On [Not] Keeping Score

Not too long ago, I had this really bad habit of keeping score. Here's what I mean. In my head I kept a running list of all the stressful events that had occurred in my life over the past five years or so. It was a breathtaking list, too, that involved moving out of state twice, dealing with a major death in the family, buying a house and undergoing therapy for nerve pain. Anytime anyone asked about my life or my stress level, they got a full rundown of the list. In detail.

Surely no one else had endured so much stress in such a small space of time. It was almost like a competition: look how crazy my life is! Or maybe, I hesitate to admit, it was a plea for sympathy or attention.

I used the list to justify bad attitudes and reactions to stress. I used it to assure myself that I was doing ok...under the circumstances. I used it as a cosmic scorecard. Ok, I've had my fill of stress now. Time for a break. 

Then I miscarried. I started to add the event to the list. And then, I started thinking: Why am I even keeping this list? 

Why don't I have a corresponding list in my head of great memories I've made over the past 5 years?

Why don't I tell people about all the cute stuff William has said and done?

Why can't I remember half the cute stuff he's said and done??

Why am I always complaining and painting a tragic picture of my life?

See, right after the miscarriage, I had a dream. One of those realistic dreams that wake you up from sleep. In this dream, I was wearing my wedding dress at some kind of event. Calvin was in a suit. And we were spinning across the floor, dancing and laughing. Carefree. Obviously deeply in love.

I was watching myself from the sidelines. Watching that young woman I was with the glowing eyes and beaming smile. She looked at me as she whirled by, so young, so beautiful. She said something to me as she passed. I'm not sure what it was. But I think it may have been, "Look at what you have."

So I did. And I discovered something. I have so much. Not just food on the table or cars in the driveway. I have the love of my life right here with me. I have a wonderful child with this man. I have a heart that's full of love and peace. Enduring a parade of stressful situations has been worth every minute I get to spend with these people I adore. I have no reason to keep score.

So I'm throwing away the scorecard. No more complaining. No more dwelling on the past. I need room in my head for all the great memories we're making.  

Transformed

Wow, what a month. My brother arrived, and life suddenly took on a whirlwind rush. Bedtime came after 11 p.m. almost every night, and then I got up early every morning to feed William breakfast. During all this, I started writing on another website for a client, and William started cutting his last four teeth--morphing from a happy, lovable little Jekyll to a monstrous, destructive Hyde. Good times, good times.

At least I have some comfort. I started reading a terrific book called The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel. It's a book that investigates the validity of the biblical New Testament through interviews with top New Testament scholars and other experts. Some of the insights are simply profound and have encouraged my faith in a big way. I think all Christians and skeptics should read it.

I also have more inner peace than usual. Not long ago, I wrote a devotional that spoke of the Bible's description of the secular world. The Bible points out five basic characteristics of the world: (1) lust and pride, (2) immorality, (3) materialism, (4) division, envy and strife, and (5) a lack of compassion. That got me thinking about lust. Lust has been one of my biggest problems for years. Whenever I wanted to escape reality, I'd just fantasize about having an encounter with someone--who was not usually my husband. I felt guilty about it, but it was easy for a long time to just write it off as harmless imagination.

But it wasn't harmless. It was dishonoring my marriage. It was tempting me to cheat on my husband. It was making me feel anxious and on edge. However, after I wrote that devotional, something clicked inside of me. I suddenly didn't want to fantasize about other people anymore. Whenever my thoughts began to stray in the wrong direction, I stopped them. My love for my husband began to deepen further, and my anxiety vanished. I decided that my desire should be for my husband only. After all, isn't that what is marriage about?

There are other things I'm meditating on as well. Materialism. Lack of compassion. Is that really me? I spend a lot of time thinking about things I want or might eventually have when I already have so much and give very little of it away.

The Bible says, "Do not conform to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Not transformed by a simple repeat-after-me prayer. Not transformed by a song and dance. Not transformed by wearing the "right" clothes, saying the "right" things or shouting "Amen!" every other breath. Transformed by thinking differently about the world. Wow. How often does that come up in church?    

Revelations

Two days ago, my husband and I celebrated our 4th wedding anniversary. I use the term "celebrated" loosely because not only did we stay home, we also spent half the day cleaning the house. My brother's family is in the process of relocating to Ft. Meade, Maryland, so that means they're staying with us in Virginia until they can find an apartment up there. Since they arrived last night--about three days earlier than originally planned--that meant cleaning could not be put off. Plus, we were unable to find a babysitter for our son, and he's still several years too young to do certain things--like sit through a three-hour Harry Potter film at the theater.

But our anniversary was nice in another way. My husband had taken leave from work, so we got to spend the day together. And after we went to bed that night, we stayed up late just talking. It was then that I discovered just why I married my husband.

You see, when I was younger, I never thought I'd find someone like me. I was always the outsider--the kid who wanted to belong but never quite did. My childhood "friends" were often quick to turn on me, take advantage of me, talk behind my back, or leave me out of the juiciest discussions. They repulsed my intellect, calling me "goody two shoes" and "teacher's pet," often to my face. It didn't help that my mom actually taught at my school for a while. Looking back now, it's a wonder I didn't grow up to absolutely hate people.

