

2010 Greatest Hits

Really?
Is it almost over?
2010 ... I hardly knew yee. Blinked twice and you are just about gone.

My year felt odd -- with lots of starts and stops and long quiet moments and blurry days that zoomed without notice.

I think know parenthood has altered my perception of time and often it gets judged by when a nap is due.

So this year felt Big. So many small and daily changes in my boy have added up into him being a real person. They are great hits indeed -- and yet I feel compelled to cough up a few that are not only about my child.  After all, my own personal year rocked in many ways.

2010 Greatest Hits

• cancer free FJF 
• Lewie giggles and kisses
• fit flops
• audiobooks
• finding my mothering feet
• smaller jeans
• longer patience
• baby friends becoming real friends
• having a work from home husband
• 12 months of Lewis growing from cute baby to lovely small person
• Cail Bruich on Great Western Road
• guideparents
• movies with wine and rhona
• employing a cleaner
• new Bosch washer and dryer
• cat burglar family
• sanity saving Saturdays off

Bring on 2011.  My aspiration list is long and my hopes big.

freeze frame-14 months minus 3 days

My boy is a boy ... no longer a baby. Whew!

Thank god for that. While it doesn't get easier, but different, I am so enjoying him at this moment in time.

• Favourite word still BA! But said in different tones along with pointed pointing to get his point across.
• Also knows Ba Ba (bye bye) -- often said along with a wave long after you are gone from the person you left, but still counts. 
• Eats lots but enjoys baby plum tomatoes, yogurt, peas and peanut butter toast more than anything.
• Made friends with the salad spinner but still wary of the hoover and the hand held blender
• Loves to stand on the window sill (with Mom holding him tight!) and look out at the world
• Almost exclusively walks with the occasional crawl when he wants to get somewhere fast
• Fascinated by wheels. Sigh. Hello gender stereo type.
• Adult used pots/pans/phones/remotes are by far best toys
• JUST started to like cuddly friends, which I LOVE
• Will give kisses - wet and sweet
• Much more hair than he had - wispy and light brown but still pretty much a baldy compared to his pals
• Blue eyes seems to be keepers -- which is a lovely gift from his paternal Gran
• Enjoys a bit of In the Night Garden on mom's lap
• Balls -- kicking/throwing/eating = all good
• Flirts shamelessly for smiles and coos with all people out in the world
• Has zillion dollar smile and gabillion dollar giggle
• Takes up almost all the real estate in his parent's bed and hearts

what I've learned in 12 months

People have been asking me how I feel about having a 1-year old. And to be honest, it never occurred to me to be anything except relieved.  And didn't it go fast? Well, only in retrospect.  The days were often an exercise in Getting Through. Nights sometimes a blur.  I felt like I was often riding the crest of managing it all only to fall into near collapse as soon as the boy had finally fallen asleep for the night.

Honestly, I found this year many things: Surreal. Testing. Surprising. Lovely. Engrossing. Frustrating. Scary. Tender. Enriching. And, well, HARD!

Maybe it is because I never ever babysat or had any experience with babies except for an occasional, quick and fearful hold of a pal's offspring.  I've never been broody.  Babies seemed nice, if foreign beings.

And my own sweet boy really was no exception. I remember going out with him in total fear that he would kick off crying and I Wouldn't. Know. How. To. Make. It. STOP.

And in fact, that did happen on occasion.  I often felt like he was an unpredictable bomb which may go off at any time.  It made me twitchy and jumpy.  Not that he was by any means a particularly fussy or troubled wee babe.  I was just a fussy and troubled mum. 

Slowly, very slowly, I started to trust myself. Started to understand what he wanted, needed and took pride that going into MY arms often made it all better.

And now. Yes, Really only now, 12 months later, do I feel a bit calmer.

More space to relax into motherhood. Relish in the sunny, clear and uncomplicated love. Soak in the loveliness of holding hands. 

And in getting to know my very sweet, smiling, curious, affectionate and heart melting boy, I am growing into the mother I want to be.

But the best thing is hearing my very favourite all time word.

Mama.

time to think

My transition from non parent to parent is still a bit clunky. After almost eleven months of sliding along the scale of Not Really Worrying At All to Complete Obsession and 200% attachment to Getting Things Right, I am feeling a bit fried.

My pal and parenting mentor Hanna told me that parenting really underscores your personal failings and your personal  abilities.  Hooo Haaa. Very right. My failings are really in bold these days.

