I've just come back in from sitting on the porch, drinking an out of the ordinary glass of wine and watching the day fade to the sound of crickets. It's a miraculous 68 degrees out and my mind is already full of autumnal things like pumpkins and hayrides and cardigans.
It's been a full day of extreme Sam-watching and a few quiet moments on the porch staring at the trees in the yard felt more necessary than usual. After 29 years of singleness and loads of nights moaning to someone (usually God) about being alone, now I am alone approximately 5-10 minutes a day, and that's just bathroom breaks. I have a feeling that God is shaking His head at me a little as I get what I want and then wish I still had a little of what I used to have.
I was in Georgia this past weekend visiting my family while Matt was on a prayer retreat for a few days. Driving 4 hours (a.k.a. 6 if you count stops for food and diaper changes) with just Sam is something I haven't done before until this weekend. I was a bit nervous and then somewhat empowered during the trips there and back. It reminded me of all those drives I had back and forth to Georgia from Nashville and later from Knoxville when I was single, running up the miles on my Jeep while listening to music and pondering life's mysteries and the complexities of relationships (i.e. silly boys).
Yesterday's drive found Sam napping not once but twice, which gave me time to reminisce to the background music of John Mayer, Greg Laswell, REM, Iron and Wine and other old and new radio friends. It was lovely and I reminisced like crazy about the last, oh, 10 years of my life. I haven't done that sort of thing in months (as in, 8.5) and it felt good to revisit old memories and dear friends and even a few regrets. I think I almost reclaimed a little of myself on the interstate yesterday, as John Mayer's voice filled my car and reminded me of my "old" life, sans diapers.
Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't trade this life that I have with my wonderful husband and adorable Sam for anything, but there are days when I crawl into bed and realize that I haven't thought even for a minute about what I want or feel or wish for. It's so completely the opposite of what used to occupy my mind just a few years ago. Now, I can't go 10 minutes without contemplating the cost of diapers and baby food or wondering why the contents of Sam's diaper today was such a weird color.
This life as a wife and mom is what I've always wanted, but the challenge of retaining some semblance of who I have been and imagining what I might still become is tougher than I even expected. And not because I'm fighting for time to be alone with my thoughts but because I don't even have the time to be aware of what I'm not thinking about.
After sharing a few of these realizations with my mom over the weekend, she reminded me of her grandmother, my great-grandmother, who had 8 sons and a husband who worked the nightshift. According to family stories, this woman didn't make it outside their yard for a full ten years as she reared those 8 boys of hers. Obviously, those were different times, but it does put things into perspective a bit.
Well, it's taken me close to 24 hours to actually write this blog post and now Sam's up from his last nap of the day, busily mashing Puffs (a magical food made of air and sweet potatoes) into the blanket he's sitting on. And I find that I'm already plotting another 20 minutes on the porch tonight with perhaps another glass of vino to accompany me.
I think there may be a balance somewhere between the constant "meeting of needs" all day and the quiet reflection that feels so elusive. I'm just not sure how to find that balance just yet. I welcome any and all suggestions.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
A Manifesto of Sorts
We've just gotten back from an afternoon at the pool which has only made me more aware that pale will never be cool. Nevertheless, sunscreen and I are on a first-name basis and at 32, I've given up on the dream of being tan.
Now that we're back in the land of air-conditioning, I'm still sitting in a wet bathing suit in our living room. (Try not to picture this). I don't normally sit around in my bathing suit, especially not when it's wet, but if I take the time to actually go change into normal, dry clothes, the babe will inevitably wake up and this tiny little window of time I have to write a bit will very quickly become a thing of the past.
Sam's snoozing in the next room, still in his carseat where he fell asleep on the way home. In the interest of dragging his nap out, I did a little driving around which also included some Sonic and a 64 cent cherry-limeade, a visit to Krystal and two mini-burgers, some talk radio and a call from Matt. Most of that was unnecessary information, but I feel like over-sharing today.
