Postmodern Mom

Tying Up Loose Ends

2005-09-23T10:14:00.000-07:00

Well, this may or may not be my last entry for the one or two of you who have read this blog (including the a**hole who spammed me on my last entry). Mommy Time takes up most of my energy now. I am still settling in to this new role of mine. Will I ever completely adjust? Only time will tell. I do know that what we are doing is right for the Bruiser (he weighs 21.5 pounds now).

I love him so much it’s beyond comprehension. When I feel down (which still often plagues me) I find hope and purpose in his eyes. I admire his strength. His humor becomes more sophisticated with each day (very important in this household). When I hear awful stories of infant abuse this incredible rage wells up in me and I have to fight back the tears. Of course, people who abuse children have their own past demons to contend with as well as amazingly inferior self-esteem, but now that I have a child I see another reason for it. I think there is a jealously that can grip people like that when they see the absolute perfection of a child. It magnifies the absence of hope—the hole that continues to grow with each passing day in the life of someone who has had that perfection stripped of them. Yes, we all lose a bit of that perfection, but if you have truly been loved by someone as a child that is what carries you.

As for the rest of my life, I will continue to grapple with the relatively recent discovery that I was adopted. The news still hits me like a football to the gut. The irony is that I feel closer to my adopted family than I ever have. My son has brought us together. I think there is a relief for my adopted mom. When I saw her recently I was struck by how old she is becoming (she is 81). It’s getting harder for me to stay mad at her. Whatever has happened in the past I want the end of her life to be a comforting time.

As for my birth family, it is still all so new. My sisters and I continue to work on defining our relationship. And as for my main New Year’s resolution of finding my birth father, I don’t think it could ever happen, unless he searches for me. I don’t even know his name. I don’t know anything about him. Often I gaze into my son’s face and wonder if there is a shred of him there. It makes me very sad, but I have come to accept it.

So that is that. Thanks to those few of you who have checked me out. Rose Thetis is not my real name. There is a story to this name which I won’t go into. If you have read a little Ann Patchett and know your Greek mythology, that should provide some clues. Until the next time…

Behold! A Stay At Home Mom Is Born!

2005-07-18T13:25:00.000-07:00

Boy was I ranting during my last entry. See what chronic sleep deprivation can do? I just napped so hopefully won’t sound as insane.

So we have decided we needed more stability in our lives (after lacking it completely over the last two and a half years). My husband is going from self-employed to employee. This will enable me to stay with E for at least a few months. It has just worked out that way and could have easily been the other way around. A. would have been happy to be at home with Le Bebe. That’s what I love about him (my relationship is not really down the crapper).

I am giving up a job I love for this, but I know that it’s the best thing for him. This decision, though, is not without its concerns. Yet another identity change for me. I need to figure out ways to not feel so isolated. So far A. has been home with me and the baby.

I also need to figure out ways to get those damn mustard baby poop stains out of clothes. A shout out to my lactating La Leche ladyfriends out there. How do you do it? I must keep the new medium onesies unblemished? (Is THIS my purpose in life?)

Behold! A Child Is Born!

2005-07-03T14:12:00.000-07:00

On May 6th I became a mother (God help us all). The journey was both wonderful and excruciating (and not because of the labor pains). I labored at home for two days. This was an amazing exercise in mental control. I rode out each contraction with a mental calmness I am very proud of. I had incredibly uncomfortable back labor which increases the pain of labor exponentially. I never thought of myself as a big vocalizer, but moaning through each surge helped a lot. My husband (A) was so supportive as was my doula. She was with us for a couple days and did everything from giving me a bath to helping to wipe away my mucous plug (not pretty).

The experience turned a bit sour when it was time to head for the hospital on Thursday afternoon. All I had heard about impatient hospital staff pushing interventions was true. I entered the hospital at 5 cm dilated and was forced to re-answer questions that had been answered when I pre-registered weeks before (they couldn’t find my file initially). They were asking me questions during my contractions and expecting me to answer them. There was even someone who came in and was ready to take my blood right in the middle of a contraction. The initial labor nurse I had was terrible and made some comment about modesty when I had my hospital gown hiked up.