I can spend many many hours paying attention, and playing and encouraging and keeping the boy from ovens, sockets, fireplaces, corners, toilets,  pointy things. I distract while swiftly changing a nappy on a standing, crawling and squirming boy. I even assist on  *some* of the poopy ones. (One of the many reasons I love Mark. ) I can read and cuddle and soothe and tickle. I plan the meals he will eat. And those that his parents may even enjoy too. I marvel over his chewing and drinking and feeding his small self many food items while not losing my shit that so much of it is being thrown overboard the high chair tray or at me. I nurse. I prepare the many items needed for our outings to music class, swimming, a walk in the park or a lunch date. I restock. I launder. I go up and down the stairs. I walk the hills. I monitor mood shift and eye rubbing for the near imperceptible but imperative signs that a nap is needed ... within the next 10 minutes or Never. I coo and stroke and hum and mmmmm and head rub to sleep. Sometimes up to 45 minutes. Three times a day.

It is no great surprise that on the Saturdays that I have declared "mine" I have a hard time relinquishing control of all of the above.  Mark knows how and what to do yet I watch and listen to myself snarkily reminding of naps, what happens "now" and interpreting all situations like he isn't here every day. (um, he is. He knows.)  I cringe when I hear myself. It is like those people who won't call in sick to work when they are sick because they are "too needed". Phooey.  The boy will be more than fine with his pop. He will enjoy the different style of parenting his company.

It is a bit of a racket, this motherhood trap we can get in. I want to be more than a mom/ I AM more than a mom. And yet I find it so easy to gets sucked into the very minutae of the routine of caring for a baby. It literally does my head in.

And it is also no great shakes that here on my day off, I am a bit unsure what to do with myself. Part of me cries to go OUT. On my OWN. See movies! Drink coffee in public quietly and READ!  Window shop! Paint my toes! See Friends!  Exercise! Explore! Get a hobby! SLEEP! All the things I crave when I am in full motherhood mode and my attention and psychic energies are all used up. Yet when the day gets here, I Just. Want. To. Stop. Doing. Ahhhhh. Commence staring into space and emptying head of all attention to anyone anything.

What I am learning is that I need perspective. Over and Over. I need to loosen the white knuckle grip. I need to relax. Much More. I need to practice being a different kind of parent ... the laid back kind. I need to be a mother and so much more.  I need to work on the much more part.  I need to give myself permission to get it wrong sometimes. I need to be less grumpy and more grateful. I need to trust my co-parent. I need to find a new balance between Caring and Attentive Mother and Crazy and Controlling Meanie.

And I need time to think.

pause: 10 months, 2 weeks

• 8 teeth!
• says mama, and I "know" he means me!
• crawls very fast without using knees (all hands and feet)
• stands all the time, but must hold onto something
• refuses to lie down for nappy changing. (see stands all the time)
• points at Every. Thing. And grunts crazily until you give him the object of his pointing
• starting to use a baby fork, even if only to stab blindly and wildly at the highchair and then fling it at a parent
• loves blueberries, cheese, cherries and whole plums (minus the pits, naturally) and natural yogurt
• wants to drink out of Your Cup, no matter what you have
• made friends with the exercise ball
• now scared of the salad spinner
• knows not his physical boundries and climbs atop of other babies when mingling. Not all the babies love this. 
• loves being chased around the house
• can put round peg in round hole but all other shapes make him mad
• pushes upturned laundry basket around the house as his "high tech" walker
• likes to take muslins and "clean"
• naps are a crap shoot and can last 1.5 hours or be refused entirely
• has fallen asleep at the dinner table in his high chair. twice.
• washing machine is the best show in town
• claps at most things
• waves bye bye, but about 3 minutes after you actually leave and are down the road
• Mark claims he has said monkey and woof woof, but one time only and never to be repeated
• facinated with cupboards, doors, lights
• starting to be a b-o-y not a baby!

pause: 8 months and 4 weeks and 1 day

I have been a really crap memory keeper.  I still don't have a wedding album, most of my photos from the last 10 years are boxed and/or stored various places in the world.  And I have not done ANY real record keeping of baby milestones. I was home recently and went through many of my keepsake boxes in my parent's basement.

a) wow, I wrote a LOT of notes in grade school
b) wow, I can't believe how much of my childhood stuff my parents KEPT... and moved ... and moved again.