My husband had an identical experience. If he was teased as much as I was, he hasn't said. But the similarities are striking: on the fringe of every group, only one or two close friends, related better to adults than his peer group, etc. When we found each other, we were lonely and looking for something different--someone who understood us. I was still painfully awkward then, but at least he was able to see past that, unlike so many others. Does he understand me completely? No, and he'll admit it anytime. However, I think what pulls us together is what we see in each other that's so similar to what we each see in ourselves. Call it a crutch. We'll happily hobble along together a little while longer.

Thanks for reading.

A Woman's Worth (Bible Style)

*I originally wrote this as a note on my Facebook page. Thought I would share it here as well.

These days, it seems people are critical of religion in general and of the Bible in particular. Many argue that God, if He indeed exists, cannot possibly be a moral entity because of certain things that were or are permitted in Christianity. One of these things is the subjugation of women. In Biblical times, women were treated almost as property, only allowed to marry and travel with a man's permission. Women were also excluded from priesthood, barred from receiving a formal education from temple rabbis, and forbidden to speak publicly during religious meetings. Today, many religious fundamentalists use scripture as an excuse to degrade women, excluding them from ministry and relegating them only to certain roles in society. Therefore, some reason, it would be better for women if such religion disappeared altogether.

But is the way secular society views and treats women any better?

I recently watched a roast of a famous actor on Comedy Central. (For those of you over 50, a "roast" is a stand-up comedy act that mercilessly mocks the guest of honor.) One of the comedians on the roast panel was Pamela Anderson, an actress made famous by Playboy Magazine and the show Baywatch. It's no secret that Ms. Anderson's career has been entirely built on her sex appeal. She was cast in Baywatch not because of skillful acting, but because of her voluptuous body. And the other comedians on the roast panel were quick to point this out. Repeatedly. While the men leered at her hungrily and made numerous sexual innuendos, they insulted the quality of her character and decisions, portraying her as a loose woman with no standards and no value beyond her looks. What's sad is that even as some of these "jokes" obviously stung her, Ms. Anderson continued to play right along, keeping up the stereotype. After all, society has told her this is the only way women like her will be successful.

The same is true for thousands of others. Models starve themselves to be on the covers of magazines, because normal-sized women aren't allowed in advertising. Actresses who gain more than a pound end up with their "shocking weight gain" photos plastered inside tabloids. Entire magazine issues are devoted to discussing who has the best bikini body and how every other woman can get one, too. Physical beauty is constantly praised in advertisement, while true intellect and integrity go almost completely unmentioned.

The only other option for gaining respect in a secular society is for women to have careers. It's no longer enough for women to raise successful families or to serve their husbands, or even to work as secretaries and librarians. These days, women are expected to make significant contributions to the workforce, even if that means delegating familial responsibilities to outsiders. Women who choose to be stay-at-home mothers or who work in "soft," "low-level" jobs are often seen as failing to reach their full potential.

So how is the Biblical view of women better?

Through the Bible, God shows us that woman are unique, possessing great power and influence, and having value far beyond looks or aspirations. The best example can be found in Proverbs 31, a chapter that celebrates the value of a good woman:

A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies. Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value. She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.

The Bible says a noble woman "works with eager hands," "provides food for her family," "watches over the affairs of her household," is strong, compassionate and generous, wise, and dignified. No voluptuous curves or pouty lips here. The woman described in Proverbs 31 is a skilled and efficient manager, a bold and confident decision-maker, an intelligent strategist, a shrewd businesswoman, and a great philanthropist.

What about the Biblical subjugation of women? Well, it's true that the Bible teaches women to "submit to your husbands...in everything" (Ephesians 5:22-24). But in the same breath it commands men to "love your wives just as Christ loved the church" (verses 25-33). How much did Christ love the church?

1. He laid down his life to redeem it.

2. He provided healing, instruction, and guidance for it.

3. He became an advocate for it (1 John 2:1).

4. He promised to provide for it and reward it.

5. He promised to protect it (Matthew 16:18).

Women may have been forbidden to speak in church or receive formal education from rabbis, but husbands were expected to answer their wives' questions regarding religious matters at home (1 Corinthians 14:35). They were not to be kept in ignorance. Even Jesus taught women (Luke 10:38-42). The Bible also commands men to not be harsh with their wives (Colossians 3:19). And 1 Corinthians 13 provides further details on love:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

So while women may be required to love, respect, and submit to their husbands, men are expected in turn to guide, protect, educate, heal, reward, forgive, provide for, sacrifice for and exercise patience toward their wives--hardly the one-way street many perceive it to be. Men who abuse their God-given leadership to oppress and mistreat women will no doubt face harsh judgment.

The Bible also illustrates the power that women possess. Sin entered the world through a woman. So did Christ. A noble woman brings honor to her husband and household, while a nagging one makes life unbearable (Proverbs 21:9, 19). Wealthy women financially supported the ministry of Christ. A woman prepared Jesus for his death and burial (Matthew 26:6-13). Women were the first to discover Jesus' resurrection and spread the word to his disciples. Many people became Christians through the testimony of women in the Bible (John 4:39). Two entire books in the Bible, Ruth and Esther, are dedicated to honoring the lives of noble, courageous women. Though it may seem that a few scriptures in the Bible seek to oppress or limit women, the truth is that the Bible recognizes and celebrates a woman's unique talents, contributions, and internal value far more than our secular society does today.

