Happy to Have a Happy Mother's Day

Since last Mother's Day, our third daughter, Tootsie, joined the family.  By now most of you know the saga of Tootsie--born two months early across the country, and with meningitis.  Tootsie and I spent six weeks together in a Boston hospital apart from Husband and Big and Middle Sis.  But the truth is, after a fairly speedy recovery from her infection, Tootsie was pretty good to go. Throughout the ordeal, we were fortunate on many levels, benefiting from the care of incredible health care professionals in an amazing hospital, the overwhelming support of family and friends, and a lack of related long-term health issues.  Today, you would never know our bouncing baby girl was a preemie.

Because this was my third go-round with pregnancy and childbirth, I knew to watch myself for signs of baby blues.  I figured I was particularly susceptible at this point in my life, with a new job and already busy household.  Returning to a recently purchased home with a fragile newborn and two daughters who missed their mom added a few variables.  But I had no idea how difficult things would be.

While this Mother's Day morning I woke up cheerful, loved up my girls, did a load of laundry, went for a jog, and enjoyed brunch with my family, mere months ago, in the throes of serious post-partum depression and anxiety, I struggled to get out of bed each morning.  Now that I'm reunited with Myself, I have the perspective to appreciate how scary post-partum depression can be for a normally happy, confident woman and her family.

I feel it's important to acknowledge how many women enter into what is universally considered the blessed state of motherhood with the monkey of PPD on their backs--a monkey accompanied by Fear, Lack of Confidence and Motivation, Guilt, Self-Loathing, Malaise, and Search for Meaning, among other unwanted guests.  The challenges of parenthood are great enough without attempting to mother from the bottom of a well.  Sitting among first-time mothers in my therapy/support group, I wondered if I would have had more children if I felt the way I did this time after our firstborn.

I am well enough now to know I would do it all over again.

But the journey back to rational thinking and happy days felt long and hard (and necessitated work on myself I'd never felt compelled to do in 42 years), and I suspect I will always keep an eye trained on myself and my vulnerability to overwhelm.

Whatever the causes of PPD--hormonal, societal, circumstantial, genetic--it's important we are mindful of the mamas out there. It's easy for those of us missing infants and rocking chairs to exclaim to new mothers that these are the best of days and aren't you just so in love?  I was always in love.  But I was also wide-eyed and paralyzed by a sense that everything was Just Too Much to Handle.  Thankfully, perceptive family members and friends began throwing out lifelines as I floundered.

We've got to continue to ask new and experienced mothers probing questions, offer help and support, and be persistent about seeking professional care when there's concern.  I was told a million times that the best mother is a healthy one.  I was told a million times it would get better, and a thousand times I didn't believe it.  But I am a happier, healthier self than I was six months ago, and I love being a mother more than ever.

Happy Mother's Day.  This year, I am not taking the "happy" for granted.

Nine Months

9 Months Old (young!)

She's officially been out of the womb longer than she was in.  And this month, she's on the go, crawling across the floor as of Sunday morning.  We need a gate on those stairs, stat!

When she's not bonking her head during one of her mobile adventures, Tootsie is blowing raspberries, showing off her two little razor-sharp teeth (and using them to gnaw on puffs, strawberries, Mum-Mums, her toes, and family members), lunging at her dog, practicing syllables (dadadada), and perfecting her role as soccer fan.  At her developmental check she was deemed right on target. Go Tootsie!

But no, she doesn't sleep through the night.  We call that a parenting fail.  Okay, okay:  One particular parent's fail.

One early morning this month before meeting her babysitter I brought our little rascal into the school library and asked our friend the librarian to hold her as I visited the restroom.  I returned to find her being passed around among staff members and students, who were taking pictures with her on their phones and competing for her company.  One of the older teenage boys was especially tender with her, resting his head on hers and breathing in her baby scent.

Her ready smiles and willingness to be held by strangers make her a great ambassador and her tagging along renders my work enterprises (cheering at lacrosse games, walking precincts for the bond election, attending superintendent's meetings) much more joyful.  Sometimes where my Work Life and Mom Life intersect is stressful, and sometimes it helps me feel better about both.  That morning, watching our baby connect with my students, I felt more connected to both them and her.

