When I spend entire days alone with my 16-month-old, I notice something. Having a kid, especially a small one who needs constant vigilant attention, really challenges me to stay in the moment. If I look away, even for a millisecond, she gets into something that will harm her in some profound way. She spends most of her time and energy trying to climb up, on or around obstacles to get at the good stuff, like the electrical outlets, knives or the cat's medication.
I am not used to conducting my life in this way. I have been training for years and years to multi-task and now multi-tasking is nearly impossible. When I am doing the dishes, my mind is going in many different directions. I'm thinking about what went on at work, or what I need to do after the dishes, or how I am going to entertain her for the rest of the day. I'm never just doing the dishes. I am developing eyes in the back of my head so that I can keep her safe. I'm always trying to anticipate where she might go next, and eliminate any dangers that might be there.
I am also developing a huge sense of mother-guilt, and I think that's part of the package.
Maybe I don't pay enough of the right kind of attention to her. Maybe I'm thinking so much about the logistics of getting through the day that I forget how fleeting these moments with her are. Can she tell that I'm not all there with her? Am I neglecting her so that she'll need therapy later?
Sometimes when I'm rocking her to sleep, I'm working out my adult problems in my head, and I feel bad. I should just be enjoying my precious moments with my daughter. Why is it so hard to just do that? She's growing so fast and soon she'll be too big to rock to sleep at all. Soon she'll be telling me no, and slamming doors and eventually she'll walk away and have her own life. All I'll have then are my mundane adult problems.
Although I think it's good to watch your mind and be aware of all this, if I let this mother-guilt take over I will be a neurotic mess. I try to stay in the moment with her and spend time playing with her every day. This is good. I'm doing fine. Everything I do is in an effort to give her a good life. She is a happy, healthy girl with two doting and devoted parents. I can't do everything right, but she gets the best I've got to give, and that has to count for something!
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Splat!
It's a little disturbing how everyone has their own special version of reality. Most of the time, we can all agree on a situation enough to get us through, to allow us to appreciate each other to a certain extent, and function together on the planet. Most of the time.
Every once in a little while, I get subjected to someone else's reality that I not only don't agree with, but that doesn't fit into my paradigm in any way. When this happens, it can feel almost violent and it can really knock me off balance if I'm not looking.
Now, I'm the first person to tell you that I have flaws. Many of them, and some that seem like they will never be resolved. I don't really dwell on them too much. I know they're there, and I try to navigate around them in order to stay afloat and try to reduce my emotional splatter onto those around me. That's just the right thing to do, I think, as a good citizen. Keep your crazy to yourself, your trusted advisors and your therapist if you have one. Own it and keep it from running wild. It's not everyone else's fault.
Not everyone subscribes to this belief. Some folks think that their bad feelings are caused by me, and not only that, but that I am responsible for fixing it. They will bring their imagined war to my doorstep, hostile, and challenge me to fix it - NOW! They will accuse, manipulate and not take I'm sorry for an answer.
And guess what - there is not a goddamn thing I can do about it. Believe me I've tried. I try to reason, to apologize, to grovel, to defend my position and to fight. But people will think whatever they want to about me and I just have to take it.
This is where a strong sense of self comes in handy. The best I can do is try to be gentle, have compassion and speak to the facts. If that softens the blow, let's forget about all this and proceed with caution. Life is short and we all have our troubles. We don't need to do this to each other, people, we really don't.
Every once in a little while, I get subjected to someone else's reality that I not only don't agree with, but that doesn't fit into my paradigm in any way. When this happens, it can feel almost violent and it can really knock me off balance if I'm not looking.
Now, I'm the first person to tell you that I have flaws. Many of them, and some that seem like they will never be resolved. I don't really dwell on them too much. I know they're there, and I try to navigate around them in order to stay afloat and try to reduce my emotional splatter onto those around me. That's just the right thing to do, I think, as a good citizen. Keep your crazy to yourself, your trusted advisors and your therapist if you have one. Own it and keep it from running wild. It's not everyone else's fault.
Not everyone subscribes to this belief. Some folks think that their bad feelings are caused by me, and not only that, but that I am responsible for fixing it. They will bring their imagined war to my doorstep, hostile, and challenge me to fix it - NOW! They will accuse, manipulate and not take I'm sorry for an answer.
And guess what - there is not a goddamn thing I can do about it. Believe me I've tried. I try to reason, to apologize, to grovel, to defend my position and to fight. But people will think whatever they want to about me and I just have to take it.
This is where a strong sense of self comes in handy. The best I can do is try to be gentle, have compassion and speak to the facts. If that softens the blow, let's forget about all this and proceed with caution. Life is short and we all have our troubles. We don't need to do this to each other, people, we really don't.
