The Gambler

I walk the line between wearing my heart on my sleeve and keeping things close to the vest. I’m sure I’m not alone on that line. One of the things that I’ve had on my heart lately is babies. And I’ve been keeping very much to myself about it.

I have always wanted a bigger family, at least more than 2 kids. My brother and I are 4+ years apart and were never very close. Sure, we had our childhoods together, but at some point it felt like we were two only children whose paths sometimes crossed, usually at our shared bathroom in the morning. And growing up Catholic, I saw enough bigger families than mine and the grass over there looked a little greener to me.

So I had it all planned out: meet Mr. Right (no later than college, of course), get married young, have lots of babies, live happily ever after.

God had a good laugh at my plan!

So when Fella and I started getting serious and making our plans for the future (God wasn’t laughing as much this time,) we settled on more than one (Fella is an only child and he didn’t want any of that for his kids), but no more than three.

It took awhile after the Mayor was born to get back on the more babies bandwagon. There were times that I would have been totally OK if he had been the Only. Even if the Mayor himself was telling me that he wanted me to have 15 (or was it 20?) more babies (that kid LOVES him some babies!) But Fella being the only of an only child, he didn’t want the Mayor bearing that burden.

So along comes wonder of wonders: Miss Thang. And everyone thinks it’s perfect: two—that is, one of each. So you’re done, of course…right?

When I was pregnant with the Mayor, I dreamed about having two boys. Maybe that was just another funny thing my brain was doing while the rest of me was sleeping. Regardless, pretty soon after Miss Thang, I still felt like there was still another person to add to our family.

However, I’ve been crunching some numbers. OK, maybe not exactly numbers, but time. There’s too much going on in the near future that I would rather be not pregnant for. And besides that, there’s the whole being host to another human being for 9 months (although I do love being pregnant. Mostly). Then the next year/+ on this side of the womb before they can eat real food and walk on their own. Hell, MT just hit two and she’s like the toddler version of a Stage 5 Clinger.

You know, autonomy is a really, really nice thing.

I didn’t think I’d be thinking about this much before MT turned two. But certain events accelerated the process a little bit and here I am, elbow deep in wondering if I still have it in me to have another baby. Not only have another baby, but to have three kids! I mean, that’s just crazytown! There is just no way. And as soon as I think I’ve decided that I’m done--enter crisis mode. 

So we know about the quarter-life- and the trusty ol’ mid-life crises. But this is something different. I focused so much energy in my life on getting to the part where I would have kids, the prospect of not continuing to have more kids is...it’s an existential crisis all of its own.

Let’s call it: the Post-Reproductive Crisis.

I mean, what is my purpose in life if not making more tiny humans? Yeah, yeah, I’ve still got those two other little people I’ve already breathed life into to tend to. But their childhood is finite. As is the family planning stage of life, I keenly realize. But to still be in my child-bearing years, looking my lady parts dead in the ovaries, and giving them the finger? I just. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN???

So that’s where I’m at right now: between the proverbial know-when-to-hold-‘em and know-when-to-fold-‘em.

Meanwhile (in heaven)…God holds the cards and laughs heartily.

As Real As It May Seem

I had the funniest dream last night. 

A boy I'd known since about the Sixth Grade was in it. Except we were in high school. We earnestly expressed our mutual "like" for each other. The following day we would meet an alumni-sponsored event for Chico State. We both knew we weren't remotely interested in going to college there, but we would go anyway, if for no other reason now than to have a sanctioned event at which to see each other (as if our puppy love were somehow forbidden? Possibly. You got me.)

When I arrived the next day, the boy was already there, politely sitting on the couch, waiting for things to get underway. Instead of nervously avoiding the boy out of insecurity (which would have been a classic me move IRL) I sat down next to him. He sweetly held my hand without reservation.

More people started to arrive, including one of my besties from law school, who sat in the empty spot on the couch next to me. Apparently California had quite the effect on her: the blushing brunette southern belle was a radiant golden blonde in my dream. We joked about it, but actually, it looked pretty fantastic on her (in case you were considering it any time soon).

Of course she was the only person to notice the hand-holding. She gave me a knowing look, but saved her goodnatured teasing for another time and place.

Though a handsome and nice kid, I don't recall ever having an actual crush on the boy (which is surprising because I am was pretty boy crazy). He came across as shy, but he also had this quiet assurance about him. As if he knew what his future had in store for him and he was merely biding his time in that forsaken place we call high school.

This dream highlighted things I wish most for my kids: may they always have treasured friends (the gold and silver kind), the quiet confidence to pursue their heart's desire, and faith in what their future holds.

It's True You Can't Fight It

I used to be one of those people who would bemoan that her children were growing up. You know, saying things to them like: “where did my baby go?” and “when did you get so big?” I read somewhere that this can sometimes make kids feel guilty about doing something that they are supposed to do (and isn’t in their control anyway): grow up.

Then it occurred to me, that no one ever really helped me figure out how to become a woman. I mean, sure, there’s the inherent womanness of being female, but no one wanted me to be anything but a girl. My parents didn’t want me to grow up “too fast,” which I, of course, rebelled against. So, I would take my allowance to the Longs Drugs down the street to buy the teen magazines that became my user manuals and age-appropriate makeup (thank you, Debbie Gibson and Revlon!) 

