second guessing

Yesterday Mitch gave a talk at Michigan State and I went with him. While he was at the university I spent all kinds of money at Urban Outfitters and then walked around looking at things. Michigan State was one of the schools that made Mitch an offer at the end of his PhD, but we decided on Rochester instead.

As I was walking around this time I was struck with an overwhelming and profound feeling that we made a mistake; that we should have moved to East Lansing instead of upstate NY. Mitch's parents are an hour and a half from there and would that have saved me? The house that we looked at to buy and loved was one block off campus and the kids and I would have had all of campus as our playground. We could have walked to the little college shopping strip and could have gone to Mitch's parents' when things got overwhelming. I cried and cried, and then cried more when Mitch was done and I told him my thoughts. I cried for my deep sadness in Rochester that first year; I cried for the whole year of Frances's toddlerdom I feel I missed. I cried that she didn't have me that year, and that she didn't have a grandparent or her old sitter Carol, didn't have someone who loved her then like I couldn't. 

The truth is, of course, I have no idea if it would have been better. It could have been worse; who knows. And it doesn't matter, because Rochester is where we went, Rochester is where I am now, where my life is now, where I am now happy living. It's kind of a silly exercise, thinking about what it would have been like to have made a different choice. I just didn't know. I didn't know how to make the choice at the time. I was pregnant with Clark then and scared to death, and I didn't know how much help I would need. We knew being closer to his parents would help, but I didn't realize I would need it so badly. I've got to forgive myself for it: for being depressed, for not being present for Frances then.

Besides, I wouldn't have had Wegmans. I'd have had to cook! Oh my. 

babies abound

I have four friends with new babies. Four baby girls, soft and snuggly and warm, now smiling and cooing, though not fully holding their heads up yet. All of them born within four weeks of each other. Oh they are sweet. Which has of course got me thinking about having another.

And it's a funny thing. With Frances nearly 4 (in September) and Clark now two plus a couple of months, it occurs to me that I could actually have another without losing my mind. Not that I want to. But before, (and this is why we decided to stop at two) I thought that my struggles with having an infant were particular to the infantness, that I was just one of those people not cut out for it. (And maybe I'm not remembering just what that particular struggle feels like. Possible.) But it strikes me now that my depression had more to do with the move than anything else. Now that we're settled finally (finally! It took me two full years to feel like I belong in this house and town and I still don't have anything hanging on the walls, a stack of frames in the corner of the living room) I believe it wouldn't be as taxing as I thought to add a baby to the mix.

I was depressed with the first one, but that's not surprising. The first baby is so hard because it's such a shock, such a complete change of your life, and it happens overnight. The second for me was hard because Frances was only 17 months and a baby herself, but I think I would have handled it with much more grace had we not moved two months after Clark was born. That wasn't the plan: we had in fact planned for the baby to be born after we'd been here several months, but it didn't work out that way. The stress of two babies close together is a lot, but the move--the emotional energy you have to expend when you don't know how to get to the grocery, or your way around once inside, when you don't already have your go-to spots for coffee or pizza or takeout or a good walk, or friends. No wonder I had such a hard time with the babies. If Mitch hadn't been working 14 hour days, perhaps he could have helped me figure out some of these things, or at least held the baby while I did.

I feel like Frances was the one who suffered for it. I think back on it and feel so sad for her--I just had no patience then for a toddler. But I've got to let it go. I feel now like we are mending, Frances and I. In general she is entering a much more comfortable place. She feels everything so strongly, with such passion, and when I was struggling just to make it through a day (lonely, baby-up-at-night unrested, anxious about newness of the town, depressed), her overwrought sensibilities just undid me. They seemed so excessive (and, frankly, intrusive) and for a long time I was irritated with and maybe resentful of her.

We're healing because I'm healing, because I'm happier; because she's getting older and can control herself more (most of the time, anyway); and also, interestingly, because she copies Clark. He is different from her: so affectionate and open (as, I hear, boys tend to be). Now, instead of a disinterested "hi" when she's with a sitter and I come home, she does what Clark does and hollers Mommy!, runs and hurls herself at me, arms around my legs. In general I kiss her more, she snuggles more. It's good for us.