I would very much like to be the kind of parent that has lovely scrapbooks of tickets and locks of hair and cute appropriate first photos -- all labeled and dated and official.  And I am afraid it isn't going to happen.  Not now anyway...

In theory, I am that person, but I somehow can't be arsed as it seems so tedious.  Can I blame not having a basement to store things?

Instead, maybe I can capture moments in time of what it is like for Lew in his life on this day.

8 months and 4 weeks

• loves toast, yogurt, water and cheese. (who is his mother) and vegetables (who is his father). and breastmilk (the kid has good taste)
• 3.5 teeth -- 2 bottoms and 1 front and 1/2 of the other front... fangs imminent
• crawling fast and furiously, pulling up on furniture, learning to fall gracefully on his nice padded bum instead of crashing with his head
• loves people -- smiles at all strangers and loves attention. a serious ham-bone and loves other babies -- and of course his mom and dad
• takes 2 naps a day, usually at 10ish and at 2ish. Bath at 6:30 ish and bed at 7 and sleeps with a few wake ups until about 7
• peek a boo makes him seriously CRACK up
• loves music and watching (hearing?) people sing
• not all that interested in stuffed animals, but likes balls, wheels and things he can shove in his mouth, which is actually pretty big
• First noise (not really a word) was BA - then MA MA (which is CLEARLY a word) and we get the only occasional (sorry Mark) DA.
• Is scared of the vacuum cleaner and my exercise ball
• Has been very squirmy but starting to chill out and sit nicely on a lap
• Goes to sleep listening to lullabies
• Hates hats
• And bibs
• Will not let you feed him
• Has a heart melting smile
• Likes to hold hands and lots of cuddles
• Books are OK as long as they have stuff to feel
• Makes friends everywhere he goes -- each line of each shop ...
• Leaves no corner unexplored, especially where we haven't baby proofed
• Is genuinely good company
• Has blue eyes which if they remain, will be from his paternal grandmother!
• Is currently called Lewberry or Lewbear
• Gets very busy sorting things (in his own categories unbeknownst to anyone else)
• Has very light brown hair and very fine and what looks to be his uncle g's hairline
• Shrieks inexplicably 
• Grabs glasses, pulls hair and bits of flesh
• Drools constantly
• Is adored by his parents
• Emerging to be an exciting, curious, loving, sweet, sociable boy -- just like we ordered!

sweating all the smallest stuff

I recently realized that I do approximately 2-3 loads of laundry EACH day. Now even including the MustWashAllClothesEachTimeHeWearsThem 8 month old, that is a whole more laundry than 3 people warrant.  I am obsessed.

I have made it my cottage industry to never have anything in the laundry bins.  Sheets, towels, kitchen tea towels, baby bibs, bathroom rugs ... all get such a regular rotation that my new shiny Bosch may be getting tired.  Ever since the discovery of the multi-wash setting -- it all gets thrown in as one. Often.

I have decided somewhere in my addled brain that if I KEEP UP I will Remain In Control.
Keep up with laundry. Keep up with supplies in the house.  Keep up with Facebook. And, well, that is all about I can keep up with.

Where did I get this idea?

I have a baby.

So very many things are now out of my control.  He is dictating so many of my day's outputs.
The baby nap has become the central defining core of my days.  Must. Get. Him. To. Sleep. 2 Naps. At All Costs.  I contort  to shush him and play the many many presleep games we have somehow adopted for hours, I walk endlessly in all manner of weather and mood in quiet (dare not a CAR drive by and wake the babe) parts of the park.  I wind down the baby wolverine from warp speed (MUST CLIMB MUST STAND MUST MUST...)  to mmmmmmmm, nursing ... to zzzzzzzzz.

It is freaking hard work.  And I find I get crazy annoyed if all my best efforts, well, fail. (I guess We WON'T BE NAPPING THEN!)

I am a crazy person.

I currently sleep on 2 inches of my bed while my co-sleeping child lies spread eagle and husband gets 3 inches. (Note, our summer project is Reclaim The Bed: a much hyped and no action item to do so far...)

I haven't dried my hair with an actual hair dryer in about (no lie) 5 months.

I am  woefully aware of all the dangers in our flat that we have yet to conquer -- so many edges and corners and finger snapping traps and climbable and pull able things.  I try to be vigilant that he is able to be a free range kid and also a safe one.

This means I am on my hands and knees too.

