Things I love about being a stay-at-home mom:
1. No alarms: Even though E. gets up at 7am every morning, I don't have to be anywhere at any specific time. I can entertain her in my pajamas and uncombed hair until whenever I get to that shower.
2. Visitors and visiting: I'm free to live my life around family and friends, visiting family when I need a break holding the baby and visiting friends when I need a break from family.
3. She knows me: I've had the chance to get to know my daughter. I know just how to comfort her, how to hold her, make her smile, put her to sleep. Maybe because of these things she watches me intently when I talk to her as if thinking, "Hey, she looks familiar!"
4. Being there: Seeing the changes as they happen, finding out her rhythms and preferences, being able to comfort her and see its effects.
5. Doing what counts for the one who counts on me most.

Things I won't miss about being a stay-at-home mom:
1. Being a stay-at-home mom alone
2. Not being able to see what I "accomplished" at the end of the day
3. Collegiality
4. Feeling unsure or indecisive for so much of the time as I'm trying to figure this parenting thing out.

She laughed today

School is starting again soon. I only have two pairs of “fat pants” that fit me and it seems every shirt I own goes right to the part of my middle I’m most self conscious of. So I finally gave in and decided to go shopping for some basics just to get me by for what will hopefully be more of a temporary than permanent amount of time. God I hate being fat. When I first go pregnant my cousin said, “Oh God, now you’re officially old.” I think we have this image about moms because hardly anyone ever gets to see the sexy versions of their mothers. By the time we’re born, we’ve RUINED it! Of course, there are exceptions to this generalization: like movie stars and that sickening mom at the pool sporting that red bikini and swimsuit model of a figure. If she ever wonders why the other moms were all hanging out and she was just with her beautiful son, she need only look in the mirror and remember that women can be jealous and petty when they’re feeling most insecure and sleep deprived.

So I called in reinforcements—the shopping queen and parking lot magician—my mom. We went shopping and took E with us because it just so happens that she’s going through a growth spurt this week and is hungry every hour and a half to two hours. Luckily for us, she dozed in the car seat and stroller throughout the six hour spree, waking up only to be fed, held a little, and falling back to sleep. At the end of the long day of shopping, I was talking to my dad at their house while mom was holding E, talking to her, making faces, and trying to get her to smile.

Dad was in mid-sentence when we heard E’s first all-out laugh. We both stopped and turned to see her, beaming at my mom, mouth opened wide in a smile, her voice bunching up and bursting out as mom said her name and lifted her above her face, calling her name. Mom was making kissing faces and wiggling her body back and forth in the air. E just kept laughing and laughing for what must have been at least a couple of minutes. All I could do was smile and smile and repeat, “She’s never done that before! This is the first time!” a few times over just to make sure they both knew what a momentous occasion it was because I could feel my insides bursting.

Baby laughs, even deep and throaty, are so pure they break your heart.

To Do Or Not To Do...and related questions

Looking at the number and frequency of my posts, you'd think that mothers don't have thoughts all that often. While that may be true to the extent that we've got so much going on in our heads that we lose some of our thoughts in the everyday shuffle before we can get a firm enough grasp on them, the truth of it lies in a constant tug of war going on in our heads. Take now for instance. I had already read a couple of other people's blog entries, feeling like I'd taken advantage of some of the "me time" that comes along when baby falls asleep for these longer stretches at night.

But then worry set in--what's the point of her sleeping longer when I just waste it all away on-line all the time?!? I should be sleeping when she does, that's what all the books, chat sites, parent websites tell me. Besides, after a long day of almost constant baby attention and living in between the small increments of time that motherhood chops life into, I feel pretty brain dead and doubt my ability to write anything halfway coherent, much less inspired.

So I hurriedly logged off, brushed my teeth and washed my face to get ready for bed. But then as I was brushing my teeth I started thinking about how unused this blogsite has been. The hum of the automatic toothbrush put me in a meditative trance and I began to see why; these precious moments in between feedings are always forcing me to make a tough choice between guarding my time to regroup or using it to do things in a hazy, half-conscious state. Do I invest in sleep, and possibly more clarity and coherence? Or should I jump into communication with the outside world, even if it might mean risking losing my thoughts mid-sentence, or a point I knew I wanted to make but can no longer put my finger on...