So maybe now I could handle a baby. Still, I don't want one, am happy with the decision we've made to stop at two. When I hold one of those new baby girls--adorable as they are--so many things return that I've forgotten: the smell of spit up, cradle cap, diaper rash, milk spots on your shirt, all the other stuff that vanishes so quickly from your brain. I tend not to hold her for long, except when she's sleeping. Then she's a lovely warm hot water bottle.

party recap

The party was oh so much fun. We had balloons and streamers and cupcakes and presents . . . Frances says her favorite thing was the singing. When everyone started she stood completely still and got this stony look on her face, the same one she always has when she's really enjoying something and concentrating hard. She used to look like that on the carousel and at first I thought she wasn't having any fun. It took me awhile to realize that blank look meant MUCH enjoyment.

I toyed with the idea of requesting no presents since we have so much already, but in the end I decided that presents were part of the birthday party experience and I didn't say anything. Now I'm glad for the presents--so many of them are things I never would have thought of and are certainly more developmentally appropriate than her old toys. And, of course, she's so completely excited about them. My favorite gift was from a neighbor--a plastic tub of handmedown Fisher Price Little People that had been her daughter's. When my neighbor said a couple of weeks ago that Frances needs some Little People, her daughter piped up and offered her old ones. I suggested they give them for her birthday--and I love that they are handmedowns. Why do we need new ones? And they came already contained in a tupperware tub! I think it might be Frances's favorite too. She opens the tub and dumps the whole thing on the floor and then spends all kinds of time placing people in the school bus and driving around the family room.


Oh, and I feel like I have friends. Relief! The party helped. I have in fact made one new friend whom I like a good bit so far--her daughter is in Frances's preschool class. When Frances first started going I asked her if there were any kids in the class she played with. She said yes, and that the girl's name was "Apple." Hm. I asked the teacher and it turns out that F plays a lot with this one little girl named Sophia in the little kitchen with the bucket of apples. So Sophia and her mom have come over once and we've gone to the toy library together (why doesn't every town have one of these??) and we're going to their house later this week. Hallelujah!

But you know, even when you have people to hang out with (as I THANKFULLY do here in our neighborhood), it takes so long to really get to know folks. It takes a long time to become close, to develop real friendships. In the meantime, even with people around (which--don't get me wrong--is really really helpful), it's lonely. I miss my close friends. I miss having them come over with their kids to play. I miss going for walks with them. The counselor I'm seeing (finally!) suggested that my crazy anxiety about the health club is not due to my not knowing anyone and being all alone there (which I am), but to my family's aloneness there. That no one knows us or really cares about us as a unit. That folks I don't know are caring for my children; we're just some random people--could be anyone. And the anxiety is the pressure of feeling I have to protect my children all by myself, only me. Forces from the outside and all that. It makes sense to me. And this is why our house and yard is my safe place these days. It's expanded now to a stretch of about 5 houses down our street. We walk that stretch w/ our babydoll in a stroller nearly every day, Clark on my back.

It's fall full on now. Trees orange, leaves falling, jackets and sometimes scarves but not yet hats. It came on a little too soon for me, but it is lovely. Bright sunny today. When F gets up from her nap we'll have to take her baby out for a walk.

recharging

I don't possibly have time for a full post because I've just come back from a meeting of "Mothers and More"--a mothers group here in Rochester--(note that I'm getting out and meeting people!) and I want to lounge and read the Marilyn article in Vanity Fair before bed (also trying to have some down time to myself!). But I wanted to post quickly and say that we went to Michigan last weekend to visit my in-laws and it was so wonderful... It was a real vacation, Mitch not working, his folks around to help w/ the kids, great weather, sitting on the veranda and watching the ripples on the lake, dozing on the hammock. The second day we were there I was completely exhausted, like I was hungover or hadn't slept in two days, and I think it was simply from finally relaxing. I didn't realize how long it had been since I relaxed. No wonder I've been having panic attacks. When you have to be on alert for extended periods of time it probably just builds up and builds up until it erupts in misguided and random anxiety. It all makes me think that perhaps my ppd counselor in Durham was right when he insisted (well, suggested strongly) that my anxiety was due to my not taking breaks, not giving myself down time, not recharging. I put a lot of pressure on myself.