It always felt like I was sneaking around, though, probably because I was. I might have had the makeup, but I was certainly not allowed to wear it. I had already mastered the art of wearing my headgear as little as possible in the Fourth grade, so how hard could a little makeup be in middle school? (See also: #latchkeykidproblems)

And once high school and my first job came around, it was a breeze hiding clothes (hello striped bodysuit and spandex skirt from Contempo Casuals) and, um, other recreational activities to come from my parents. And I seemed drawn to people whom my folks’ would likely refer to as “the fast crowd;” my peers who were allowed to wear makeup and somehow knew how to flirt with boys whereas I hadn’t the first clue.

So maybe it should be no wonder that I often feel very much girl in a good many situations: I faked my way into womanhood. And it was a journey that I felt I had to hide from the most important people in my life, as if it was something shameful, when it is actually just what nascent beings do.

Now, don’t misunderstand; I, too, don’t want my kids to grow up too fast. But the fact is, growers gonna grow (grow, grow, grow, grow) and who am I to stand in their ways? So someone please remind me, when the day arrives that Miss Thang wants to shave her legs, wear makeup, and dress like the latest pop star, that I will take her for a makeover and shopping spree, no questions asked.

In the meantime, I will praise my kids for doing that which they do involuntarily and I will be their champion. Like just the other day, when one of the Mayor’s preschool teachers expressed sorrow in seeing how big both kids are getting. I turned it on its head (the comment, not the teacher) saying, “I know, isn’t it great?! They’re just so good at it!”

All About Me

I received a note the other night, from an old friend. He and I were a dynamic duo in intramural basketball way, way back in elementary school. Way back friend. He's caught a few of my posts (from the sound of it, probably the more introspective offerings) and wanted to offer a word of support. It was really thoughtful.

It also reminded me that I had ought to flesh out the"About Me" business. So here goes.

I'm a reformed corporate law lackey (although it was the wine industry, which had its perks). Now I stay at home with my two kids, the Mayor - 5 (nickname earned kissing babies and shaking parents' hands on the preschool playground) and Miss Thang - 1.5 (nickname given in the womb for no particular reason, but turns out she is pretty sassy). Their dad is Fella, the heartless bureaucrat that loves old cars, movies, and Dame Judi Dench. He is chivalrous through and through.

Although I'm no gourmet, cooking is a pastime. I almost never make tuna noodle casserole the same way twice (mostly because I don't follow a recipe and never keep track of what I'm doing). Although I'm no Robert Parker, I like wine (it was hard to leave my job!) And not the plonk. Although I won't say no if all you're pouring is Two Buck Chuck. And although I'm no Martha Stewart, I also dabble in working out, volunteering, sewing, and crafting. There's just not enough time in the day!

I'm an Oxford comma gal.

And even though I have my dream job now (Director of Domestic Affairs,) it's still a struggle to be the mom/wife/daughter/sister/friend/person I want to be in my head. But this is what it means to be a Life In Training: each struggle or triumph prepares us for the next just ahead.

This is my Life in Training.

Learning to Love Myself

My mom’s group has recently started the Momnipotent study. This week’s episode started with this:

It reminds me a little of the time when I was single and trying the online dating thing. The site I was using at the time had you engage in compatibility Q&A prior to sharing your picture and personal information. Things were going fine until the question: How important are looks to you?

I couldn't even.

So I didn't. I closed my account, got my money back, and went on my way. Alone again.

The question was double edged for me. First, it could have meant that looks were important to the man asking. Second: And I? I was just average. Perhaps even slightly below average (a Perfect Four), depending on who you ask (me) and what mood they are in (insecure. Always insecure). Third, it could have meant that he was (heaven forbid) of even lower than slightly below average visage. And fourth, that it actually mattered to me. It was a sticky question that hit on all of my triggers. And, if memory serves, I was only able to answer Yes/No with no opportunity to explain. And there was plenty I could explain (clearly).

Did I digress?

So this Momnipotent session starts by asking about our self-worth as women and mothers. And this is definitely an area where I struggle.

Most of my life, I didn't feel lovable. I thought that if I could just find someone (not my family) to love me, hell even just "like" me, then I might be able to believe that I am lovable. That I am worthy of love. And for so.many.years. I went without.

And for just as many years--more, actually--I hated myself. I wanted to be someone (anyone!) else, so long as they were lovable.

Even since I've found the love of my life, the man who loves me back, I've continued to harbor this self-loathing. Because my exterior doesn't meet my definition of beautiful. I hate. I judge. I continue to fail.

And what's more, I have already seen the Mayor expressing that he doesn't feel lovable. And I know he has picked that up from me, whether or not I express it outwardly. These tiny human mirrors can pick up on the tiniest of details!

So it's time that I work harder to fix the broken me. It's time that I learn to love me, the whole me. The me that promoted me to my most coveted job and vocation in life: mom. The me who carried two beautiful, healthy babies with ease. It's time to believe that I am a beautiful and should treat myself as such.

What are ways you celebrate your beauty?