Oh well, the baby will need to be fed in just a few hours. Maybe I can get through an entire dream tonight before that happens. If not, it'll just be another hazy day.

An Oasis or Enlightenment?

8:05am I’m half afraid to write this for fear that she’ll realize she did it, but E slept 7 and a half hours last night and is currently 3 and a half hours into her next leg of sleep. Sure we rearranged the furniture in our bedroom to move in a crib for her. Sure it was her first night out of the bassinet she had been outgrowing. Sure she cried for a good 40 minutes (cumulative—we’re not that mean) between being hungry (we went out to dinner and got home 10 minutes late), tired, and just plain in a bad mood when we put her in the new bed. But this could be the beginning of something beautiful, couldn’t it? It’s 8am and I can’t believe I’m up, had some breakfast, have my contacts in, have even had the luxury of responding to a couple of emails, and now…am writing this.

Maybe babies were invented to teach middle-aged women how to finally appreciate and make better use of their time. Well, but then again I have spent more time than I’d like to admit zombied out in front of the TV when Emma’s finally fallen asleep for the night. Time I should’ve spent vacuuming or working out or responding to more emails I’m sure, but just couldn’t muster up the energy to do much else than watch That 70’s Show on our Tivo. Still, today’s a new day and I’m feeling full of energy and optimism for what life might be like today, and all that I might get done. It must be euphoria from the extra sleep.

Worries as part of the landscape

Although my old writing and reflective self seems to have taken a backseat to a new, brain-challenged, cruise-control mode of functioning, something else has settled in the passenger seat, constantly along for the ride. Worry. Worry about a tiny being who can't tell you what she needs. Worry about all of the things that can go wrong before the time she can. Worry about worrying too much and becoming a neurotic mom your daughter will be complaining to some therapist years from now.

The newest worry: can E hear? The husband and I spent a whole day yesterday slamming doors, calling her name loudly, clapping, banging pots and pans, and generally looking like psychotic parents, trying to get some kind of reaction from her. When we got the same composed look from her througout it all, we made an appointment with her pediatrician for today (which was why I had to leave a little earlier from ISI 06 this morning). His prognosis--he can't tell either. So now we await a referral and appointment for more specific testing at Lucile Packard Children's Hospital. Either Emma is hard of hearing or she is one cool cat who just isn't fased by anything. When she came home after being born, we purposely exposed her to loud noises so that she wouldn't be one of those overly sensitive babies bothered by any little thing. Now we're concerned that she's not bothered by anything. Yes Jonathan, I know that this baby stage will be over before I know it, and I'm going to miss it like crazy then. But the little surprise turns and bumps along the way can be a little scary...not unlike sailing in your lobster pod on the windy seas. Hopefully I'll be able to look back and remember how fun it all was because we all arrived safe and sound back at the docks, ready to gas up the car for our next adventure.

Who actually reads these things?

Call me old-fashioned, or maybe just modest Chinese, but I've always felt a little funny about creating a journal-like blog to put "out there" for others to read. After all, with everyone so busy working the standard 12 hour bay-area paced jobs, how does one find the time to go and read others' meandering thoughts? I seem to have enough trouble just keeping up with the news, much less taking the time to read or even to write updated reflections and insights on my life. Who even has time to reflect in the midst of the tornado winds of life these days?

But in the spirit of the summer and of trying new things and growing a little, even from home, I guess I'll give it a shot. Besides, the husband and newborn are both sleeping soundly for now, so I have a few spare minutes in between.

I dont' actually think I have thoughts anymore...not the "deep" kind anyway. No, those reflective thoughts are reserved for people who don't scarf down their food or run to the bathroom shouting, "yes, here's my chance!" everytime their baby falls asleep for a few minutes. Oops, she's just woken up crying. Here I go before I even get started...

Beginnings in the middle

Coming for a visit to SJSU for ISI 06 is a reminder that time keeps going even in the middle of motherhood. No, Jonathan and Laura are NOT looking older, odder maybe, but not older. Life continues on in its whirlpool pace of the summer institute even as it meanders through feedings, diaper changes, naps, and family visits for me at home.