When we left I was emotional. Frances kissed us each and was clearly unconcerned that we were leaving; she wanted Grandpa to come with her to the swing. As we pulled away she was already swinging back and forth and as I watched her there was an awful pain in my stomach, a kind of ache that made me feel a little sick. I think it was mama-bear stuff, some kind of primal instinct to keep her near me, like being in being away from her I wouldn't be able to keep her safe.

We're home now, and we left Frances there for the week. It's just Clark here with me during the day and let me tell you it is quiet. I can't get over how quiet. (and again I think: "what did I think was so hard about this when F was a baby??") I'm trying to get the house organized. That's my job this week. When we first moved we unpacked all (most) of the boxes but we put everything away w/out really organizing it. It's been making me crazy, the lack of organization. I mean, if this house is going to be my island, and it looks like it is, it's got to be a settled island, not like some tornado came through and uprooted all the trees. If I'm going to recharge here I need it to be a place of calm, or at least a place that could be considered calm when children are asleep.

And, despite my intentions, this looks like a full post. But I've got so much more to say! Hopefully soon--

american clutter

There are days when I want to get rid of 80% of the stuff I own. I go through this purging process, weeding out--trash, goodwill, yardsale, ebay--but I feel like I only actually rid myself of about 5%. It's especially bad recently and has brought on a new level of anxiety. I don't know if that's because of the opening of boxes and the realization of how much we actually have, or if it's b/c I haven't gotten everything organized so there's not yet a place for everything. It makes straightening up difficult, and I find when I'm done there are all these little piles of things that don't have a place to go. I wonder, if I just swept them up and dumped them in the trash, if I would miss any of it.

Then sometimes I accept that this issue w/ stuff is an ailment particular to my station in life: I am american, I am middle class, I have kids. The last has certainly changed my relationship w/ clutter. Before kids there was less, certainly, and I also had more time to manage it. I haven't yet figured out how to quell the onslaught of toys that enters this house. Sometimes I want to give away half of them and suspect my daughter wouldn't notice, and the rest of the time I just contend with it and wait for the day when the kids have outgrown them and I can pass them on. This goes for kids clothes too, but they seem to be more manageable as they fold and pack away. My clothes are another issue that I do not know how to address. I have pre-pregnancy clothes, maternity clothes, transition clothes. It makes me tired.

Will I one day have the strength to get rid of the vast vast majority of it and live a simpler life? I hope so. But, honestly, it's doubtful. I'm trying to lean into the reality of my life, give in to the tide and relax. Maybe the answer is to not let it get me so anxious.

I own a mini van

I've joined the ranks! And I'm pretty excited about it all, though this morning after the sitter and I loaded the car with both kids and the dog (he had a hair appt) we discovered that the battery was dead. I have 14 miles on this car and the battery was dead. AAA came and fixed us up of course. I don't think it diminished my overall joy about the purchase.

F has decided she likes her sitter. They play Ring Around the Rosy together and since that began F now is excited for J to come. They include her dolly, holding the doll's hands, and when "we all fall down," Frances flings the baby to the floor and says, "Uh oh baby." She also carries around 4 or 5 of Clark's pacis and tries to force them into his mouth. She doesn't understand how anyone could not want a paci, but her brother does not. To demonstrate this for her I put them in his mouth one by one and he spits them out. Generally we only have to do this once a day, then we move on.

I still haven't found my camera which is making me nuts, but I do have a few pictures my cousin D took at the beach. I'm going to include them here. And then, when I'm done with this post, I'm going to go look again in the few unemptied boxes.