Fat Pants
I have a conundrum. I have to show up to executive meetings sometimes, but besides that, and in general, I need to dress better. I can get piles of cheap stuff at Fred Meyer or Target or Old Navy all day long, and I do, but then I end up with piles of cheap stuff overflowing out of my drawers and closets. It all serves its purpose, I am clothed and there is variety, but in the end it is what it is. Cheap stuff. Now that I'm officially middle-aged, I need to look snazzier!
So that leads me to the problem. No, not really money as you might think. I could put a little money aside for a clothing budget, or go a little crazy on the credit card with a payment plan in mind. It all goes back to the weight thing. The reason I don't spend a little more and get nicer clothes is that for probably 15 years now, I've been planning on getting down to a certain size. Over the years though, I just get further and further from that "ideal". My clothes get cheaper because they're "temporary", and way more unpleasant to shop for.
Do I spend money now to buy clothes that will fit this body now? Or do I continue to wait for the weight? I don't know what to do! Maybe I should spend a little money on some weight loss hypnosis first and see what happens.
I suppose this gets filed under first world problems, huh? Curse you, fat pants. Curse you.
So that leads me to the problem. No, not really money as you might think. I could put a little money aside for a clothing budget, or go a little crazy on the credit card with a payment plan in mind. It all goes back to the weight thing. The reason I don't spend a little more and get nicer clothes is that for probably 15 years now, I've been planning on getting down to a certain size. Over the years though, I just get further and further from that "ideal". My clothes get cheaper because they're "temporary", and way more unpleasant to shop for.
Do I spend money now to buy clothes that will fit this body now? Or do I continue to wait for the weight? I don't know what to do! Maybe I should spend a little money on some weight loss hypnosis first and see what happens.
I suppose this gets filed under first world problems, huh? Curse you, fat pants. Curse you.
Monday, February 13, 2012
A Tale of Teething
There are lots of painful experiences for the human body, but one that appears especially torturous is teething. No wonder we don't remember it!
Here is a typical interaction with my sweet little Teether:
Me: "Oh honey, I know what will make you feel better. I am so smart that I got you some frozen fruit. You will love it and it will solve all your problems."
Arli grabs the fruit and jams it in her mouth, right on the spot where a new tooth is cropping up. That lasts about 20 seconds and she starts flapping her arm. I know this means it's going on the floor.
I take it from her hand and cut it up into pieces. That should do it. I put it in a nice bowl and sit down at the table. I try to feed them to her, but she wants to do it herself. She grabs a handful.
Me: "You can't eat all of those or you will choke. One at a time, sweet pea."
Arli crams them all in her mouth super fast. She chokes, gags and then cries. At least I know there's air moving. I hold her and pat her back.
When she calms down I try to give her one piece. She smashes it in her fingers, then grabs the bowl before I can stop her and dumps it on the ground face down, of course. Then she starts to cry, loud and unstoppable.
This happens about 100x a day. I pray for fortitude. She doesn't even have half her baby teeth yet.
Here is a typical interaction with my sweet little Teether:
Me: "Oh honey, I know what will make you feel better. I am so smart that I got you some frozen fruit. You will love it and it will solve all your problems."
Arli grabs the fruit and jams it in her mouth, right on the spot where a new tooth is cropping up. That lasts about 20 seconds and she starts flapping her arm. I know this means it's going on the floor.
I take it from her hand and cut it up into pieces. That should do it. I put it in a nice bowl and sit down at the table. I try to feed them to her, but she wants to do it herself. She grabs a handful.
Me: "You can't eat all of those or you will choke. One at a time, sweet pea."
Arli crams them all in her mouth super fast. She chokes, gags and then cries. At least I know there's air moving. I hold her and pat her back.
When she calms down I try to give her one piece. She smashes it in her fingers, then grabs the bowl before I can stop her and dumps it on the ground face down, of course. Then she starts to cry, loud and unstoppable.
This happens about 100x a day. I pray for fortitude. She doesn't even have half her baby teeth yet.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Funky
I am in an official funk this week. Everything is so frustrating.
The weekend was great - weather was nice, lots of time with friends and Jeff and I were even getting along!
It all came to a crashing halt on Sunday night when my cat's leg stopped working. It was the strangest thing. She went to get in her hidey box and I heard this thunk. The ledge is only an inch or two, so it's not like she could have fallen. She looked ok to me and she curled up and went to sleep. Then she came out a little while later and she just laid there on the floor. She acted like she wanted to get up, but then she'd look back at her hind legs and nothing happened. I knew something was up.
She wasn't meowing or acting like she was in pain or anything but we tried to move her legs around and one of them just dangled there. She is 14 years old and she's been getting more and more arthritic. We didn't know if she had a stroke or what. We kept an eye on her and over an hour or so, the leg came back to life.