If you are a woman, know that you have significant value and awesome worth in the eyes of God far beyond physical beauty or a prestigious title. What you do matters greatly, even if it's cooking meals for your husband, raising children full-time, or volunteering at a local shelter. As women, we have many gifts to give.

Thanks for reading!

Navy Blues

This week, I'm hating the Navy. Normally, I'm fine with military life. It's been pretty good to us. When my husband and I married over three years ago, we pretty much had nothing to our names. Now we have a house, two new cars (one paid in full), a high-def television and furniture. But the Navy has been ticking me off lately and adding to my stress.

First of all, they can't handle a simple task like filing paperwork unless a generous amount of kissing up is involved. Back in early November, my husband applied for reenlistment, which comes with a pretty hefty bonus that will pay off our other car and rebuild our savings account. Well, the reenlistment office lost his paperwork. Twice. And then when my husband went to request his medical records to submit with his reenlistment package, he was told the records were lost. It took a week to find them. In the middle of all that, the guy in charge of reenlistment went on vacation for two weeks. Then when the paperwork finally went through, the office lost the approval notice and had to file a request for another one to be rushed in. When my husband asked about his reenlistment status last week, he was told that it should go through IN APRIL! Other sailors on the same ship have reenlisted and received their bonuses, start to finish, within a month.

So now that the holidays are over and we won't be seeing the bonus money for a while, we're managing our finances pretty tightly so we can pay off some bills and save some money. Except my husband's coworkers have some very sticky fingers and keep taking my husband's stuff, which has to be replaced. At first it was little things, like pens and thermoses. But last month it was my husband's virtually brand-new Navy parka that he had bought to keep from freezing to death on his mile-long walk from the parking lot to the ship. (As far as military clothing goes, it's about the most expensive item on the rack.) This week, it was the nice pair of boots he bought six months ago that should have lasted for another year. He actually had to get off of duty yesterday to go buy another pair. My husband receives a $300 clothing allowance about twice a year--which hardly begins to cover everything he's required to have--and the two items recently stolen from him are already in excess of that. You'd think that with morale being a concern on his ship right now that the people in charge would do more to discourage and punish theft, but it seems they couldn't care less. In fact, they recently had all the sailors in my husband's division give up half their assigned lockers so the lockers could be available for another use. So now these sailors don't have a secure place to store even half their stuff.

And then it gets worse: some first class petty officer thinks he should get special treatment because of his rank, so he demands the best duty shifts, which gets my husband (a second class) assigned to the worst shifts. The chiefs in charge often don't assign work until after lunch, making everyone stay late to get the work done, then scream at the sailors for being lazy and incompetent. The insanity just goes on and on, and I'm getting pretty sick of it. My poor husband comes home discouraged, exhausted, and depressed. Some days I feel like I can hardly take care of myself, and then I spend all day taking care of our son and all night soothing my husband. Sometimes, it's just too much. FTN

Knots

So my contact lenses are not in a landfill after all. It seems my husband packed them in a box with the electronic devices from our office, along with my expensive sunglasses. Which was good, because a few days after finding them, we left for another trip to TN to visit family again, and I wasn't keen on wearing my glasses the whole time. But that wasn't the end of the blowups for me. After a couple of days in TN, I finally let out all the frustration at my husband that I had been holding in and told him exactly how I felt about his actions and attitude. My husband is truly a great man. He took my words to heart, and we've been closer ever since. A night alone in Nashville at a 4-star hotel didn't hurt either. We left the baby with my parents and just got away for a little bit. It was like a second honeymoon...definitely the best thing we've done for our marriage in a long time.

Unfortunately, the dreaded Can O' Worms got opened the day before we left TN, and my brother heard the big secret...just two weeks before he is to leave for Navy boot camp, which leaves him almost no time to process the information. Not good. He is stressing, which means I am stressing. But I keep telling myself that I refuse to feel bad about him knowing. I did not create this secret; I am merely its victim. At the same time, my mind and my gut are in knots. What if the secret gets out, and the whole situation blows up in my face? It could be a cold Christmas, indeed.

Angry Again

I should have been asleep three hours ago. I know I'm going to wake up so exhausted in the morning to deal with my 9-month-old son, and I'm going to be miserable most of the day. That's how it always happens when I stay up late.

But I'm sooo freaking angry right now, too angry to sleep. You see, I've torn my house apart looking for the year's supply of contact lenses I just purchased a month ago, and I can't find them ANYWHERE. I can't find them because my husband packed them when we were moving from the apartment. He doesn't remember seeing them, or what box or bag (if any) he put them in. The same goes for the really nice Oakley sunglasses I also just purchased. And the brackets that attach some of the shelves to our set of bookcases. And I'm not sure he cares.

I'm also not sure he listens. For his occasional requests to "Talk to me; talk to me," I don't think he remembers a word I say. The last time we moved (from SC to VA), I complained about his packing methods--which are, shove everything into a box or Rubbermaid container and move it. No labeling or organization involved. Then he spends the next two weeks asking ME where everything is since I'm the one who has to put most of it away. This time, he moved some of our stuff in trash bags. I warned him that doing so could cause confusion about what was actually our possessions and what was trash. So I'm now convinced that my contact lenses and sunglasses are taking up space in a local landfill, because there's no trace of them anywhere in this house.