However, what I really want to address here in this post is something other than my random bathing suit-wearing afternoon visits to fast food restaurants. Instead, I feel like talking about how I have no response when someone casually asks me "So, what's been going on lately?" I usually pause and then look away, probably down at Sam, and then waste a little time by coughing unnecessarily while trying to drum up an answer. I mean, SURELY, I've done something interesting in the past 7 days that warrants sharing. But, after a little socially awkward silence, I come up with nothing. It's starting to make me wonder if I have Alzheimers or if I just genuinely have nothing going on.
But, I DO have stuff going on. It's just not the kind of stuff you talk about at parties or write about in your memoir. For starters, my days are usually ordered around Sam's naptime and bedtime. Everything in the schedule fits around those two things, come hell or high water, only a little less dramatic. Not to say that I'm not flexible, but if one of those two sleep events gets thrown off, it means lots of fussing (by Sam) and less sleep (for me). Those things together mean that I feel more stress, which means I eat more chocolate, which means I gain more weight, which means I get cranky, etc. So, as you can see, it's a slippery slope.
In addition to ordering things around Sam's sleep schedule, the rest of my time is devoted to laundry, cooking, running errands, occasional personal grooming (i.e. showers) and entertaining an almost 8 month old. I get lots done and I don't sit down much, but the only way you can really tell is that at the end of the day Sam is still alive and Matt has clothes to wear to work for tomorrow.
Basically, I'm pooped at the end of every day, but with not a lot to show for it. After all that energy spent, there are no works of art to be displayed, or film documentaries to wrap up, no music composed. I don't have a book to publish or even a magazine article to send to an editor. No awards are received, no time cards are punched. My portfolio and my resume have not benefited from the things I have accomplished. All in all, what I do each day goes largely unseen and the day after today I will do it all over again.
SIGH.
But, despite the lack of tangible expressions of my spent energy and the lack of an answer to "what's new with you?", I'm glad (and even proud) to be doing this thing called being a stay-at-home mom. No one sees these things I'm doing and Sam won't even remember all these days and weeks and months we've spent together.
But, I will.
I am logging hour after hour of memories of my little boy's life that I can never do over and never get back. And, no one else gets the privilege of doing this for him but me.
So, maybe I'm becoming a little dull at parties and I don't ever have much to update anybody on. OH WELL. I wouldn't trade these quiet, uneventful days with Sam for all the published books and all the jet-setting jobs and all the high fives in the world.
Now that I've written my stay-at-home mom manifesto, it's time to put on dry clothes and maybe even do some more laundry.
Now that we're back in the land of air-conditioning, I'm still sitting in a wet bathing suit in our living room. (Try not to picture this). I don't normally sit around in my bathing suit, especially not when it's wet, but if I take the time to actually go change into normal, dry clothes, the babe will inevitably wake up and this tiny little window of time I have to write a bit will very quickly become a thing of the past.
Sam's snoozing in the next room, still in his carseat where he fell asleep on the way home. In the interest of dragging his nap out, I did a little driving around which also included some Sonic and a 64 cent cherry-limeade, a visit to Krystal and two mini-burgers, some talk radio and a call from Matt. Most of that was unnecessary information, but I feel like over-sharing today.
However, what I really want to address here in this post is something other than my random bathing suit-wearing afternoon visits to fast food restaurants. Instead, I feel like talking about how I have no response when someone casually asks me "So, what's been going on lately?" I usually pause and then look away, probably down at Sam, and then waste a little time by coughing unnecessarily while trying to drum up an answer. I mean, SURELY, I've done something interesting in the past 7 days that warrants sharing. But, after a little socially awkward silence, I come up with nothing. It's starting to make me wonder if I have Alzheimers or if I just genuinely have nothing going on.
But, I DO have stuff going on. It's just not the kind of stuff you talk about at parties or write about in your memoir. For starters, my days are usually ordered around Sam's naptime and bedtime. Everything in the schedule fits around those two things, come hell or high water, only a little less dramatic. Not to say that I'm not flexible, but if one of those two sleep events gets thrown off, it means lots of fussing (by Sam) and less sleep (for me). Those things together mean that I feel more stress, which means I eat more chocolate, which means I gain more weight, which means I get cranky, etc. So, as you can see, it's a slippery slope.