I made it to 7 cm and that is where I got stuck—for 20 hours. We tried every position to get the baby to turn from a posterior position (“sunny side up”). He wouldn’t budge and I lost steam. We eventually tried the epidural with pitocin which lead to the c-section. I had great hospital staff by this point, but the c-section was still very difficult. The best part of it was knowing I would see the baby soon. They lay you down as if you will be crucified and tie your arms down (the anesthesiologist untied me quickly, knowing it was stupid practice). You can’t see anything. They shaved me without warning me and all the while the staff laughed and talked about their upcoming weekend. They were all pleasant enough, but were completely oblivious to how utterly helpless and scared I was.

Seeing my baby (Baby E aka Chunky Brewster) made it all worth it. I was amazed by how beautiful his skin was (c-section babies look so much better than vaginal births). His little tongue was darting out looking instinctively for food.

I won’t dwell on the 5-day hospital stay, which was exhausting. I am still recovering from my surgery.

Now here we are, 2 months later—the 2 most difficult months of my life. If a woman tells you how wonderful it is be with your newborn she is lying to you and to herself. There is no honeymoon period (except briefly when you first see your baby). I have cried often and every day I think of escaping this situation (and I don’t even think I have full-blown post-partum). I went to find out if I needed drugs and was told it wasn’t severe enough. The social worker acknowledged, though, that I was (literally) experiencing what prisoners of war go through. Sleep deprivation is the most common form of torture.

Breast-feeding has made me little more than a shell. I have to keep telling myself it’s for the baby. With each feeding I am reminded of images of a snapping turtle I once saw on Animal Planet. He is a boob man who, at only 2 months of age, has almost doubled his weight (which normally happens at 4 months of age). I guess I am doing something right.

I feel guilty each time I am glad he is asleep.

I won’t even go into how my relationship has gone down the crapper.

Most of what I have mentioned here is negative—and that is because it is. But there is something so mesmerizing about this baby that moves me like no other image. His beauty is beyond description. It’s not just the softness of his skin, but his persistence to live. There is no life force like that of an infant. That is what people are drawn to, I believe, more than their looks. The perfection of an infant can move you to tears. Waking each day to his smile keeps me an agnostic. How can I not wonder if there is more to this little being?

Imminent Birth

2005-04-20T15:10:00.000-07:00

So this baby will be born from within me in less than 2 weeks. It’s amazing to me how an experience that happens countless times every day—so ordinary—can be so incredibly extraordinary. Why isn’t EVERYONE talking about this?

The Physical: There is this amazing dance that happens between my body and this other entity. My mind can only sit back and watch. My baby will soon decide when he is ready to begin his emergence. For months I have felt his rhythmic exercises. I can predict that at 8:00pm he will perk up as well as when I get up to pee (which is very often). I can feel his form now. His head is in position, getting lower. His back still moves from left to right. His right foot loves to scrape against my right ribs. My uterus has been contracting for a long time now, irregularly. I know that this will be the only time in my life when gut-wrenching pain will be a good thing. I want to maintain my amazement and accept a certain loss of control. Through labor I want to continue to embrace this 9-month-old dance. All that I can control is my reaction to the pain.

The Emotional: I have still not definitively figured out why I want to become a parent. How can this act be so simultaneously selfish and selfless? We all want to be loved by others. We all want to love. That could be it, but it’s not because I have others in my life for that. Is it the purity of a child’s love? Well, that doesn’t last forever. The biologist in me knows, evolutionarily, that parenting is too complex to be strictly instinctual. So what is it that drives this desire? And to not just parent, but parent my own biological child. Figuring this one out may require several scotch and sodas once I’m off the wagon again.

For now I guess I will just enjoy the ride.

Is Anybody Out There?

2005-03-01T08:38:00.000-08:00

So I am new to this blog thing so it makes sense that the traffic is slow on the site. I'm slowly getting the word out. What I would like to know from those of you who have checked it out is why are you not posting comments? Only 2 thus far. I've posted some brilliantly offensive stuff. I'd at least like to have a complaint made against me. Is it that boring?

I really do need some feedback and advice on how to share this with the world (if it's even worth while to do that). I'm starting to wonder.

PLEASE...pacify me.