I'm so sick of always trying to be the better person. I try to work on my personal flaws, but the effort doesn't appear to be reciprocated, and I'm tired. He sees that I'm unhappy and asks what he can do to make it better. I've got an answer: listen when I say shit and act accordingly. And while you're at it, act like you give a damn.

Under the Bus

I feel like I haven't slept in a week. Probably because I haven't...much.

The past two times my husband has been on duty, I've stayed up until one and two in the morning. Something about turning out the light in a big empty bedroom just isn't appealing. On top of that, William has woken up a few times in the night on more than one occasion, which has robbed me of sleep. Then on the one night I seemed set for uninterrupted rest, the fire alarm in our apartment malfunctioned, sending us outside at 3:30 a.m. to escape the deafening noise. Now we've just made an offer to buy a house, and I keep tossing with restless dreams about everything that could go wrong.

My husband and I appear to be reconnecting--probably because house hunting has put us back on the same page--but not all is entirely well with me. William is becoming increasingly more active and mobile. I recently spent an entire day removing every electrical cord in the living area from William's mouth four times over. (The drill has been as follows: remove child from problem area, place child in a central location near toys, sit down for five minutes, get up, remove child from another problem area, repeat ad nauseum.) Naps are getting shorter and feedings are becoming messier. Thank God he's happy and manageable most of the time, or I'd lose it. I love my son dearly and don't regret becoming a mother, but I realize now that I'm not meant to have a house full of children.

There are other things weighing on my mind that I'm not ready to share. But I will say that one of the reasons William's care has become a little troublesome is because of a physical strain I am experiencing. It has me very concerned. Hopefully, I'll be able to see a doctor soon...and maybe get some sleep, too.

Thanks for reading.

Connections

I don't know what's going on with my marriage.

I feel like I'm having a tough time connecting with my husband. We cuddle, we kiss, we say "I love you"--we talk about our days and what is happening with our son--but there seems to be an awkward silence between us.

We used to have so much in common. We could talk for hours about books, politics, our dreams and goals.... Now my husband could care less about politics. We stopped reading the same books well over a year ago. And we've rehashed our dreams and goals so much that discussing them yet again sometimes feels like a stab in the eye.

I sort of snapped at my husband a few days ago. He asked if I was ok for about the sixth time that day. I said yes. But the truth is, I don't really know.

My soul is empty but my mind is full. I have tons of mental energy and nowhere to put it, yet I move around the house as if I'm stuck in a bog. The simplest tasks seem to take forever to complete. I'm slow at everything these days. And it makes me crazy.

I want to talk to my husband, but what do I say? We've acknowledged before that we aren't quite on the same page like we were before marriage. So what is there to say? "Be present in mind as well as body?" Because it seems he's out to lunch as well.

To All the Young Ladies

On my recent vacation to Tennessee to visit family, I had the pleasure of visiting some long-time friends. This particular group of friends is a married couple with five teen-aged children, one of whom is completely smitten with her first boyfriend. (Boy, do I remember those days!) Of course, I had William in tow, so the conversation turned to perspectives on motherhood. The girls wanted to know the best and worst of raising a child from a new mother and an outsider, and I was happy to oblige.

Becoming a mother changes your lifestyle, your body, your perspective, your priorities, and your marriage. Any pre-child goals and ambitions are not necessarily put out of reach by having a child, but they become much harder to achieve. Your time is no longer your own to use as you please. Be prepared for interrupted phone calls, TV shows, and movies.

Not only is parenthood an adjustment for the mother, but for the father as well (when he's in the picture). So while you're dealing with fluctuating hormones, increased demands on your energy, intensifying emotions and an uncertain future, he's struggling to cope with your evolution and discover his role as a parent. On top of that, both of you will have different ideas of what childcare is. It takes a strong, committed couple to successfully negotiate the chaos.

Being a mother is a full-time job. There are no days or hours off. Even if you get a babysitter for a day, you're still on call in case something goes wrong. Even if you don't get a call, you're wondering whether your child is well, protected, and behaving. If your child wakes up crying in the middle of the night, you're getting up to comfort him or her.

Even when both parents are in the picture, babies are most dependent upon their mothers for their comfort and care. As a mother, you will be most intuitive to your baby's needs and, therefore, will most likely seize the responsibility for meeting them.

Motherhood, while rewarding, is dirty. Prepare to scrub runny poo out of carpet and puke out of your car's upholstery. When your baby begins teething, your most interesting accessories will end up wet and slimy with drool as everything goes into the baby's mouth. You'll end up canceling shopping trips because your child spit up on his, or your, last change of clean clothes.

There are no trophies or awards in parenthood. No one is going to hand you the "Patient Mother of the Year" award for enduring a three-hour scream fest. Your child will be years old before you hear a genuinely thoughtful "thank-you" for all the work you have done to care for him or her.

Having a child just to have someone to love you is a huge mistake. Young babies can't reciprocate love. They don't know what it is. For the first month of their lives, they can't even smile on purpose. Again, your child will be years old before he or she can say "I love you."

In short, motherhood is tough. All the magazines of celebrities toting around their offspring would have young women believe that motherhood is a glamorous situation. It is not. Babies are not accessories; they are completely helpless, totally dependent individuals who require constant care and attention. Nothing on earth can fully prepare you for the physical and emotional wringer of motherhood.