In addition to ordering things around Sam's sleep schedule, the rest of my time is devoted to laundry, cooking, running errands, occasional personal grooming (i.e. showers) and entertaining an almost 8 month old. I get lots done and I don't sit down much, but the only way you can really tell is that at the end of the day Sam is still alive and Matt has clothes to wear to work for tomorrow.
Basically, I'm pooped at the end of every day, but with not a lot to show for it. After all that energy spent, there are no works of art to be displayed, or film documentaries to wrap up, no music composed. I don't have a book to publish or even a magazine article to send to an editor. No awards are received, no time cards are punched. My portfolio and my resume have not benefited from the things I have accomplished. All in all, what I do each day goes largely unseen and the day after today I will do it all over again.
SIGH.
But, despite the lack of tangible expressions of my spent energy and the lack of an answer to "what's new with you?", I'm glad (and even proud) to be doing this thing called being a stay-at-home mom. No one sees these things I'm doing and Sam won't even remember all these days and weeks and months we've spent together.
But, I will.
I am logging hour after hour of memories of my little boy's life that I can never do over and never get back. And, no one else gets the privilege of doing this for him but me.
So, maybe I'm becoming a little dull at parties and I don't ever have much to update anybody on. OH WELL. I wouldn't trade these quiet, uneventful days with Sam for all the published books and all the jet-setting jobs and all the high fives in the world.
Now that I've written my stay-at-home mom manifesto, it's time to put on dry clothes and maybe even do some more laundry.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Three Years of Good Times
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I still have a Bachelorette hangover from last night's marathon of reality romance, so I'm not sure how coherent this post will be. But, Sam's down for the 2:30 nap, which means I have a small window here to write a little, so I'm blogging instead of doing something else slightly more productive. Anyway, I feel the need to mention that tomorrow is our three year wedding anniversary. Three years of wedded bliss (sigh) with just a little bit of un-bliss here and there.
I was reminiscing this morning about how "we" came to be and how now we've got this little guy named Sam as a result (of sorts) of all those dates and emails and transatlantic phone calls and trips across the ocean. So, in honor of August 4, 2007 and my darling husband Matt, I thought I'd post a few pictures from our long-distance dating days and engagement.
The picture of the pink building is actually the governor's castle in Uppsala, Sweden where Matt proposed. It was totally Bachelorette-worthy, which is obviously what Matt was thinking when he made the plan to propose in a Swedish castle. That was also the night I ate reindeer for the first time. As it turns out, Rudolph, Donner and Blitzen taste amazing.
I am extraordinarily blessed to be married to Matt and I'm hoping for 60+ more years of good times with that man.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Operation Night-Night
Operation Night-Night is currently in full swing and so I have a few minutes (fingers crossed for 20) to spend a little quality time with my blog. It's been a while and I thought it was probably time we re-aquainted ourselves.
Of late, we've been implementing a naptime/bedtime routine in hopes of retaining my sanity and perhaps enabling me to resist the urge to take a shot of whiskey every hour on the hour (note: this hasn't happened yet, but Jack Daniels and I may have a future together). Needless to say, this process has been something I'd like to call HARD. Who knew that babies have such major issues with being asked to put themselves to sleep? Not me.
So, we're trying something called SleepSense and I have to say that the $47 I spent online for a downloadable book was totally worth it. I even get a 15 minute call-in once a month to chat with the author. I'm wondering if that's where $37 of that sticker price is going. Not sure what I'll say when I call her but at the moment I'm thinking I'll thank her and, if all goes well, offer to vote for her in the next presidential election.
Perhaps you're wondering why it's taken me 7 months to figure out that The Babe needed a sleep schedule. Well, there are so many reasons why we hadn't given him one already and honestly, I'm not going to waste your time with detailing what I've been doing wrong all this time. I'd rather not be knocked off that high pedestal I'm sure you've had me on. As it turns out, 7 months of not sleeping well can seriously hamper your ability to think effectively. Case in point: I backed into the ditch at the end of our driveway this past week on my way to the grocery store. Roughly two hours later, a very large tow truck was driving away after having extracted the Jeep (question: does a Jeep without 4 wheel drive really deserve its Jeep card?) from the aforementioned ditch. I blame this event on long-term sleep-deprivation and not my driving capabilities. It's possible my husband would not agree with my placement of blame, but I'm pretty sure lack of sleep is the issue here.
