Before Jack arrived and during the time I procrastinated about setting up his room until I was so pregnant I could hardly walk, I was somewhat cool. Okay. I use the term loosely.But I had the most awesome circumstance - that is getting to do what I wanted, when I wanted. But the day I was setting up the nursery, clearing out all of that junk clutter - the stuff that accumulates because you don't have the heart to throw it out just yet and that tells some interesting stories about who you are - I ran across something particularly intriguing. At the time, I threw that object in the "get it the hell out of the way, I don't care what you have to do to it to make it disappear" pile, but maybe it should have gone in the "hey look Rich, it's another trip to the attic for you; sorry, I can't take care of it myself since I'm 75 years pregnant and you did this to me (eat a bag of shit)" pile.
I wish I had put it in the latter pile, but alas, it is gone forever.
I'm talking, of course, about my Beef stick. I realize that that could be misconstrued, so I'll leave it to you to brave the link. But that's one of the things that I miss. Or really, it represents the lifestyle that I miss. Instead of saving sticks and bobble heads and all the ridiculous pre-baby chochkey, I'm saving onesies and pacis and booties. Not that those things are bad to save. I do love my kid more than any of that. But I miss me too.
I tried to salvage some part of my 'before Jack' identity, by moving from Viaggio to here and setting up the Bug Barn, for example. Also, without meaning to, I realized the other day that I'm only buying red things (underwear, outerwear, shoes). I'm trying to continue doing the things I used to do - like Salon. But Me as I knew me, is fading. And I think that's OK. I guess I should say that I'm evolving. I mean, Ani DiFranco did it. So can I, right? But it's hard.
My thoughts are flooded only with Jack - what he needs, if he's hungry or tired or bored. I no longer have time for The New Yorker or for reading anything heavier than Janet Evanovich and Stephanie Meyer. And I'm doing crafts, for the love of God- making ornaments out of Styrofoam and glitter! For example, a few days ago I was watching Martha Stewart glue glitter to Styrofoam bird asses. I then caught myself thinking, "Oooh. glittery bird ass; it's a good thing!"
And then I made one.
And then I started wretching at the realization.
Gah! And what the hell!?
I know it's supposed to be like this, and I'm sure there is some sort of genetic something that makes mommies blind to everything except to what their babies and Martha Stewart need. I think it starts with nesting - that whole throwing out the Beef sticks to get ready for the baby. But where does it end? Should it?
I'm probably loosing it. But in my defense, I already was. At least I have a semi-legitimate excuse.
(As you can see, the writing is suffering, too, as the brain is now one tracked.)
Monday, December 22, 2008
Dichotomy
Before Jack arrived and during the time I procrastinated about setting up his room until I was so pregnant I could hardly walk, I was somewhat cool. Okay. I use the term loosely.But I had the most awesome circumstance - that is getting to do what I wanted, when I wanted. But the day I was setting up the nursery, clearing out all of that junk clutter - the stuff that accumulates because you don't have the heart to throw it out just yet and that tells some interesting stories about who you are - I ran across something particularly intriguing. At the time, I threw that object in the "get it the hell out of the way, I don't care what you have to do to it to make it disappear" pile, but maybe it should have gone in the "hey look Rich, it's another trip to the attic for you; sorry, I can't take care of it myself since I'm 75 years pregnant and you did this to me (eat a bag of shit)" pile.
I wish I had put it in the latter pile, but alas, it is gone forever.
I'm talking, of course, about my Beef stick. I realize that that could be misconstrued, so I'll leave it to you to brave the link. But that's one of the things that I miss. Or really, it represents the lifestyle that I miss. Instead of saving sticks and bobble heads and all the ridiculous pre-baby chochkey, I'm saving onesies and pacis and booties. Not that those things are bad to save. I do love my kid more than any of that. But I miss me too.
I tried to salvage some part of my 'before Jack' identity, by moving from Viaggio to here and setting up the Bug Barn, for example. Also, without meaning to, I realized the other day that I'm only buying red things (underwear, outerwear, shoes). I'm trying to continue doing the things I used to do - like Salon. But Me as I knew me, is fading. And I think that's OK. I guess I should say that I'm evolving. I mean, Ani DiFranco did it. So can I, right? But it's hard.
My thoughts are flooded only with Jack - what he needs, if he's hungry or tired or bored. I no longer have time for The New Yorker or for reading anything heavier than Janet Evanovich and Stephanie Meyer. And I'm doing crafts, for the love of God- making ornaments out of Styrofoam and glitter! For example, a few days ago I was watching Martha Stewart glue glitter to Styrofoam bird asses. I then caught myself thinking, "Oooh. glittery bird ass; it's a good thing!"
And then I made one.
And then I started wretching at the realization.
Gah! And what the hell!?
I know it's supposed to be like this, and I'm sure there is some sort of genetic something that makes mommies blind to everything except to what their babies and Martha Stewart need. I think it starts with nesting - that whole throwing out the Beef sticks to get ready for the baby. But where does it end? Should it?
I'm probably loosing it. But in my defense, I already was. At least I have a semi-legitimate excuse.
(As you can see, the writing is suffering, too, as the brain is now one tracked.)
I wish I had put it in the latter pile, but alas, it is gone forever.
I'm talking, of course, about my Beef stick. I realize that that could be misconstrued, so I'll leave it to you to brave the link. But that's one of the things that I miss. Or really, it represents the lifestyle that I miss. Instead of saving sticks and bobble heads and all the ridiculous pre-baby chochkey, I'm saving onesies and pacis and booties. Not that those things are bad to save. I do love my kid more than any of that. But I miss me too.