I took her to the vet first thing and the vet wasn't too terribly worried about the leg, but she was worried about her breathing. I hadn't noticed that it was strange, but I could see it. We did x-rays and ultrasound and then we got the diagnosis that she has a heart disease that carries a "poor prognosis". Her heart muscle is flacid, and they think that she had a blood clot and that's what caused her leg to go limp.
Me, I am a practical person. I can see the writing on the wall, and yet I spent over $1,000 to get this bad news. Ella and I haven't been the most physically affectionate of friends maybe, but we've been together for a very long time. I am responsible for her happiness and quality of life. I have always made sure that she gets everything she needs and she lives very comfortably, much more comfortably than billions of humans on Earth. I know that cats don't live as long as we do, but I guess I just took it for granted that she would always be around. I guess I'm in some degree of denial that the decision about how long she will live with this disease is on my shoulders. I don't like it one bit.
They prescribed 5 medicines for her that she will need to take for the remainder of her life. The whole time the vet is talking I am wondering "why?" and thinking about how impossible it is to get pills down the cat's throat. They gave her a prognosis of living days, maybe weeks WITH the medicines. I can't fathom that shoving pills down her throat when she's already feeling like hell is going to be a very good way of living, for either one of us.
And yet, I try. I crush them up and try to trick her into eating them with food. I'm not sure if she gets any of it. I'm not sure if she's getting better, or if she even can get better. What is better when you have a flacid, weak beating heart and fluid in your lungs? I don't mean to be insensitive but what's the point here? Is this just to make us feel like we're helping?
The reality is that my dear companion of 14 years is dying. I am going to give her medicines and I am going to get the results of her blood and urine tests in a couple of days. Maybe I'm a negative person who gives up to easily but I am not very optimistic. I know I will have to say goodbye to her sooner than I am ready to, and that I will have to decide no more pills or pretending - give her the final shot.
So no wonder I am feeling so funky and sad this week. Maybe this won't be as hard as I imagine it to be. I know it's for the best. I don't think I will be able to get another cat friend for a long time.
The weekend was great - weather was nice, lots of time with friends and Jeff and I were even getting along!
It all came to a crashing halt on Sunday night when my cat's leg stopped working. It was the strangest thing. She went to get in her hidey box and I heard this thunk. The ledge is only an inch or two, so it's not like she could have fallen. She looked ok to me and she curled up and went to sleep. Then she came out a little while later and she just laid there on the floor. She acted like she wanted to get up, but then she'd look back at her hind legs and nothing happened. I knew something was up.
She wasn't meowing or acting like she was in pain or anything but we tried to move her legs around and one of them just dangled there. She is 14 years old and she's been getting more and more arthritic. We didn't know if she had a stroke or what. We kept an eye on her and over an hour or so, the leg came back to life.
I took her to the vet first thing and the vet wasn't too terribly worried about the leg, but she was worried about her breathing. I hadn't noticed that it was strange, but I could see it. We did x-rays and ultrasound and then we got the diagnosis that she has a heart disease that carries a "poor prognosis". Her heart muscle is flacid, and they think that she had a blood clot and that's what caused her leg to go limp.
Me, I am a practical person. I can see the writing on the wall, and yet I spent over $1,000 to get this bad news. Ella and I haven't been the most physically affectionate of friends maybe, but we've been together for a very long time. I am responsible for her happiness and quality of life. I have always made sure that she gets everything she needs and she lives very comfortably, much more comfortably than billions of humans on Earth. I know that cats don't live as long as we do, but I guess I just took it for granted that she would always be around. I guess I'm in some degree of denial that the decision about how long she will live with this disease is on my shoulders. I don't like it one bit.
They prescribed 5 medicines for her that she will need to take for the remainder of her life. The whole time the vet is talking I am wondering "why?" and thinking about how impossible it is to get pills down the cat's throat. They gave her a prognosis of living days, maybe weeks WITH the medicines. I can't fathom that shoving pills down her throat when she's already feeling like hell is going to be a very good way of living, for either one of us.
And yet, I try. I crush them up and try to trick her into eating them with food. I'm not sure if she gets any of it. I'm not sure if she's getting better, or if she even can get better. What is better when you have a flacid, weak beating heart and fluid in your lungs? I don't mean to be insensitive but what's the point here? Is this just to make us feel like we're helping?
The reality is that my dear companion of 14 years is dying. I am going to give her medicines and I am going to get the results of her blood and urine tests in a couple of days. Maybe I'm a negative person who gives up to easily but I am not very optimistic. I know I will have to say goodbye to her sooner than I am ready to, and that I will have to decide no more pills or pretending - give her the final shot.
So no wonder I am feeling so funky and sad this week. Maybe this won't be as hard as I imagine it to be. I know it's for the best. I don't think I will be able to get another cat friend for a long time.
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