BUT, besides Operation Night-Night, there have been some good times with the Samster. Sam saw the ocean for the first time on our little excursion to Jekyll Island with the grandparents last week. Big Fun. He also tried grits for the first time, which is, according to many southerners, the perfect food. He was a fan. Sam went to his first birthday party (not his party, but a friend's 27th birthday party) and he was a big hit. Only speed bump on that highway of fun was the aftereffects of the Happy Birthday song which included some "hip, hip, hoorays" at the end. After the 30 or so adult voices in the room finished with the last hooray, one little voice was still yelling and it was not "hooray." It was similar to his reaction during the World Cup US/England game. The boy doesn't like yelling, which I find ironic.
If I survive Baby Boot Camp (as a friend refers to the sleep-training process), I'll post a few pictures of Sam on vacation soon. That's IF I survive, which today feels like a big, fat IF.
I'll leave you with a quote from Plato, because I am that well-read:
"Out of all the animals, the BOY is the most unmanageable."
This makes me wonder how many Operation Night-Nights Plato had to impose.
Of late, we've been implementing a naptime/bedtime routine in hopes of retaining my sanity and perhaps enabling me to resist the urge to take a shot of whiskey every hour on the hour (note: this hasn't happened yet, but Jack Daniels and I may have a future together). Needless to say, this process has been something I'd like to call HARD. Who knew that babies have such major issues with being asked to put themselves to sleep? Not me.
So, we're trying something called SleepSense and I have to say that the $47 I spent online for a downloadable book was totally worth it. I even get a 15 minute call-in once a month to chat with the author. I'm wondering if that's where $37 of that sticker price is going. Not sure what I'll say when I call her but at the moment I'm thinking I'll thank her and, if all goes well, offer to vote for her in the next presidential election.
Perhaps you're wondering why it's taken me 7 months to figure out that The Babe needed a sleep schedule. Well, there are so many reasons why we hadn't given him one already and honestly, I'm not going to waste your time with detailing what I've been doing wrong all this time. I'd rather not be knocked off that high pedestal I'm sure you've had me on. As it turns out, 7 months of not sleeping well can seriously hamper your ability to think effectively. Case in point: I backed into the ditch at the end of our driveway this past week on my way to the grocery store. Roughly two hours later, a very large tow truck was driving away after having extracted the Jeep (question: does a Jeep without 4 wheel drive really deserve its Jeep card?) from the aforementioned ditch. I blame this event on long-term sleep-deprivation and not my driving capabilities. It's possible my husband would not agree with my placement of blame, but I'm pretty sure lack of sleep is the issue here.
BUT, besides Operation Night-Night, there have been some good times with the Samster. Sam saw the ocean for the first time on our little excursion to Jekyll Island with the grandparents last week. Big Fun. He also tried grits for the first time, which is, according to many southerners, the perfect food. He was a fan. Sam went to his first birthday party (not his party, but a friend's 27th birthday party) and he was a big hit. Only speed bump on that highway of fun was the aftereffects of the Happy Birthday song which included some "hip, hip, hoorays" at the end. After the 30 or so adult voices in the room finished with the last hooray, one little voice was still yelling and it was not "hooray." It was similar to his reaction during the World Cup US/England game. The boy doesn't like yelling, which I find ironic.
If I survive Baby Boot Camp (as a friend refers to the sleep-training process), I'll post a few pictures of Sam on vacation soon. That's IF I survive, which today feels like a big, fat IF.
I'll leave you with a quote from Plato, because I am that well-read:
"Out of all the animals, the BOY is the most unmanageable."
This makes me wonder how many Operation Night-Nights Plato had to impose.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Michael W. Smith Was Right
Today I'm feeling thankful for Facebook (honorable mentions: Nutella, Target and anti-aging cream.) Facebook, while a bit of a time-waster, doubles as the portal through which I am able to see the goings-on of friends that live farther away from me than they should.