Her sisters still find that sun rises and sets on Tootsie; in fact, when there are occasions I whisk her off with me early in the morning and return with her late, they admittedly pine for her all day.

So much love.  *Blissful sigh*

Two Thirds

She's eight months old today, a whole two-thirds of a year, our Tootsie. Every day we get to know her a little better and come to the same conclusion:  she's a happy, happy baby.  In this photo you get a glimpse of her two new bottom (sharp!) teeth, her drool, her expressive eyebrows, and her devilish grin.  She can swivel herself around in a circle, and is starting to rock on all fours.   Crawling can't be far off.

So far her favorite foods are hummus, black beans, and Mammom's salmon.  And Baby Mum Mums as an appetizer.  She thinks she's hot stuff when she holds and drinks from a cup or water bottle.  She's still sleeping, for the most part, right between her mom and dad.

At soccer games (and she's been to many in her short life), she loves to be passed around among the players.  She knows how to relax in the jacuzzi. Dogs crack her up.  She's grabby, gummy, game, and amiable.  As Husband likes to say, "How did we ever get so lucky?"

Principal

I wrote the thoughts below a few weeks ago as I tried to articulate what my new job felt like and seemed like in relation to my old role as vice principal. March has been a blur of teachers receiving layoff notices, emotional meetings, fundraisers, soccer games, writing reports.  Trying to plan ahead while muddling through each day.

Once upon a time, as a teacher, I tended trees.  Of course, I planned activities meant to engage and grow a diverse group of them all at once, but I spent a considerable amount of time trimming and fertilizing individual trees in my care.

Then I became a vice principal and I treated the trees who were sent to me or who came.  I had time to talk to each one based on his or her needs, and their parents too.  Sometimes I managed a stadium of trees or a dance floor crowded with them, but in my office I felt like an arborist of both young and mature trees--learning from our students and staff how to best support their goals and growth.

Now I'm in the business of forests.  I make decisions about trees based on what's best for the good of the woods.  I'm often several steps back from the trees, listening to the Loraxes as I study maps and growth charts and write blueprints, making adjustments to our environment. 

This new perspective has its moments of pride and excitement.  But the responsibility is huge and  and a tree hugger like me covets time in the leafy shade, hikes in the woods.

Note: with a sub shortage, I've had the opportunity to cover some classes this month--fun!

7 months

Dear World,

Look at me.  That's right; I'm 7 months old.  I've got my tiara on my head, my phone in my mouth, my polka-dot pjs on and those awesome eyebrows telling you I think I'm pretty cool.  My sisters accessorized and posed me, and they're partially responsible for my zest for life, my strength, and my nonchalance at being dragged, bounced, swung, and carried. 

I had my six-month developmental check this week, which was a fun appointment with a physical therapist.  She put me on a mat with toys and watched me sit up, grab and slobber all over some play keys, and roll over (my first time was on my sister's birthday this month!), perform my admirable ab crunches and baby push-ups.  Her conclusion?  I'm right on track. 

I enjoy growling, giggling, squealing, kicking my feet, and grabbing hair and earrings.  I started eating solid foods this month, but I still prefer breastfeeding and the bottle.  A smushy banana in one of those mesh contraptions is a special treat, though.  I love Itsy Bitsy Spider and Pat-a-Cake.  My favorite toys are Carlos the Flower and Little Guy (ask my dad). 

My hair is growing in (just like my mom's, finally), and my arms and legs are still deliciously plump.

I remind those around me every day to enjoy this moment; life is good.

Love,

Tootsie

Snowplow

Yesterday I ran fast.  I ran like I'm moving through life right now, focused singlemindedly on what's  in front of me, trying not to trip, a little afraid to reflect too long.  The scenery on either side is a little too serene, or too perfect, in relation to what my life feels like, or alternately, it reminds me of so much sadness in the world.  I prefer not to look, not to think. Just to plow ahead.

But last week I ran with a lump in my throat, and this week my breathing was clear.