Why do I say this? Because young women need to see the whole picture. My advice: consider motherhood very carefully before taking that leap. Once you hear the words "You're pregnant", life changes forever, even if you choose abortion or adoption. If you have ambitions--like traveling or attending college--do some of those things first. I did, and I now have those memories to look back on and feel good about. They have made me a more well-rounded person, which has helped me to remain stable as a mother. They are memories I will share with my child when he is older.

Do I regret motherhood? Absolutely not. When my baby smiles, the sun shines in my world. But I'm thankful for every opportunity I took early in adulthood to pursue my dreams before William came along: time to work, to establish my marriage, to discover more about who I am.

And now, I'm looking to the future. I have more goals that I have yet to reach. That's why, for now, becoming a mother for a second time is on hold.

Learning to Laugh

Sorry if it seems I've abandoned my post lately. The past ten days have been unreal. First, my husband sold his truck--which is kind of a good thing because I now get to choose a mid-sized car to haul William around in. I've spent all week test driving cars WITH LEATHER SEATS! However, the day my husband cleaned out his truck for the sale, he dragged into the apartment two large saws and three Rubbermaid storage bins full of stuff he had been storing in his truck. I flipped out, especially when he suggested using the nursery closet to store the tools.

I've got news for you, buddy. I just organized the nursery closet, and it's packed to the ceiling. Good luck.

Fortunately, he managed to fit it all into his closet instead. I'm just frustrated that this place is about to burst at the seams.

Next, the TV went out. Yes, the beautiful 42" HD 1080p TV that we shelled out a thousand bucks for 18 months ago DIED. Also, the warranty has expired, and to fix the problem will cost the same amount as buying a new one. I'm not happy about missing new episodes of The Biggest Loser. I'm also not happy about spending another small fortune to replace a TV that should have lasted for years.

Know what else died this week? The childhood pet my brother and I shared: a giant tabby cat appropriately named Mr. Big. He had been a part of our family for 14 years. Two days ago, our mother accidentally ran him over in the driveway. This occurred on the same day I took William to the pediatrician, where he received his first vaccine shots. My heart broke when I heard him scream from the pain. I think I would have hurt less had the nurse instead jabbed the needle straight into my breastbone, Pulp Fiction style.

When my husband arrived home the afternoon of the flat cat/poked baby fiasco, I recounted to him William's painful day, then tearfully filled him in on the details of Mr. Big's demise. He snorted, then started laughing. Which, of course, made me laugh, too. Call it the absurdity of death.

My husband's thought was that Mr. Big had had enough of being old and living with my parents, and had decided to hasten his journey to the big litter box in the sky. We joked about the cat lying in wait for the car to back down the driveway, looking for the right opportunity to throw himself under the tires. Granted, it wasn't a bad way to go for the old fellow. Animals don't die gracefully from old age; it's a horrific process that can take days or even weeks. Mr. Big shuffled off this mortal coil in five minutes.

My depression has been bad recently, so learning to laugh at these little situations helps. I'm also teaching William to laugh. Babies can't laugh at birth; the ability is a developmental milestone that comes around the time they learn to coo. I've been on pins and needles for weeks waiting to hear Will's first real laugh. It finally came about two weeks ago when I bounced him on my knee. If I could bottle up the feeling that sound evokes within me and sell it, I swear I'd be a millionaire within a week. It's more healing than Prozac and more addictive than crack. But while Will smiles in spades, his laugh is still rare. Every day when I see his eyes shine a little brighter, I hope for the connections in his brain that will allow him to laugh long and loud, and thus shed a ray of light into my darker days.

In the meantime, I've started a second novel. This one is a fantasy. But don't fret; I haven't given up on getting the first one published. I'm taking a short "time out" to perfect my query and make some small corrections on the manuscript. Trust me: when I finally snag a publishing contract, laughing won't be hard to do at this house.

Alone Again

Saturday. That's usually my day to escape for a couple of hours. It's the day I take beading classes at my local bead supplier while hubby watches the little one. Even if I've learned a particular technique before, the class is still fun. I get uninterrupted time to work on a project and great conversation with other women. Granted, they're always 20+ years my senior, but I almost prefer it that way. Older women generally have great life stories to tell.

Today, however, my husband is on duty, so no beading class for me. And William is driving me nuts.

I think the little man is teething. He's so young, though, that I can't give him anything for the pain. So I've spent the past three days listening to him fuss. And fuss. And fuss.

I'm going out of my mind.

It's not that the fussing is so disruptive. I can handle being interrupted during a beading or writing project. It's just that consoling Will is becoming increasingly difficult. I pick him up, he fidgets. I give him my finger or a toy to teethe on, he fusses. I put him down, he cries. And I have trouble telling the difference between his signals for teething and hunger. Sometimes he's screaming before I realize, "Hey, I should get the little bugger a bottle."

Why couldn't I have had just a couple more months of peace?

When I do get a quiet moment beyond the time I spend beading and pacifying Will, I continue looking into grad school. I've decided that I will apply next year in order to qualify for scholarships and additional grant money. Depending on how much aid I can pull down, I may be able to go to school for free. It's looking likely, anyway. I'll also be around the house a little longer to experience some of William's developmental milestones--like when he finally cuts that first tooth.