Currently, as I type this, I'm missing my favorite chemist Chrissy in New Mexico and reminiscing about her magical cooking skills that make lovely things out of almost nothing. I'm also pondering what my friend Lyndsay, who works for a non-profit clinic, is doing today in Old Mexico and I'm imagining her healing the sick and eating tacos, the likes of which Taco Bell can only dream of. There's also Amanda and her brood of 3 under 3 who I would pay money to hang out with right now. And then, of course, there's Alexis, sun-tanned creative genius, in sunny San Diego where everyone has good hair and surfing is a prerequisite before breakfast. My dear friend Abigail is in Kentucky when she really should be here drinking tea with me and discussing the future betrothal of our children. Lydia and Jen are in Georgia where I grew up and there are days where I spend considerable thinking power trying to figure out how we can move back down to the Deep South just to be near those childhood friends. Additionally, there's Traci (queen of healthy eating), Steph (my clever friend), Rebecca (the wise one); all in Nashville living lives that should include me. Ha. Atleast, in my opinion. Frankie in DC (my fellow bibliophile), Leigh (the Swede), Jessica (who loves the weather channel and China). Oh dear. This list could go on and on, but I'm running out of my allotted blogging time (set by Sam the Taskmaster).
What's the deal with people I like being so far away? In light of this problem, I find myself pondering what it might have been like to live 50 years ago when things were simpler and people tended to stay in their hometowns and had never heard of Facebook, Twitter or Skype. They had 3 digit phone numbers and wrote letters and had ice-cream socials and rarely drove as far as the next town. Maybe I'm over-simplifying those people and if Mad Men has taught me anything, it's that life 50 years ago might not have been as innocent as it might appear.
Basically, I'm just wishing for the days when you didn't find yourself stalking friends online to see what they're up to because they live next door and you accidentally overhear their conversations on the telephone line you share. I wish I could walk over to Amanda's house right now and let Sam hang out with her boys (which might include some crazy pacifier swapping and maybe even a little group crying) while we talked on the porch about the weather. And how great would it be if I could walk over to Chrissy's this evening to borrow an egg and be entertained by a story or two about what three-year old Ina had to say today.
Like I said, I'm thankful for Facebook, but at the same time, I wish it didn't have a reason to exist. It makes it possible for me keep up with the people that I love but I'd so much rather it didn't have to.
This is the point in the blog when I'd like to take a moment to let out a big 'SIGH.' Ok, I've done my whining and now I'm wrapping up this post so that I can venture over to Facebook to stalk my friends.
Friends o' Mine, you are missed.
Currently, as I type this, I'm missing my favorite chemist Chrissy in New Mexico and reminiscing about her magical cooking skills that make lovely things out of almost nothing. I'm also pondering what my friend Lyndsay, who works for a non-profit clinic, is doing today in Old Mexico and I'm imagining her healing the sick and eating tacos, the likes of which Taco Bell can only dream of. There's also Amanda and her brood of 3 under 3 who I would pay money to hang out with right now. And then, of course, there's Alexis, sun-tanned creative genius, in sunny San Diego where everyone has good hair and surfing is a prerequisite before breakfast. My dear friend Abigail is in Kentucky when she really should be here drinking tea with me and discussing the future betrothal of our children. Lydia and Jen are in Georgia where I grew up and there are days where I spend considerable thinking power trying to figure out how we can move back down to the Deep South just to be near those childhood friends. Additionally, there's Traci (queen of healthy eating), Steph (my clever friend), Rebecca (the wise one); all in Nashville living lives that should include me. Ha. Atleast, in my opinion. Frankie in DC (my fellow bibliophile), Leigh (the Swede), Jessica (who loves the weather channel and China). Oh dear. This list could go on and on, but I'm running out of my allotted blogging time (set by Sam the Taskmaster).
What's the deal with people I like being so far away? In light of this problem, I find myself pondering what it might have been like to live 50 years ago when things were simpler and people tended to stay in their hometowns and had never heard of Facebook, Twitter or Skype. They had 3 digit phone numbers and wrote letters and had ice-cream socials and rarely drove as far as the next town. Maybe I'm over-simplifying those people and if Mad Men has taught me anything, it's that life 50 years ago might not have been as innocent as it might appear.