In Defense of Bad Music

2005-02-22T17:41:00.000-08:00

So I was watching American Idol (don’t ask) last night (which is incredibly boring, by the way, now that the bad(der) singers are gone) and one of the guys sings one of the quintessential power ballads of the last 20 years, Hold On to the Night, by that musical guru Richard Marx (also famous for writing Vixen’s one and only hit, Edge of a Broken Heart, during the glam metal days of the 80s—ahhhh I remember them well).

As this boy built up a crescendo towards the end, the drop screen behind him projected the crashing waves of the ocean (signifying the churning emotions of true love perhaps or maybe the constant barrage of memories of a lost love that rhythmically flood the mind). As I watched this spectacle in utter disbelief I was left wondering if there were actually people around the world moved by this.

These vastly different reactions to the Power Ballad (all visceral in their own way) have led me to wonder what is it about this musical genre that draws such intense responses? We either love it or hate it. There is no in between.

My theory is this: genetics. Just as a cat carries the gene that allows him to either get incredibly baked in the afterglow of catnip hits or to momentarily pause at a catnip toy before indignantly walking on, so do humans either possess or lack the ability to be moved by the emotional surges of Celine Dion. I see no other explanation.

So then the question arises, is this trait dominant or recessive? I would like to think recessive, hoping that both the dominant, homozygous genotype, let’s call BB, and the dominant heterozygous, Bb, both result in the Michael Bolton-hating phenotype. This leaves only the homozygous recessive genotype, bb, required for shmaltz-loving. In other words, going back to the recesses of high school punnett square probability, there would be a 75% chance of a couple producing a Power Ballad hater. (We will avoid more complicated genetic possibilities such as sex-linked characteristics, mutation, etc.)

So if my theory is correct, I must have more of a tolerance for this group of people. I must show compassion for they know not what they sway to. Beyond this I must show some admiration for the leaders of this community (the Richard Marxes and Mariah Careys) who have proudly embraced the genetic minority they belong to and have rallied other members to “Say it loud, we’re lame and proud.”

So the next time you see a 16-year old girl at a stop light in the car next to you with all windows down singing her heart out to Wilson Phillips’ Release Me, don’t roll up your window as would be your natural tendency. Raise your fist in solidarity and shout, “Power to the People” as you speed off to your destination.

Baby Shower Revisited

2005-02-20T20:58:00.000-08:00

Ok, so we went to the baby shower my family threw for us this weekend. It turned out to be a lot of fun even though there were no special mommy rite of passage ceremonies I would like to be a part of. It was very girly (held at a tea house) and I dressed like a girly. No black pantsuits as is customary for me to wear to these things. That was ok, though. Cool girly is very different from lame girly (right?). I think I most enjoyed getting very practical advice from friends and relatives with children. I think if there is any occasion to share sage advice about babies it is at a shower. You know, I also REALLY enjoyed the attention, surprisingly. I usually HATE attention. Mommy-to-be attention is very different, though. It’s this recognition that what you are embarking on is a difficult and permanent and beautiful journey. I think people gravitate towards the life force inside of you. There is something very life-affirming (perhaps species-affirming) about it. Of course, the human species is not at any risk of dying out anytime soon, but, at the risk of sounding like a certifiable pro-lifer, to see a life that a woman is choosing to carry and to guide into this world, can bring those around her a sense of hope that things can be made better than they are now.

Families Old and New

2005-02-14T21:30:00.000-08:00

The journey of getting to know my birth family continues. I spoke with my birth cousin and aunt for the first time. It’s amazing how the history of blood can play such a powerful role in welcoming one into a stranger’s life. These people who I would never have known have extended themselves so much to me.

My birth mother’s sister looks hauntingly like my mother. My half-sisters tell me she sounds and acts like her such that they couldn’t look at her at our mother’s memorial. I’ve been told my voice and mannerisms are similar to my mother’s as well.

She shared with me more stories of my mother and also of the time she was pregnant with me. What was it like to be a lonely, pregnant 16-year old in the late sixties in the Bay Area? There was no Summer of Love for her. There was only shame. Life-long shame, apparently. Her family instilled that in her very early on. My aunt told me she mourned her loss on every one of my birthdays, like the pain of a phantom limb. I blew out candles and celebrated while two states away a stranger cried and drank and wondered what could have been. All her life she wondered that, but was too paralyzed to move beyond wondering.