I'm a little nervous, though, about how much grad school might demand of me. I won't be overloaded with classes, but essays might be a different story. I'm also planning to do the thesis option in case I want a Ph.D. later on. That means TONS of writing and research...and less time for beading and blogging. *Sigh*

As we laid in bed the other night, my husband and I joked (somewhat seriously) about how the demands of grad school might affect our already-limited time together. I suggested that we may have to pencil in some intimacy in my weekly planner between my essays and Will's diaper changes.

No doubt, it's gonna be a wild ride.

Fleeting

Only two months ago was William a tiny bundle in his bassinet. Only three weeks ago did he require only formula for a meal. Only a week ago was he happily sucking at my breast.

I know why parents say children grow up so fast. They develop so quickly in the first year, going from tiny, helpless beings to walking, talking people.

I realize these moments with my son as an infant are fleeting. Already has his skin lost that incredible velvety softness it had when he was first born. He's outgrown half of the adorable outfits I received at my baby shower, going from newborn diapers to size twos in the blink of an eye. Today I kiss his soft, little head; who knows when it will be obscured by thick hair? His toothless grins melt my heart, but for how long? He's already teething.

Will I be able to recall these joys years from now? Will I remember the way he gazed into my face as I held him to my breast? Will I remember his first smile? Will I always have the memory of his softness and his sweet baby smell? I can hope.

Perhaps, however, some situations should be fleeting. My husband and I finally managed to work through the tension in our relationship. We once talked late into the night recently, and it was like having my best friend back. Now we're trying to spend more time together, even if it's just cuddling right before sleep. It's tough, though, with William in the picture and all the hobbies I have going. Plus, my husband's superiors ended up assigning his crew duty every other day after all. Not cool. Hopefully, the new schedule won't last long.

Baby Love (and Other Things)

I get it now. I understand why so many women think motherhood is the greatest situation in the universe. Ok, so it still isn't everything to me. I confessed to my best friend early in my pregnancy that I always thought I'd be touring Europe and sipping lattes in French cafes at this point in my life. And that's not my only constraint: I'm forced to cram writing and beading projects in between feedings, laundry, and housework. But I get it.

The lightbulb blinked on about a week ago when I realized that William and I had finally settled into a pleasant routine. He was nursing fairly well and had started responding to me with smiles and coos. It was one of those moments when he looked at me with a joyous smile that my heart melted like butter in the sun. He cannot comprehend love, but he can somehow sense that he is loved--and that astounds me.

This week, he has started compulsively grasping objects that come within his reach. As soon as I pick him up, he grabs a fistful of my shirt and clings to me. The sensation sends me soaring to the heights of motherly love.

When my husband and I first talked of having a child, we didn't think there was room in our lives for a little one. Now it feels as if William has filled a gaping hole in our home that we didn't know existed. Many women say they cannot imagine their lives without their children; the same is true for me, except it seems that William has always existed somewhere. His expressions and noises seem familiar to me somehow, beyond the short six weeks that I've known him. It's both lovely and frightening--frightening because I've never felt this attached to anyone. Anyone. And if that attachment were severed...I don't even want to think about it.

At the same time, I'm realizing just how tough marriage can be. The commitment I made to "better or worse" is getting a real workout these days. Don't get me wrong: my husband is still a wonderful man. He came home yesterday and cleaned the kitchen, swept the entryway, and changed the litter box--all without me asking him to do so. He just seems different, especially since William's birth.

When I first started dating my husband, there was a sweetness about him--an inner glow. This glow was composed of a playfulness, a peace, a desire to dream. Now that sweetness appears to be smothered by anger or boredom or...something. I want to believe that sweetness is still inside of him somewhere, but it's been so long since I've seen it...I almost fear the worst.

I've thought about him lately--thought to myself "Is this still the person I married?" and "Shall this, too, pass?" And then he picks up William from his play mat and spends nearly an hour exchanging coos and smiles with him, and my hope returns.

Thanks for reading.

Winding Down

Sorry, dear readers, to leave you in the lurch. The past few days have been insane. I've cleaned and reorganized the nursery and living room, purchased several pieces of furniture, and finished an advanced beading project--all while nursing my son and changing diapers. I sat down to write at least twice before and then realized I was too exhausted to put two words together. So here I am a week later.

I finally managed to work out my feelings with my husband, though it got worse before it got better. Last weekend we went to breakfast at IHOP and talked things out. The rest of the day went beautifully, and by evening I was glowing. Then...well, my husband (unintentionally) did something I respectfully asked him not to do, and the consequences of said act resulted in him waking the baby about two hours after I had put him to bed. I ended up having to get out of bed three times to soothe the little one. By the time I got him back to sleep, it was 1 a.m. Had I been any more furious, I'd have foamed at the mouth. (I don't take missing out on precious sleep very lightly.)

So we had to work that out as well. And we succeeded in short order, and the home situation has been good ever since. Moping (on his part) and stewing (on my part) have ceased, intimacy has returned, and my hair remains attached to my head.

And I'm still off my Prozac. Ha-ha!

Working Through

Right now I'm sitting in a hot bath while my husband tends the little one. Yes, you heard right: I'm in the bath. Don't ask how I'm typing this in the bath. Just know that I'm in no danger of electrocution...I think.