Things here in NY are not nearly as hard or dire as I had feared they'd be with the move. (Though having to deal w/ DMV a couple of days ago made me think I would slit my wrists). I got F enrolled in the very last spot in preschool starting in the fall--2 half days/week. I want to sign up for a "music together" class for us on another morning. Clark is the sweetest baby ever on earth which is not only wonderful in of itself, but also because I can't spend that much direct attention on him with F charging around shouting "Elmo World! Elmo World!" (my dad calls her the blond tornado). I'm so so fortunate that I'm able to use sitters a good bit while trying to organize this huge house. I miss our little one. Seriously. M is really stressed trying to finish his dissertation so we've scheduled sitters 4 eves/week to be here 4:30-7:30 to help me get F fed and in bed. Mitch comes home around 9, so he doesn't see her much right now, but it's got to be done. Will only be for 4 or 6 weeks. I like the company of the sitters and having the help in the arsenic hour keeps me sane.

And the weather here is amazing.

obsessing

I'm obsessing. Right now I'm obsessing about the neighborhood we've moved into--wondering if we made the wrong choice. I don't actually think we did, but I'm not fully comfortable here yet and it's probably just my loneliness and feeling displaced. It's so white collar here! Every lawn is completely pristine and manicured and I've realized this is not just because everyone is concerned with appearances and spends enormous amounts of energy mowing; it's because everyone spends enormous amounts of money contracting somebody else to do their mowing. Since there's no traffic (our street is only one long block--doesn't go through to anywhere), the noise during the day is the riding mowers and weed wackers and blowers at one house or another. (At least there are no gun shots.) The only other noise comes from screeching kids in back yard pools. How did I end up here? The safety I feel is a great relief. I can leave my door open when I go to the neighbor's. I don't assess every person walking down the street. I leave kids toys in the front without worrying they will disappear. If I leave a sleeping child in the car while I lug in the groceries I don't worry she'll be stolen. The guard I can let down is a cool breeze.

This feeling of awkwardness about the white collarness has something to do with my idea of myself. I don't think I yet think of myself as grown up, and this neighborhood is certainly full of grownups. How do I make friends with them? Do I want to make friends with them? Who are they anyway?

But then, I've met neighbors already, and I like them. Four (four!) of the houses just across the street from us have little kids which will be wonderful for my kids and for me too, won't it? I hope so. I believe so, but then my doubt creeps in and I'm obsessing again. When I told M that the neighborhood felt so white collar he said, "that's what you are." Which is true I suppose.

But this idea of grownupness is all wrong anyway. I am myself, not a grownup or a child, but just me. And my theories about the other folks in this neighborhood are just that--my theories. They are not their projections of themselves, as I don't know them yet. It's all my doing, these labels and judgments. (and what do I think it means to be a grownup anyway?)

Also, I think I've opened all the boxes and I still can't find my camera.

word explosion

Frances is talking now--seriously talking. She's been saying words for ages but suddenly she says all the words, repeats everything everyone says, walks around practicing. It's like a word explosion. It's really cool. The words she's saying are more and more complicated, and she loves 3 syllables. Tonight at dinner she said "ap-pul-sas" over and over. On the way to the Target this afternoon from the back seat Frances would let out a little shriek and then say "outside" because it's an outside voice, as we say around here. And then she'd do it again. Shriek. "Outside." Mitch and I covered our mouths to keep her from hearing us laugh.

Sometimes I wonder if I should have had kids so close together. I do adore the boy, and that's a good thing, because if he were a difficult baby I would wonder this more often. But Frances is having a hard time adjusting... She asks for her sitter in NC every day and every day I have to say, "no, honey. She's far away. She's in North Carolina and we can't see her." And then she asks again. Today she woke up from her nap all a mess, crying in her bed asking for milk and juice. She wouldn't eat lunch which she hadn't had before the nap because she's been going down early these days, and she just couldn't get it together. Wanted to go outside, then wanted the TV, then wanted Dad, then her paci fell out of her mouth because she was crying so much, and she cried about that. I want to help her. I want to help her adjust, but I've got the baby on my boob and sometimes I just can't do anything. M says it helps her learn about what the world's really like, but it just breaks my heart. I get so dejected that I just sit and hold the baby and do nothing--let her carry on and get more and more wound up. Finally today M had to stop working upstairs and come down to jolly her out of her mood, which he did quite well.