I tried to salvage some part of my 'before Jack' identity, by moving from Viaggio to here and setting up the Bug Barn, for example. Also, without meaning to, I realized the other day that I'm only buying red things (underwear, outerwear, shoes). I'm trying to continue doing the things I used to do - like Salon. But Me as I knew me, is fading. And I think that's OK. I guess I should say that I'm evolving. I mean, Ani DiFranco did it. So can I, right? But it's hard.
My thoughts are flooded only with Jack - what he needs, if he's hungry or tired or bored. I no longer have time for The New Yorker or for reading anything heavier than Janet Evanovich and Stephanie Meyer. And I'm doing crafts, for the love of God- making ornaments out of Styrofoam and glitter! For example, a few days ago I was watching Martha Stewart glue glitter to Styrofoam bird asses. I then caught myself thinking, "Oooh. glittery bird ass; it's a good thing!"
And then I made one.
And then I started wretching at the realization.
Gah! And what the hell!?
I know it's supposed to be like this, and I'm sure there is some sort of genetic something that makes mommies blind to everything except to what their babies and Martha Stewart need. I think it starts with nesting - that whole throwing out the Beef sticks to get ready for the baby. But where does it end? Should it?
I'm probably loosing it. But in my defense, I already was. At least I have a semi-legitimate excuse.
(As you can see, the writing is suffering, too, as the brain is now one tracked.)
5 comments:
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W said...
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I have found that there is always a huge divide between who I am and who I was. (and who I meant to be) It isn't just because of the baby. It is because things change. We change. We grow up and out and we move on. We get better. We shrink. We expand to encompass what is us, what is we, what is you or me, to encompass our lives. It is all still there, we are just looking at it from a different point of view.
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December 22, 2008 at 10:30 AM
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Ginger said...
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Yes, you are right, Tara.:) It's just that it took me a lot of years (28) for me to be semi-OK with who I was. And now it's all gone. I think I would like to have held on to that certainty a little bit longer. Though having a kid isn't the only thing that changes us, for me it was one of the things that knocked me off my game immediately and irrevocably. And though it was nine months of pre-knowing that, it wasn't until Jack was here that I started to understand it. I'm still working on that.
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December 22, 2008 at 11:56 AM
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W said...
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For me it was getting married that screwed me up for good. I was 30 when I got married. I had just gotten to be okay with me and my life. And then everything changed and what I was vanished. Sometimes I miss what I might have become, so I certainly understand where you are coming from. Sometimes I still wonder where I am in all of this.
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December 22, 2008 at 12:35 PM
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rich said...
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I’ve got your beef stick; don’t you worry. I mean the drum stick you perv.
I can’t believe you thought I threw out a box of keepsake crap just because you said too. My god woman, have you met me?
You shouldn’t stress too much about loosing yourself in Jack. The simple fact that you are worried about it will keep you from doing it. Your life isn’t all about him because you won’t let it be. You still have the salon and the Stars and Ani and red stilettos and a million other bits that have nothing to do with the kid. It’s just hard to remember those things on a day like today when it seams like we’ve had a 12 hour session of everyone’s favorite family fun time game of “Why is the baby crying?!” -
December 22, 2008 at 10:27 PM
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Unknown said...
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I remember envying women in European countries that had giant maternity leaves. They could spend two years away from Life as they knew it with the security of knowing their adult identity was protected by law for their eventual return. After having plenty of reeling days, I declared myself in maternity leave and took permission to fully be a mom (mentally, if not professionally) with that deadline on my calendar for returning to Life.
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January 3, 2009 at 11:44 AM
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5 comments:
I have found that there is always a huge divide between who I am and who I was. (and who I meant to be) It isn't just because of the baby. It is because things change. We change. We grow up and out and we move on. We get better. We shrink. We expand to encompass what is us, what is we, what is you or me, to encompass our lives. It is all still there, we are just looking at it from a different point of view.
Yes, you are right, Tara.:) It's just that it took me a lot of years (28) for me to be semi-OK with who I was. And now it's all gone. I think I would like to have held on to that certainty a little bit longer. Though having a kid isn't the only thing that changes us, for me it was one of the things that knocked me off my game immediately and irrevocably. And though it was nine months of pre-knowing that, it wasn't until Jack was here that I started to understand it. I'm still working on that.
For me it was getting married that screwed me up for good. I was 30 when I got married. I had just gotten to be okay with me and my life. And then everything changed and what I was vanished. Sometimes I miss what I might have become, so I certainly understand where you are coming from. Sometimes I still wonder where I am in all of this.
I’ve got your beef stick; don’t you worry. I mean the drum stick you perv.
I can’t believe you thought I threw out a box of keepsake crap just because you said too. My god woman, have you met me?
You shouldn’t stress too much about loosing yourself in Jack. The simple fact that you are worried about it will keep you from doing it. Your life isn’t all about him because you won’t let it be. You still have the salon and the Stars and Ani and red stilettos and a million other bits that have nothing to do with the kid. It’s just hard to remember those things on a day like today when it seams like we’ve had a 12 hour session of everyone’s favorite family fun time game of “Why is the baby crying?!”
I remember envying women in European countries that had giant maternity leaves. They could spend two years away from Life as they knew it with the security of knowing their adult identity was protected by law for their eventual return. After having plenty of reeling days, I declared myself in maternity leave and took permission to fully be a mom (mentally, if not professionally) with that deadline on my calendar for returning to Life.
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