sueeeus

The gorgeous boy is seven months old today.  Seven months!  He sits unassisted.  Such a superstar.

Oh, he’s the best baby.  Such a mellow temperament.  His brother, on the other hand, is Mister Wild Child.  There’s nothing mellow about that one!

I don’t know if seven months marks any particular milestone in the realm of post partum experience, but I am feeling like my hormones are completely and absolutely whacked.  I’ve broken out with pimples all over my head, for crying out loud.  My head.  Blech!  I can hardly remember how many years it’s been since I’ve had any acne to speak of, and now I have a festering scalp.

The skin around my fingernails is cracked with deep dry grooves that split and bleed and become tender, as in they hurt.  The skin itself is hard and callous.  Not a bit soft.  Ouch.  It’s a bit annoying.

I, myself, am somewhat exhausted.  I suppose that’s understandable, with the sleep deficit increasing with no end in sight.  The seasonal allergies don’t help.  This season feels more extreme than others previous.  My eyes are burning, red and scratchy, my nose is runny and I keep sneezing.

And then there’s the matter of the milk.  I wonder if breastfeeding is painful for women who actually make it past the initial break in phase.  Because pumping?  Is not pleasant.  There’s no warm fuzzy endorphin rush for or from my sleek blue milking machine.  That ah-whoosh-click ah-whoosh-click ah-whoosh-click isn’t particularly soothing.  My nipples being yanked through the unforgiving plastic cones is certainly no picnic either.  And when it’s all done, those nipples look like aliens have landed and set up base camp.  Should anybody brush against me, or God forbid, embrace me, I shrink away in pain.  DON’T TOUCH ME!

I’m tempted to survey my freezer stash this weekend and think about weaning sooner than later.

There is a very selfish part of me that doesn’t want to stop, though.  The pump time is MY time in which I get an hour to myself, reading, blogging, perusing Facebook, playing brain and word games, or otherwise amusing myself.  It’s a reprieve that I might not have under different circumstances.

I find myself feeling a bit melancholy as well.  I think it may be, in large part, empathy for friends and family over things they are feeling and experiencing lately.  That, compounded with exhaustion, stress at work, and whacked hormones adds up to one big unsettled woman.

This little love is breaking my heart.  He knows when I’m leaving him at daycare.  Now his lower lip protrudes and the tears well up when we walk through the door of our care giver’s home.  At first I distracted him with peek-a-boo, and ran out when he was under the blanket.  That worked one time.  I keep trying to find ways to distract him.  Yesterday I sat him down with his back to the door, put some toys in front of him and sat down with him to play for a moment.  That worked great.  I tried it again this morning, and out came the lip the moment I brought the toys over.  The tears, the sobs.   I’m fresh out of distractions.   Oh, how it wrenches my heart!

Such is the plight of the working mom.

Lifted from Sooz’ FB…

Copy this note, ask your child the questions and write them down exactly how they respond.

BB- 4 years

1. What is something mum always says to you?

Clean my room

2. What makes mum happy?

Be nice

3. What makes mum sad?

Whining

4. How does your mum make you laugh?

Being silly

5. What was your mum like as a child?

I don’t know

6. How old is your mum?

16

7. How tall is your mum?

This tall (shows L-shape with finger and thumb) and says, “you can’t run with your big boobies.”

8. What is your mum’s favourite thing to do?

Clean up

9. What does your mum do when you’re not around?

Go to work

10. If your mum becomes famous, what will it be for?

Work

11. What is your mum really good at?

Cleaning up

12. What is your mum not very good at?

Not pumping

13. What does your mum do for her job?

Computer

14. What is your mum’s favourite food?

Salad

15. What makes you proud of your mum?

Not whining be happy

16. If your mum was a cartoon character, who would she be?

Sponge Bob

17. What do you and your mum do together?

Teach me

18. How are you and your mum the same?

We’re both cute and nice and wook at dis, we match (holding up his leg against my arm) — we’re dark

19. How are you and your mum different?

She likes blue and I like purple

20. How do you know when your mum loves you?

She gives me kisses and hugs

21. Where is your mum’s favourite place to go?

Work

I can’t think of anything selfless that I did today.   As for blessings?  I think the highlights would be baby laughter and both kids finishing their dinner without a  three hour struggle.

Kind of frustrated with Gadget, though, and if I even dwell on it, it completely blows my glass half full exercise out the window.   I could stop here.  I could.  I should.  But  I won’t. (It’s my blog and I’ll whine if I want to, whine if I want to, whine if I want to…  …you would whine to if it happened to you…  hahahaaahahhahahhaha)

It would be nice if I weren’t the only one who noticed that the baby needed a new diaper, that  BB’s bed needed to be made, that the soiled bedding needed to be washed, that the already washed clothes needed to be folded, that the now-folded clothes needed to be taken upstairs and put away, that the baby needed another new diaper, that the dinner leftovers needed to be put away, that the dishes needed to be loaded in the dishwasher, that the dishwasher first needed to be unloaded, and the clean dishes put away, that the baby needed another diaper, that the baby needed a bottle, and then another, that the kids needed to be put to bed…

I might as well be a single mom.