I often wake with sadness lingering in the air like someone else's perfume, oddly familiar, cloying and annoying.  I shower to wash it away and most days that works, as I clean and stretch and begin marching through the requirements of a busy weekday.  The busier I am, the better; idle times I let the dialogue begin, the voices asking why I didn't, haven't, or did.  The should haves and could haves and might happens creep in and overwhelm sidles up beside me.

But busy as better seems no way to live and I count the unanswered emails, unseen friends, unwritten cards, unspent moments with my family.  I imagine a less harried life, a simpler job, an unfettered mind.  I think of the mortgage, the college tuitions, the opportunities my salary offers.  I plow.

I hear the Buddhist exhortation to just be, as to dwell on the past is to regret and to look too far forward is to fear.  Yet I'm having trouble sitting with myself, this self who isn't as fun, as funny, as interesting as I remember her.  And there, regret again.  I must learn to love her, this self, imperfect and foreign-bodied, impatient as she is.

I was told this third baby is here to remind me to live in the moment, and she lives so right now and in our faces gummy and gleeful I can't help but be with her, and her sisters, as she draws them to her, and to us. I hoped, when she was conceived, that she would bring more joy to our lives and so she does.

It's only left for me to better capture the joy and breathe it and hold it and live in it.  More often.

New Year's Tribute: The Robin's Nest and My Village

For the past few years, I've written a New Year's Tribute to someone who helps make my work possible.  It's fitting that I'm barely getting this post in before February, given our current state of muddling through, and the fact that I have the time to write it at all is owed to the objects of my tribute:  you guys.

I've sent thank-you notes in the past few months, but not enough, and I bet some of you got two (and while I probably owe you five for the many blessings you've sent our way, the duplicate is likely representative of my inability to keep track anymore).  In other words, we are indebted; we are blessed; we are so overwhelmed by love and generosity we can't keep up with the gratitude you so deserve.

Which is no excuse.

During the past six months, friends and family have traveled far to help us.  You have picked up our kids and dropped them off.  You have kept them for an overnight, a week, or more.  You have showered us with gifts.  You have cleaned our house.  You have cooked and delivered dozens of meals.   You have given us time off with no questions asked. You have shared NICU stories, postpartum stories, parenting stories, tough-time stories.  You have offered walks, beers, time, babysitting, and kindnesses we haven't even been able to take you up on, but not for lack of want or need.  I've been able to return to work with some semblance of success this time due to your willingness to bake, hug, deliver, reassure, encourage, understand, reach out, believe, love, and support us.  And I've learned to accept my own vulnerability and the help you've offered.

My colleagues worked overtime in my absence and have been patient, generous, and understanding as I continue to get the lay of the land and fumble here and there.

Meanwhile, I tell myself, we don't have hardship; we have a third baby.  The circumstances of 2013, nevertheless, circumstances intertwined and layering, meant blessings brought unforeseen challenges. I grapple with the guilt that what brought so many struggles amounts to so much wonderfulness.

Last spring, as graduation loomed for the Class of 2013, the mother of a graduate, her third and last from our high school, anticipated her empty nest. She offered me and another colleague who was expecting a baby childcare in her home.  I knew she was an amazing mother, having watched her three children pass through our high school.  She taught me one of the most important lessons I learned while I was an assistant principal.  What I didn't know was how special and she would become to our entire family and how much of a Mother Mentor she would be to me.  "The Robin's Nest" is not only a home away from home for Tootsie, but a daily source of comfort for me.  I am grateful for her calm demeanor, her confident care of our daughter, her loving understanding of our two elder sisters, and her words of reassurance just when I need them.  I include an excerpt from a message she sent me in the fall: 

I just read your latest blog and I can so relate to how you feel. I have felt that... How could I be all things to all people?...What worked for me was simply saying upon waking in the morning... "Can I get through just this day with grace and love for all?"    I would always answer, "Yes."   I did this so I wouldn't think about tomorrow or Friday or the carpool on Saturday's game or the guilt I felt dragging my newborn around to all the outings and spending little to no quiet time with her... It's that old saying, 'one day at a time'.. otherwise the mind won't quiet down.

She gets it, which makes it all so much easier, and Tootsie lights up each time I hand her over to her much-more-than-a-babysitter. 

Our Village, complete with nests and meals and so much love, is amazing and so very, very appreciated. 

Thank you.