As I hung up the phone with my aunt I felt like a channeler emerging from a séance. In the movies you always see how fatigued they are. The burden of touching the dead. With each new image of my birth mother I am both weighed and liberated by the experience.

Pet Priorties

2005-02-05T10:06:00.000-08:00

I WILL get comfortable on this oddly protruding mound!!

So does any other expectant parent worry about how the pet will take to a new baby? I suspect if you don't have a pet you will think I am crazy, but it is a big concern. My huge, lumbering baby is soon to be 11 and has lived his entire life being completely catered to by his pathetic parents. He sleeps (no kidding) with his body between us under the covers. His head is on one of our pillows. How can I possibly consider kicking him out of bed for a little peanut of a person? Newborns aren’t even that cute!

Does he suspect the imminent event? I believe he does. As you can see he has already begun asserting his dominance. He tries to climb on me every chance he gets (not what he used to do). He also recently threw up in the baby room. Coincidence? I think not.

We are trying our best to come up with strategies to minimize the stress of a new sibling. We’ve committed ourselves to getting the baby out regularly so that he doesn’t have to hear his screaming and so that he may get some “alone time” with one of us.

We are absolutely insane people and should not even be allowed to have a child let alone a feline.

Baby Shower Blues

2005-02-01T07:41:00.000-08:00

So my family (my adopted family) are insisting on throwing us a baby shower. Why do I have such a hard time with this? I can't accept gifts well--feel very guilty about it. My therapist says go for it because you will use ALL of it.

I guess it would be better if a friend was throwing it. The last time a party was thrown for me (my wedding) dad asked for receipts! Besides that, though, I guess the consumerism of having a baby is getting me down. I know babies need stuff, but do they need crap? I refuse to allow my kid to play with toys that are filled with flashing lights and sounds of “the cow says ‘moooo’”. That is so not what they need. Why do shove barn sounds, colors, and numbers down young children’s throats? When has a child not grown up knowing that stuff? They pick it up, for God’s sake, without formal training.

Also, the "selfish" part of me doesn’t understand why we don’t celebrate the mother more during these little gatherings. I feel guilty registering for any mommy-related items. I feel that is my responsibility to buy such things. Why? There should be nothing wrong with asking for nipple cream, right? I’m reading Birthing From Within right now. Not offering me a huge amount of information yet, but I do appreciate the way the mother is celebrated. They touch on the heart of the emotional transition from parentless to parenthood. In it they say, “All ceremonies symbolically destroy one world to create a new one.” A., my husband, says this is a rather harsh way of looking at it, but I like the wording. Birth itself is a ceremony that leads you one way and one way only. Whether you keep the child or not, whether the child lives or not, you have profoundly changed. A ceremony should happen to acknowledge this imminent event. A gathering of women, especially, should address this, but so many women have lost their primordial connections with each other. One of the strangest experiences in my life was attending a baby shower. Every very feminine woman there was wearing a floral dress. I came in a black pantsuit. They couldn’t get past it. We also played a million games, which, I admit, can be fun, but there wasn't any wisdom passed on to the mom-to-be. That’s what I need right now. A matriarch.

Can you rent those?

Molokai Mo Bettah!

2005-01-22T21:28:00.000-08:00

Well, there is nothing like being away on a two week vacation to put shit in perspective. I spent a week on Maui and a week on Molokai. Of course, it was wonderful, but I also wanted to use my time away to try to work out some of my ambivalence about this pregnancy (both labor/delivery and parenting). I think it was successful.

I don’t know if it was the change of scenery, virgin backscratchers, or watching whales breeching from my lanai that did it, but I feel some of my anxieties have been diminished (for now?). Actually, I know what really helped me with the labor/delivery portion of my fears. I devoured the book, Journey Into Motherhood, which was filled with empowering, inspirational stories about labor and delivery. I have been so sick of hearing negative stories and of seeing frightening images of passive women as seen on the show Maternity Ward. I wanted to find other women who shared my view of what this process should be and I found that. The title is totally cheesy, but it really spoke to me and affirmed my belief that modern, American labor does not have to be the norm it has become.