…and he has the nerve to get irritated with ME for asking for help, because when I want help, I want it NOW, not in a minute, not later, not any other time besides now.  NOW.

Because I shouldn’t even have to ask.

First up, the obligatory beautiful baby picture.  Oh, those delicious cheeks.  This reminds me of Where’s Waldo?…

So.

I think it would behoove me to take some time each day to recollect something positive about the day.  Count my blessings, as it were.  I think it helps to establish and maintain a glass half full outlook, which has to be good for one’s overall well-being.  Surely.  And moreso, I want to take it further and do something intentional each and every day that is at least a little bit selfless or somehow a blessing to another, even if it’s only a very small thing.

That said, here we go.

Today I attended an executive meeting in which the execs were surprisingly down-to-earth and friendly, and they didn’t shoot down our project.  In fact, they even brought up a “wouldn’t it be nice if only we could do such and such” for which my team already has a solution in the works (and it’s actually my idea to begin with, so I might even get some credit for it).  We will get another audience with those in the echelons in the near future to present the concept.

I got home before everyone else today, so I had a little bit of quiet, empty house, me-time.  Bliss!

I’m going to try to get nearly a full night’s sleep tonight, which means no pumping at 2 a.m.   More bliss!

As for doing something intentional for the benefit of another?  I stopped in traffic to allow a big rig semi truck to make a turn, because they need several lanes to do so.  I don’t think the impatient drivers behind me were thrilled, but the truck driver was appreciative.  I know, it’s small, but it’s something.

I sent my fetal heart monitor to my niece who is newly pregnant, and she was able to hear her baby’s heartbeat!  This blesses us both, because we’ve both had traumatic miscarriages, and the assurance that the sound of a healthy heartbeat gives an expectant mother is priceless.  Plus, her daughter was able to hear the heartbeat, and that helps make it real for her as well.  She’s very excited to become a big sister.  (And I’m very excited to be a new Auntie again!)

I can’t resist.  He’s just too gorgeous.  And yummy.  And no, I’m not going to cut his hair until he turns 1, no matter how crazy it gets.

I feel sad.

I didn’t actually know the coworker who died, but I remember passing him in the halls and every time I’d muse that he so strikingly resembles my dad, when he was a young man.  He was a slight Asian man, eyes averted, encased in his reclusive bubble of personal space.  An eternal student, like my dad.  Only my dad is a linguist, with 14 languages under his belt and a doctorate.  My coworker collected engineering degrees, and studied music.

I feel sad for the lonely life I imagine he lived.  I don’t think he had a partner.  He had no children.  The picture on the leaflet from his memorial service was taken at work.  A shy face, a rumpled shirt, a badge lanyard around his neck.  I find this sad as well, that there would be no pictures of a social or loving nature, from family or friends.

I’m not sure why this shakes me so, other than it stirs thoughts that stir more thoughts.  My dad just turned 83, and he’s amicable to me now.  I try not to be wistful, and try to let go the wish that my parents had been more nurturing.  Even so, some wistfulness bubbles to the top once in a while.  It helps remind me to be more deliberate in nurturing my own dear ones.

And then there’s Mary.  Her world is shaken now, and I have a little notion of what she may be going through, and I tremble.  I squeeze my eyes shut and wish for her with all my might — strength and courage and peace and grace.  I send these thoughts to her.

Maybe also it’s the remnants of the recent bushfire horrors, that stir these fraught emotions within me.

So I feel sad.

A coworker of mine died in his sleep the other day.  He was only 41.  He had two engineering masters degrees, was working on a law degree, and was an accomplished cellist and violinist.   So young.  I found myself pondering, as I walked up and down the halls of my office, whether I am where I want to be.

These halls, these walls.  I’ve spent the better part of 23 years behind these walls, earning my keep.  I was restless in the early years, thinking this was but a stepping stone on my life path, and I was anxious to find the other path.  The one I really wanted to follow.  But somewhere down this very road I realized that it’s a very good road to travel.  I am happy here.  There is a comfortable rapport, standing shoulder to shoulder among these people with whom I share my life.

I’ve written a bit on mortality recently, the main point being that I dearly hope to live long enough (at the very least!) to see my children to adulthood.  But if today were my last day, could I say that I have lived well, that I am living well?

I could say that.

Yes.

The answer is yes.

I am surrounded by fine people.  I have stimulating and important work.  I have a husband.  I have children.  I have a comfortable home and reliable transportation.  A closet filled with clothes.  A pantry stocked with food.  I have a blessed and beautiful life.  Certainly there were rocky passages, but here, now, the way is smooth.

And with cheeks like these to nibble on?  Could life be any better?