I've spent most of today trying to catch up on my obligations. For those of you who don't know me well or haven't guessed yet, I'm generally a terrible procrastinator. The occasional bout of depression doesn't help that, either. Or my irrational paranoia of making phone calls. Oh, I can dial family and friends for casual chats just fine--it's calling the doctor's office or the DMV that gives me pause. I'll almost always put off business calls for as long as possible. How bad is my procrastination in this area? Well, I haven't seen a dentist in at least five years....

(Go ahead and say, "Yikes!" I won't be offended.)

But this year I unintentionally made a New Years resolution to tie up all my loose ends. That meant saying "no" to new projects, like translating a Japanese technical manual into English for a friend. It was a paid project, too. I just knew I wouldn't finish it, no matter how much he paid me per page. And taking on that project would have kept me from completing my novel and sending out the last dozen "Thank You" cards to friends who had purchased baby gifts for William. In November. Thankfully, I've wrapped up those two things and have moved on to searching for literary agents to represent my novel. So far I've queried 10 agents and received 3 rejections. (Getting published is a long and bitter process.)

In the meantime, I'm trying to talk out my feelings with my husband, which appears to work for about two days before I'm back to square one. He came home briefly this evening in an edgy mood, which sent my ever-tenuous mood plunging straight into the gutter. He recovered his good humor about 10 minutes later and went back to being his affectionate self, while I spent the next few hours stewing in silence and being irked by his little attentions. In my mind it's just not fair! I'm in a war with my psyche and my biology (and losing), I'm not exactly thrilled by the sight of my post-pregnancy body in the mirror, I can't fully satisfy anyone under this roof no matter what I do, I'm overwhelmed by the guilt of it all and crazy with frustration, and it seems I can't get my husband to truly understand any of this no matter how I explain it.

Sometimes I feel so angry I could just smash things.

And every time a cat walks on me in the middle of the night, or William spits up on a fresh change of clothes, or I watch my husband compulsively scrub and reorganize the kitchen for the FIFTH time when he STILL hasn't cleaned our bathroom like he offered to do TWO WEEKS AND SEVERAL SHAVES AGO, I feel my anger growing. Yet I don't feel free to express my anger, so I keep it to myself.

I know it's not healthy.

Out of My Head

Sometimes I could just hate myself. See, I heard that becoming parents can be a challenge for a married couple, but...you know...the stuff I heard was mostly generic: "Oh, you'll want to be with the baby all the time, and your husband will feel like he's getting less attention, but it's all good," etc., etc. What I didn't hear was that these postpartum hormones would drive me batsh*t insane.

Seriously, I could yank my hair out.

Now I've done some tough things in my short life: Army bootcamp, college, two out-of-state moves within two years, wrote a novel. But all that pales in comparison to what I'm currently experiencing.

Yes, my poor husband feels neglected. It's no wonder. The baby absorbs nearly all of my time and energy. During the day, he must be fed every three hours. I spend at least a half hour nursing him, then another 15 minutes giving him a bottle. Then comes a diaper change. Then comes whatever else needs to be done: laundry, dinner, a hot bath so I can have some time to myself without every living creature in the house vying for my attention. Even after a good day, I usually crawl into bed feeling raw and jittery.

But the worst of it is in my head. I don't want to get too close to my husband most of the time because I'm irrationally convinced that all he wants is sex...like he's just waiting to pounce the moment my body is completely healed. To be honest, I've never felt more sexless in my life. As much as I desire physical intimacy, the pain of childbirth is still fresh in my memory and I don't know how to shake it off. On top of that, I've become more critical--even downright suspicious--of my husband. I have thoughts like, How could he NOT notice that the absorbent pad was missing from the cloth diaper when he put it on the baby? and Why is he making a face when all I asked him to do is bring me a glass of water? At times I have felt cold and angry toward him for no clear reason at all. It's terrible and makes me feel guilty. At the same time, I also feel stingy and frustrated. Why should I give him pleasure when I cannot have any for myself? How is that fair?

And what's worse is how the baby makes me feel. He's all I can think about sometimes. I have to fight the urge to check his breathing in the middle of the night. I walk around fearing the hell that would descend upon my life if I lost him somehow. At the same time, imagining the future conjures up scenes of the constant messes that I will have to clean in the course of raising him.

But that's not all, folks. In her desperate bid for attention, my cat Ling has taken to randomly licking me and the living room walls! I can only pray the paint isn't toxic.

I may need therapy...again.

Love Lessons

Of all the things I've lost, I miss my job the most.

Strange thing to say, I know. But I have never experienced such a great sense of fulfillment as I have when working. I love to teach...love expanding minds of all types.

A little while ago, I started thinking about my short stint a couple of years ago as a middle and high school English teacher at a private Christian school in Tennessee. It was my first real classroom teaching experience, and right off the bat I was put in charge of grades 6 through 12, holding one class per grade a day. The prep work required for that much variety was a living nightmare, and within two weeks of starting, I was struggling desperately to keep up.

What I managed to teach those children about English, I have no idea. The 12th graders stonewalled me, the 9th graders fought me on every assignment, and the 6th graders soon required super glue, duct tape, and threats of death to keep them seated and quiet. (And, to my chagrin, such methods were off limits!)