These empowering stories have also helped to calm my worries about losing my individual self upon motherhood and of being a bad mom. These fears spiked with the adoption news, which continues to cause me to question who I am. The Nature vs. Nurture question is one that will never be fully resolved in my mind (and can’t be as science really knows so little about it at this point). Will my genes affect my parenting? What are my genes, anyway? All I know is that alcoholism and depression are all over my birth mom’s side. Dad is the big question mark. What about my weird upbringing? For now, all I can do is, in the words of Iris Dement, “let the mystery be.” I have to believe, despite my insane rants that you have read here, I actually have a lot of my shit together and will be a pretty good parent (in spite of the mild insanity).

Now a bit more about the vacation. I won’t dwell on Maui because it’s Maui and you know it’s lovely. I have to say, though, did I mention whales breeching? Fucking WHALES breeching all around me on a boat? That should be enough to make all else insignificant.

I want to focus on Molokai. I hesitate saying anything about it as it is such a secret gem. You truly feel like you are in another country. Hell, you ARE in another country. A. and I were really able to listen to the accents and Hawaiian words that get glossed over on the other islands. I had several women happily exclaim to me upon seeing my expanding belly, “Hapei” (Hah-Pie). This means pregnant but it also means “to carry.”

The people were wonderful, but there is a definite protective spirit to the way of life that people don’t want tampered with by mainlanders. This place isn’t and shouldn’t be for everyone. It is definitely not for the camera-laden, American flag shirted, black socks/white shoes-wearing folk. There was, unfortunately, one predator we overheard asking a local merchant if a Wallmart was needed on the island. He was scoping out financial opportunities. How about a community center, asshole?

This place really does make your life mo bettah and is worth more than a day trip.

A New Year of Licking Old Wounds

2005-01-07T16:53:00.000-08:00

New Year's Resolution #1: Finish painting baby room before he pops out.
New Year's Resolution #2: Spend less money.
New Year's Resolution #3: Look for my biological father.
New Year's Resolution #4: Look further to Paris Hilton for creative and spiritual inspiration.

Let's go back to #3.

So on June 24th about 4:15pm I received the mother of all mysterious letters. Beware the handwritten return address from someplace you have no connection to. I was immediately suspicious. In it was a letter from someone saying that her mother had died recently. When going through her things she found information that she had given up a child for adoption when she was young. The child's information was then given as was the adoptive mother's. The information was my information. Was I the adopted child?

Needless to say, I was a tad surprised. My immediate reaction was that it was a scam. Then I thought it was an honest mistake. Later I wondered if it was true.

I called my family. After a good deal of denial they final admitted it. In addition, my younger sister was adopted too, but by a different family (she, also, didn't know). This, folks, was the stuff trashy talk show producers dream of.

The next day I called the letter writer (my half-sister). She had no idea that I didn't know. My birth mother was only 17 when she had me. My birth father was, presumably, a kid too. I don't even have his name.

So since then I have been struggling with what defines us. So much of who we are is based on our past. What happens, though, when that past is based on a lie? No longer am I an Italian-American (I never really looked the part, anyway). My nose is not my dad's. My thumbs are not my grandmother's. These are things we all think about unconsciously when we look in the mirror. It turns out I look strongly like my birthmom.

So my New Year's resolution is to continue to grapple with all of this and to re-open the wound if I ever find my father.

Oh, and how does this all affect my imminent parenthood? Good question.

This is the stuff of good fodder...

A Heartbreaking Entry of Staggering Genius

2004-12-29T14:09:00.000-08:00

So this is my first stab at a public journal. It's very strange to feel compelled to publicly share my thoughts with total strangers, but there is a certain amusement that comes with it too. So sit back, hold tight, and enjoy the ride!

A sober New Year's Eve: This may be my first/last entry before the end of 2004 so I wanted to address the incredible injustice of being forced into maintaining my sobriety when everyone else around me will be merry-making. Should I show this bun-in-the-oven who's boss now with a stiff scotch and soda before he thinks he has the upper hand? Who is the parent in this relationship, for God's sake? Will this be the beginning of the eventually end of all my autonomy? Oh well, at least I will be the one to capture those all-so-embarrassing shots of those around me with 3 sheets to the wind. "3 sheets to the wind:" where did that phrase come from anyway? Aha, love the internet (http://www.bartleby.com/59/4/threesheetst.html).