Basically, I'm just wishing for the days when you didn't find yourself stalking friends online to see what they're up to because they live next door and you accidentally overhear their conversations on the telephone line you share. I wish I could walk over to Amanda's house right now and let Sam hang out with her boys (which might include some crazy pacifier swapping and maybe even a little group crying) while we talked on the porch about the weather. And how great would it be if I could walk over to Chrissy's this evening to borrow an egg and be entertained by a story or two about what three-year old Ina had to say today.
Like I said, I'm thankful for Facebook, but at the same time, I wish it didn't have a reason to exist. It makes it possible for me keep up with the people that I love but I'd so much rather it didn't have to.
This is the point in the blog when I'd like to take a moment to let out a big 'SIGH.' Ok, I've done my whining and now I'm wrapping up this post so that I can venture over to Facebook to stalk my friends.
Friends o' Mine, you are missed.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Ode to Fish Tacos
We've made these tacos twice this last week and I'm already thinking about when I can get away with making them again. So, in the interest of sharing good recipes with people I like, here's the "Cook This, Not That" version of fish tacos...
Grilled Fish Tacos
Ingredients:
1 mango, pitted, peeled and cubed
1 avocado, pitted, peeled and cubed
1/2 red onion, finely chopped
Juice of one lime, plus wedges for garnish
chopped, fresh cilantro
Salt and Black pepper
Canola oil
2 large mahi mahi (we used tilapia)
1 tbsp blackening spice (more on that later)
8 corn tortillas
2 cups of finely shredded red cabbage
-Mix the mango, avocado, onion and juice of one lime in a bowl. Season with cilantro, salt and pepper.
-Heat a grill or stovetop grill pan until hot. Drizzle a light coating of oil over the fish and rub on the blackening spice. Cook the fish, undisturbed, for 4 minutes. Carefully flip with a spatula and cook for another 4 minutes. Remove.
-Warm the tortillas on the grill for 1 to 2 minutes or wrap in damp paper towels and microwave for 1 minute until warm and pliable.
-Break the fish into chunks and divide among the warm tortillas. Top with the cabbage and the mango salsa. Serve with the lime wedges.
*Rub for Fish:
1 tsp each: cumin, paprika, cayenne, oregano, black pepper, and salt. If you're sensitive to spicy foods, you might want to cut down on the cayenne.
Makes 4 servings
380 calories per serving
11 g fat
Yum.
Grilled Fish Tacos
Ingredients:
1 mango, pitted, peeled and cubed
1 avocado, pitted, peeled and cubed
1/2 red onion, finely chopped
Juice of one lime, plus wedges for garnish
chopped, fresh cilantro
Salt and Black pepper
Canola oil
2 large mahi mahi (we used tilapia)
1 tbsp blackening spice (more on that later)
8 corn tortillas
2 cups of finely shredded red cabbage
-Mix the mango, avocado, onion and juice of one lime in a bowl. Season with cilantro, salt and pepper.
-Heat a grill or stovetop grill pan until hot. Drizzle a light coating of oil over the fish and rub on the blackening spice. Cook the fish, undisturbed, for 4 minutes. Carefully flip with a spatula and cook for another 4 minutes. Remove.
-Warm the tortillas on the grill for 1 to 2 minutes or wrap in damp paper towels and microwave for 1 minute until warm and pliable.
-Break the fish into chunks and divide among the warm tortillas. Top with the cabbage and the mango salsa. Serve with the lime wedges.
*Rub for Fish:
1 tsp each: cumin, paprika, cayenne, oregano, black pepper, and salt. If you're sensitive to spicy foods, you might want to cut down on the cayenne.
Makes 4 servings
380 calories per serving
11 g fat
Yum.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
I Heart Sam
Today started with lots of tears. The big, hot kind that well up in the corner of Sam's big blue eyes and then roll furiously down his round cheeks, blotchy from crying. The culprit? Teething, or so I assume. Ear-pulling, fussiness, chewing on anything and everything, excessive drool: all apparent clues to the advent of The Tooth. I tried everything to make things better. Cold teethers, cold baby food, cold water, rubbing his gums with my finger, and then eventually I held him upside down to hopefully distract him. Oddly enough, that got a laugh or two and seemed to make things better. Whew. And then the tears were back again. Sigh.