However, I like to think that maybe I left those students with something more in their heads. One of my most memorable days in class, with the 11th graders, didn't involve Orwell's Animal Farm or SAT-level vocabulary. It started when one of the guys commented (for probably the third time that week) that he thought "fat chicks are disgusting." The utterance was particularly alarming considering that a rather large, sweet girl sat in the back of the class.

Really, for her weight, I thought the girl was stunningly attractive: soft, round, well-proportioned curves; nice skin; long red hair that shone like a copper penny; and a bit of spunk to her personality that kept things interesting. I couldn't bear seeing her self-esteem destroyed by the shallow words of an insensitive teenage male. So I stopped the assigned lesson and confronted the issue...by talking about love.

Every person from age 5 to 25 (and beyond) has an image in their heads of "the perfect mate." I know I did, and, in a way, still do. If given the opportunity, I'd consider licking whipped cream off actor Daniel Craig's gorgeous pecks. My physical preferences weren't much different as a teen. One thing I didn't like back then: body hair. I swore to myself that I would never marry a hairy man.

Then my husband came along: strong, handsome, witty, intelligent...and enough hair on his chest to put Sasquatch to shame. I was actually frightened the first time I saw him shirtless--frightened at the conflicting emotions the sight generated within me. But as our friendship deepened and turned to love, I not only accepted my husband's body, but I came to like and enjoy it as well. I never knew chest hair could be so soft and warm. It's now one of the things I like most about my husband, and I certainly couldn't imagine him without it.

And that was the lesson: love can be surprising, so you shouldn't limit yourself to just one physical ideal. You never know who might be listening to your snide, offhand comments. A fat chick or a hairy man may turn out to be the love of your life.

The classroom became so quiet during that speech, we could hear the walls creak.

The most important question I ever asked my mother was "How do you know when you love someone enough to marry him?" The answer she gave me has stuck with me for years: "When you can't imagine living a single day without that person in your life."

It took me a while to figure out just what she meant. When I started dating as a teenager, I tried to convince myself that I couldn't live without some of my boyfriends. I wanted to find someone who would "fit the frame" as quickly as possible.

But when I met my husband, the force of my mother's words hit me like lightening: I had to have this person in my life, everyday, loving me. All the other times I imagined my life without certain people in it, I always felt some measure of relief; I wouldn't have to put up with this one questioning my loyalty or that one trying to manipulate me. But imagining life without my husband was truly devastating. I didn't care if we spent the next 50 years just holding hands. I needed him with me.

The long-term effect of this little love lesson? I may never know. But the short-term effect was nice: no more "fat" comments in class!

The Center of the Known Universe

My husband's arm is heavy against my ribs as he cuddles me in bed. I stroke his face and we touch noses. My long-haired Siamese, Ling, sensing that I'm awake and cuddling without her, jumps onto the bed and stands at my shoulder. My husband's orange tabby, Abby, not to be left out, leaps onto my legs and stares at me pitifully with a face full of longing. And then baby William awakes within my womb and begins to flail his tiny arms and legs against my belly.

Suddenly, a feeling overwhelms me...the feeling that everyone is vying for my attention, competing for what little I have to give...a feeling I thought was weeks away. And it terrifies me. I freak out and elbow away the cats.

Where am I in all of this? My body is not my own. I have desires, but not the energy to carry them out. I look at the hair piling up on the bathroom floor and think, "I should sweep that," and then I don't. I want my job back; I want to work on my Master's degree...not to be known merely as "the incubator." I want to feel useful, liberated. But I'm stuck, trapped in place by others' needs.

Please, dear readers, take my confession with a grain of salt. I love my baby, and being needed by others is rewarding in its own way. This is just one of the many emotions that I face as motherhood draws near. It's a complicated time. I will go to school and work again, but those prospects are months away. In the meantime, I must put my life on hold and hope that my dreams don't slip away in the process. It's not an easy thing to do.

Sinking

I must really despise Tennessee. Every time I come here to visit my family, I end up depressed. Thankfully, today is the last day of our visit. I can't wait to get back to our new home in Virginia.

I love my family and enjoy seeing intimate friends, but every time I come out here, I realize just how much farther I've grown from the people I know. And then I realize that I was never "here" to begin with. All my efforts in high school and college were strategically calculated to eventually take me far away from this place--or at least to encourage others to get out. A weak soul could die in a place like this, and often does. There's little here but abandoned dreams.

I feel so detached, like my real self is out hovering over a lake somewhere while my body sits dumb and empty like a dry husk. What can I say about myself? That the thought of becoming a mother in the next two months scares the hell out of me? That I feel alone in every thought and emotion? That the sight of my husband scarfing a half-dozen fun-sized Kit Kat bars in one sitting sickens and angers me? In the time I've gained 20 pounds, he's gained 30. I want to scream and tear my hair out, fall to the floor and implore him to not take another bite.

I laid in bed early this morning and wept--wept because I felt trapped between my husband and my unborn son. One drains me physically while the other takes from me emotionally, and no pause button exists for me on the remote control of life. So I just sink like a stone in a silent ocean, as far as I can get into the enclosed, secret places of my being, and shut myself in. I just want to go back to Virginia and absorb my mind in making jewelry again, finding comfort in the work of my hands and the brilliant colors of those small, glass beads.

I recently sold three pieces, so I have money again for new materials--a particularly bright spot in the week for me.