I got a (thank you Jesus) massage today and the therapist agreed that I am indeed "broken".

I need some balance. I need to chill out about the naps and the laundry. I need to be OK with more chaos. I need to stop trying to recreate what worked and pay attention to what's happening. My boy is growing and growing fast.  Nearly walking for chissake.

I can see how easy it would be to make my life's work about worrying the smallest  bits to death.  I could do nothing but keep the house tidy, laundry clean  and our 3 square meals a day hot and ready. But man what would I be missing.  And how empty would my life be at the end of it? Things will always get dirty again. Meals are gobbled up and gone.

I want to be a provider of safety and cuddles and giggles. And I want my boy to remember my smile, not my furrowed brow and busy hands.

Do I dare let the laundry pile up? What happens when I kill the control freak within? When I let go will it all crumble?   Or is that when space to sweat and recognize the big stuff comes in?

what a girl wants

I had 5 minutes recently and scribbled a list of Things I Would Like to Do To Stay Normal.

It was surprisingly short. And surprisingly simple.

1. Read books
2. Talk to Lex
3. Write in blog
4. Go out with friends for dinner alone
5. Go out with Mark alone
6. Go to movies on my own
7. Exercise class

Those are the things in my life I am not doing that I want to do.  I note that 6 of the 7 are things On My Own.  I think that is the theme.  As much as I love being a mom, I am craving silence in my head and having my attentions elsewhere.  Now he is crawling and seriously mobile, it will be even more of a challenge to keep my eyes on HIM at all times. 

My eyes need to glaze over sometimes. Or stare at a big movie screen showing an independent film as I eat some smuggled bakery. My eyes need to focus on a juicy novel for 30 or more minutes at a stretch. My eyes need to see nightlife and humanity outside of the home after 6 p.m. 

My ears need to be free of straining to hear a pip or a squeak from the baby monitor. Turning the volume down on all noise in the house. I need to be loud. I need to get out. 

My brain needs to express the big and small revelations of my life. Witness and record some happenings. I have been too lax at letting the days turn to nights over and over without stopping to be grateful or to notice. 

My body needs more than the endless pram walking I do each day.  Up hills. With a heavy load. I need to wear Lycra and sweat. 

Needing time as a couple. Needing time alone. Needing time with friends. 

Is simple.

They say children grow well when their parents grow well.  

I think it is time I do a bit of growing. 

double digits

Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of meeting my husband (well, within 2 days of) and our 4th year of marriage.

Seriously.

I can't think of many things I have done for 10 years in a row, especially cheerfully and willingly.

(I have mastered waaaaaaaaay more than 10 years of eating too many cheese sandwiches and ditto on many years of not balancing my checkbook)

But 10 years of loving the same man really feels pretty easy after it is all said and done. I think, in fact, it is weirdly getting easier.  

I pay homage to how a midwestern girl and a english boy have melded their lives together and created a new one. And also created a new person too.

I remember saying that I had never met anyone like M before and it still holds true.

He is an original. A mensch. A hard worker. An energy ball. A warm heart. A cool temper. A generous soul. And now proving to be a supreme dad.

I still feel like the cat who got the cream.

ticking my boxes

A dear friend of mine recently commented that I have "ticked the major boxes" in my life... meaning, marriage, house, child.   Tick. Tick. Tick.

Huh ...  so I have.

I had never really expected to really *do* all that.  I met my husband when I was 32 and got married at 38.  I got my name on a mortgage to our flat at 40 and I had my son when I was 42.

I lived many adult years when those dreams felt very far fledged and unattainable. I just wanted to pay off my credit card bill, have some cute shoes, a boy to date and to get out of my studio apartment.  I didn't really dare dream any bigger back then.

Through coaching, luck,  a bit of Chutzpah and nothing to lose, I found and chased my dream of more.

I feel incredibly grateful to have the life that I do ... and it was all worth not only the wait, but the dream.  So often people are afraid to dream about what they want, as if it exposes the greater ache and need for more.  They settle quietly for the things they don't really want, while trying not to notice their souls are slowly evaporating.

What I am learning is that the dream is really really important to the process.  Allowing space and time to muse on what you want is not only delicious but vital to crafting the reality.  (If you build it, they will come theory.)

So, yeah, I have ticked some central and happy boxes.
Yay Me.
Grateful Me.
My life is indeed more than I ever imagined.