Currently, Sam's snoozing in his little swing and I'm enjoying channel 840, also known as "Classical Masterpieces." Now that I have a quiet moment or two, accompanied by Mozart, I'm musing a bit. Specifically, I've been pondering lately how full my heart is these days as a mom. Despite the rough patches, which always pass, I am so in love with this little boy named Sam. Sometimes I get a bit overwhelmed by this love and squeeze him a little hard for someone who weighs 17 pounds. My friend Lyndsay would laugh at this because she's always complaining that I hug too hard. Well, I hug to the measure that I love. Sam's uncomfortable grunt when I hugged him tight earlier today let me know that he'd had enough love for the moment. Seriously, this new reality of being a mom is powerful. I understand now what it means to "have your heart walking around outside of your body." Or crawling, as the case may be.
The follow-up thought to all this love I'm feeling these days is an acute sensitivity to the thought of a child not being loved. I've always been bothered by news stories about child abuse or children neglected or abandoned. But, now that Sam exists in the world, I feel this intense, instinctive desire to protect. I get a pit in my stomach whenever I see someone yelling at their child at the mall or when I see a new mom who's brought her screaming 2 week old baby to Wal-Mart. It takes everything I've got not to walk over and offer to adopt those people's children. Seriously.
All of this has made me keenly aware of a desire to literally adopt. I've always thought I wanted to, but now I can't stop thinking about it. I know that adopting one child (or two) obviously won't negate all the evil done in the world to children, but at least it's a start. I confessed to my husband recently that I'm praying for enough money to adopt a baby. I felt like he should probably be aware of this specific petition I was making. That way, if God lets us win the lotto, Matt will know where the money's supposed to go.
So, as I sit here and watch the rise and fall of Sam's little chest as he sleeps, I'm wondering what the future holds for him and for our family. Who else is going to be hanging out here with Sam and I listening to Mozart's Concerto No. 1? I love thinking about the possibilities and I'm aching a bit to hold additional little ones and love them as hard as I love Sam.
Currently, Sam's snoozing in his little swing and I'm enjoying channel 840, also known as "Classical Masterpieces." Now that I have a quiet moment or two, accompanied by Mozart, I'm musing a bit. Specifically, I've been pondering lately how full my heart is these days as a mom. Despite the rough patches, which always pass, I am so in love with this little boy named Sam. Sometimes I get a bit overwhelmed by this love and squeeze him a little hard for someone who weighs 17 pounds. My friend Lyndsay would laugh at this because she's always complaining that I hug too hard. Well, I hug to the measure that I love. Sam's uncomfortable grunt when I hugged him tight earlier today let me know that he'd had enough love for the moment. Seriously, this new reality of being a mom is powerful. I understand now what it means to "have your heart walking around outside of your body." Or crawling, as the case may be.
The follow-up thought to all this love I'm feeling these days is an acute sensitivity to the thought of a child not being loved. I've always been bothered by news stories about child abuse or children neglected or abandoned. But, now that Sam exists in the world, I feel this intense, instinctive desire to protect. I get a pit in my stomach whenever I see someone yelling at their child at the mall or when I see a new mom who's brought her screaming 2 week old baby to Wal-Mart. It takes everything I've got not to walk over and offer to adopt those people's children. Seriously.
All of this has made me keenly aware of a desire to literally adopt. I've always thought I wanted to, but now I can't stop thinking about it. I know that adopting one child (or two) obviously won't negate all the evil done in the world to children, but at least it's a start. I confessed to my husband recently that I'm praying for enough money to adopt a baby. I felt like he should probably be aware of this specific petition I was making. That way, if God lets us win the lotto, Matt will know where the money's supposed to go.
So, as I sit here and watch the rise and fall of Sam's little chest as he sleeps, I'm wondering what the future holds for him and for our family. Who else is going to be hanging out here with Sam and I listening to Mozart's Concerto No. 1? I love thinking about the possibilities and I'm aching a bit to hold additional little ones and love them as hard as I love Sam.
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