She's all off her schedule. She wakes early and wants to take her nap early, but then she's a wreck in the middle of the afternoon. I've been trying to keep her up to push her nap back to its normal time. Yesterday she fell asleep on the living room floor at 10am and slept for an hour. Tomorrow the new sitter is coming and I don't know about her... I'll have to write about that next time. Finding a sitter/nanny for her is harder on me than I thought it would be. Will see how this goes.

moved!

I wanted to post a picture here of F on the front steps of the new house but in all this mess I can't find my camera. I can't find a lot of things in the boxes and boxes we have left to open, and in the general clutter that is the just-moved house. It took us ages to find the house phone but now we've got that in place. I have so much I can say here that I don't know exactly what to cover.....

The movers came Friday morning w/ their boxes and fresh can-do attitude (which wilted a bit later in the day), and it was a kind of hurricane watching them get everything we own packed up and onto a truck by 6pm. As is always the case, the move made clear that we have WAY too much stuff things crap. I don't know what it all is. I don't know. Do we need this stuff? It seems to accumulate of its own accord, without my knowledge or will. And now what we have is boxes full of crap, boxes stacked around the house, plus a thin layer of debris made up of pens and toy parts and extension cords and wire hangers and papers that need to be filed or maybe just tossed.

The morning we flew out I went to the house to finish cleaning up and before I left I walked through each room touching the walls and crying deep jagged sobs. But here I am better most of the time. Here I am trying to focus on the positive things, as Mitch tells me to do. There are lots of fun things about the house. We have a laundry chute! Sidewalks! A driveway! A driveway that ends in an actual garage! More than one bathroom! Oh the fun.

More to come. Gotta go feed the babe.

sentimental

Well, it's the last night in our sweet little house. I'm getting ready take my last bath here in this space. Tomorrow folks will come and pack everything up and then the next thing will begin. It's still amazing to me how mushy is my brain.

life is a tale

It's half way through the month and I've only posted once so I feel like I'm due, but I also don't feel like I have much to say. I've been struck lately by the blues, which makes writing undesirable (as well as doing much else) and I don't want to elaborate on my emotional state here because that would be useless and boring to read. These blues come and go... I fixated for a bit on Clark's birth and all that went wrong (only some of which I noted in his birth story post) and then wrote my doula several blaming emails. After a somewhat heated exchange we came to an amiable stopping point and now I'm more at peace with that. But the move is looming.

Here's the rub: Although I am my individual self, I am also a product of 20th and 21st century america, and here in middle class america this is the way life goes. We take jobs, we move, we adjust. We allow the new employer to pay for movers to pack up all the stuff we accumulate to keep us afloat, we drive across the country, we unpack, we live similar lives in a different climate. We move away from family, we move closer to family, we drive and fly to visit the family and friends we've left, we email and telephone and skype and blog, and our relationships grow and change. What we are doing by moving is nothing more than living our life, this life that I agreed to, this very one that I will look back on years from now laid out like a story in a book. In any case, thinking about it like that helps me panic less.

this place

I'm rather tired of hearing gunshots in the neighborhood at night. Every time it happens I feel this exhaustion and defeat come over me. I'm hesitant to write this here because I don't want to give Durham more of a bad name than it already has; it deserves some of its reputation, but not all. Folks in Raleigh and Chapel Hill are scared to even drive through town, which is ridiculous. But there it is: gunshots. Although I don't feel any threat to my personal safety here, one does have to stay alert in general, and that's so tiring. It will be nice to live somewhere clean and safe. Sometimes it strikes me as comic that I live where gunshots are commonplace. Some people live all their lives hearing gunshots nearby but not by choice, and I'm not generally familiar with those places.

thank goodness

Did I say yet we sold our house? In one day one day one day! And for asking price!!!! I'm so tired. I can't write too much about it right now except to say thank goodness. I was curious (and somewhat panicked) as to how I was going to get both kids ready and out the door with an hour's notice, plus the house picked up, plus nursing and naps etc etc. Oh thank goodness. We closed on the house in Rochester last week so for the moment we have 2 mortgages, but that should be remedied by the end of April. Then we'll rent back from the buyer until the end of May when we actually move.