And now the job is to dream of bigger boxes to tick.

and here we are emerging on a sunny day

begin again

I know it is hugely cliche and completely overstated... but spring is feeling like a miracle this year.  Maybe because the last 12 months have been a whirl of wake ups and walks and feeding and naps and soft voices and all very very inward gazing. The rest of the world ceased to really exist.  

Spending the last 3 days out in the air and sun and sky feels like a new experience.  And watching baby take in the leaves and grass and the view from a picnic blanket, well, IS a new experience. Seeing him reminds me of what's new to discover. What's crazily beautiful as a stick or a toe or a spoon.  We are both emerging -- him for the first time and me again.

And it is perfect that this week I start back not only running the workshops again for Life Clubs, but also coaching.  I do feel oddly, and inexplicably ready.  Which also feels like a miracle.  Maybe because the last 12 months have been so baby and getting ready for the new world order and new scary and very very other.  I doubted my sense of self, my brain, and my attention span would be able to coach.  Or coach effectively.

I am happy that the early reports are that it feels GOOD to work a little.  It does complete the fuller picture of who I am.  Feels right to begin again -- but now with a deeper, richer and really centered launch pad.

Who I am as a mom and who I am becoming is adding to me as a person and as a coach.  I think my heart has grown a new chamber that Lewis lives in and yet, I still have room for more.

This is good news.

I feel so grateful that I get to participate in serving others to get happy. And so I begin again with fresh eyes, delighted by the miracles of my life.

why doesn't Andy comment anymore?

Where are you Andy?  Don't you love us anymore?

no wonder he doesn't respond to "Lewis"

I am sure all parents have ridiculous names they call their babies... (right???)

For some reason I can't really call him by his actual name.

Am I scarring him by this litany of handles?

And why are so many of them food items?

And just HOW mad at me is he going to be when he is called sausage in his teen years?

• monkey
• noodle
• lou bear
• sunshine
• sausage
• saucy
• sausage patty
• peanut
• lewie loo
• loo loo
• loo loo bell (Father really disapproves of this one)
• little fella
• small fry
• baby dumpling
• sweet potato
• lamb chop

fast forward

Since the invention of DVR on TV I can't stand to watch commercials anymore. Now that you can fast forward through them, it is painful to watch Live TV and have to endure them.

I'd like you all to think of my blogging absence as skipping the commercials.

In the life of an infant, 1.5 months is very very long. Many giant leaps can happen. Motor skills develop. New sounds emerge. Clothes are outgrown.

So many things have happened in the life of Lewis that I can barely keep up.

Let me catch you up, fast forward now that he is 5 months and 3 weeks old!

• we have rolling over 
• wearing 6-9 month clothes
• getting very *handsy* with hair, glasses, straps on one's bra, other babies
• bbbbbbbb, fffffffff and high pitched terradactyl singing
• infectious giggles and smiles and silliness
• FOOD! We are starting baby led weaning a little earlier than the recommended 6 months as Lew ticks all the boxes, can sit in highchair, interested in food (ours!), can put things purposefully in his mouth.

So we bought the BIG BIBS (OK smocks) and have been letting Lew experiment at meal time. So far he has tried, avocado, banana, pear (too slippery), roasted potato, and toast! Loves it.

I am filled with odd pride when I see him tucking into toast like a proper person. It is as if suddenly, it dawns on me that he is a tiny human, not just a baby.

He was to start in nursery 2 days a week and we bailed. Too chicken and too attached and too not necessary. Revisit in September when he is a big boy of 11 months

What else has shifted is us as parents. We are starting to *get* him a bit more and we are (to borrow a phrase from my pal Rhona) both in love with the same little person. It is like the perfect complete shared and engrossing hobby that you are both crazy about.

And that's nothing to fast forward. I really want to just pause.

What Mothers Do, Especially When it Looks Like Nothing:

I started reading this book when the title grabbed me on amazon.

And from the get go, it named so many of my bleary, unformed thoughts. The first book I have come across that doesn't give tips or advice but instead gives quiet affirmation to the millions of tiny things mothers of infants do...

... like being constantly interruptable, or giving the deep comfort a newborn craves, the extreme seriousness of having a giant new responsibility and no training or having zero patience for your partner.

It also speaks to the confusion, anxiety and exhaustion new moms endure.

It gives us new mothers a more realistic perspective calmed me right on down.

Excellent bedtime reading to help sanity with a nice dose of empathy.