I'm excited about the move. I think we'll really like it there. :)

sugar sugar

All I want to eat is sugar. And baked goods containing sugar. And chocolate. (I also drink about a 1/2 gallon of milk/day these days, which seems absurd to me.) Today it took seriously all of my will power not to buy a box of HoHos at the grocery. One might think that it's not a big deal if I eat a box of HoHos; I am pregnant after all, and shouldn't I be allowed to indulge? There are actually several reasons I shouldn't eat this stuff (besides its being disgusting...), one of which is that both chocolate and artificial crap ingredients give me migraines. On the one hand, my migraines have been considerably reduced here in pregnancy, so the chances of its causing one are slim. But in addition to a possible debilitating headache, the sugar causes all kinds of general havoc in my body and brain. Tonight when my husband spied chocolate sauce on my vanilla ice cream he frowned at me; he doesn't understand failure of willpower. It all seems quite simple to him—something is problematic; don't do it.

Perhaps this is connected in some way to my lack of patience yesterday. It wasn't just with F; it was also the jar I couldn't open because of my sad swollen hands, the dog's non-stop barking, etc. At one point I heard myself scream at the top of my lungs for the dog to SHUT UP. Then I felt really silly. I don't know if I mean screaming at the dog is connected to a lack of willpower or eating too much sugar. F just looked at me like everything was perfectly normal.

I wish I knew what causes my patience to give out somedays and to stay perfectly intact other days. Of course, this would probably require me to UNDERSTAND what it is I'm feeling when I feel it. Yesterday afternoon (sometime after screaming at the dog) I smelled a twinge of anxiety about the house in NY, about the move, about the changes coming with the coming babe. Sometimes there's excitement, sometimes anxiety. Perhaps if I knew what I was feeling it wouldn't have to well up and take me unaware.

Just after coming back from Rochester I was only excited about the move, and definitely less anxious about the winter there, having seen it first hand. Now that we've got a house and I've seen it and the neighborhood, my work is to picture myself there—pushing the stroller down the street, meeting neighbors as I go, driving to the grocery; living my life. I'm going to visualize this, visualize myself happy there, comfortable, satisfied. Visualize what I want to have made real.

I'm going to go eat some cereal.

Dilemma

So Mitch and I have narrowed things to Rochester, NY, and Rotterdam, Netherlands. It's a funny decision to have to make: the experience of living in Europe would be great great great, but Rochester is offering so much more money. It's one of those times when one's values are truly put to test, and I don't think we actually have to test them very often. I'm quite intimidated by moving abroad with children so little. If we'd already had the baby maybe I could better judge what would be difficult about it, but as it is, I just don't know how having two is going to be. The other night when we were getting in bed, Mitch said, "If someone said to you that you could either spend 4 (for example) great years in the Netherlands, a really great experience that you'll treasure, or we'll hand you a quarter of a million dollars, which would you pick?" And that is truly the dilemma. It's an interesting dilemma to have.

I've been polling people in general (M and I joke that we'll just poll x number of people and go with the highest vote) and it's very helpful to hear what folks have to say for either side. It's pretty funny that the one person who has actually moved overseas recently with a small child said "without question, go to Rochester." Certainly with that money we could travel, and possibly live abroad later during a sabbatical if we wanted. I think it's all about knowing myself and what's important to me. How much do I value money? I'm not sure. Of course, it's not only the money... it's the stress it lifts and the quality of life it provides. Money doesn't make you happy, but it sure makes life easier.