Saturday MornIng

I passed out at ten O’Clock last night. I woke up well rested in a gloomy living room so quiet I heard the furnace tick. 

I didn’t snooze an alarm. I didn’t run for a shower. I didn’t pack a diaper bag or a lunch.  I didnt rush to find someone’s homework (we still have to do). I didn’t change a landslide diaper that sometimes requires a bath while I’m putting on my eyelids. 

I didn’t forget the check for school pictures, the signed permission slip for field trip,the payment for daycare, the carseat for grandma, or a blanket for child…

I didn’t move.

I waited until I was able and not a second sooner, then made a pot of coffee (ten beautiful cups of it). I openned the curtains, loaded the dishwasher, poured a cup of Brita-Joe and added 5lbs of mocha creamer just because it made me happy. 

I sat down at the table, read some articles and listened for the thuds above me (first a jolt, then a leg out of bed, and then two feet pounding across the ceiling). I hear my three year old slam porcelain against porcelain and I laugh at the next 18 years of my life. I hear a baby cry and a dad get out of bed. 

I just sit here waiting like Santa’s bringing me presents on Christmas. I have a Saturday morning.

The Sense in Being Senseless: My Weapon for Depression

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I am in control of the life I lead, the body I reside in, the mind I put to sleep when the day has burned away its use.  “When the moon wakes up, the sun will go to bed.” I tell my son all-knowing, “and then the opposite is just as true. So life should make sense to you at 2.” 

If only life were so simple. If only I carried control like a remote of direction – I’d click through my guide of televised episodes concluding day’s ends – moral lessons by the channel.

But life is not so simple like the moon and sun appear to tell.  My dear children, I  won’t be able to explain it all and that’s the honesty I promise to always give you.  I promise to break your hearts when necessary, because it is my motherly and decent duty to never bend lies beautifully, so that you will grow up well. 

Life will sometimes hurt and control will slip your grip and mudslides of mistakes can ensue if you allow them to when the rain does not stop pouring.   You are not the makers of weather. Do not fight the storms as if you will turn them dry. Enjoy the sights of light striking fear into your hearts because, while such bolts of flash deem terrifying,  they’re real and will remind you of the many different ways possible to feel.  Be thankful you’re alive and please, do not dwell.  The storm will pass.

I am just having  one of those weeks and the rain is paying some visitation .  I watch the clouds roll in and listen for the growls of angry sky to arrive all while sitting on a swing beneath the blender.  Sunshine dimmed by white skies and in the distance,  black.  I sit beneath it all so that I can see, today I am outside myself.  Today, I am out of my control.  There is no sense today.  And that’s okay.

Queen City Kait

My Second Pregnancy & How it Differs from My First

My first pregnancy with my son Janek was physically a breeze and mentally a struggle.  I remember only a few weeks of nausea, followed by the ability to hike and work out regularly, and heartburn that was easily cured by a tums (or ten).  Physically, I felt amazing and was able to work full time without complaint, relax when necessary and participate in moderate exercise as I pleased.  I craved yogurt parfaits and tangy fruits, not giving into sweets and avoiding excessive weight gain.  Six months after my son’s birth, I was back into better shape than before pregnancy.  And yes, I was one of those bitches who avoided stretch marks to boot (cocoa butter, cocoa butter, cocoa butter – the kind you buy in a small tub and applies like cholesterol found at Sally’s – 3X daily).

So yeah, I had it pretty good my first time around physically.  Mentally, not so much.  With my first son I was anxious, nervous, irritable, and annoyingly sober.  I was only 22 years old and not prepared for the transition into motherhood (who the hell is?).  While I was able to keep on my toes, I mainly did so to occupy my boredom, and those first kicks freaked me out more so than they amazed me.

No, I did not enjoy pregnancy despite my physical abilities the first time through.  I also didn’t realize how good I had it, how lucky I was to be so active (I was bowling the night before I went into labor 42 weeks along).  But, mentally I was a wreck.  I was anxious, not finished with my undergraduate degree and panicking about the future.  I sincerely felt like my life was over in a multitude of ways.  How would I ever achieve those dreams that felt so dear to me?! The ones of getting out of my hometown and traveling, inspiring people like I wanted, and you know, not being so stupid sober all the time (alright, nine months but it felt like FOREVER).  I really felt like the end of my youth was happening and I’d end my night in tears over it regularly thinking about my sad self.

I was naive. Once I had my son I realized how ungrateful I’d been acting.  It doesn’t mean I was wrong for feeling all those feels though. They were very real fears and appropriate for a first time mother at 22.  But, my son who is now two and a half has actually served as an inspiration larger than my selfish wants.  My life isn’t over, it’s ongoing.  I went back to school AND finished my degree, 45 credits in a single year with my baby boy on my hip… and another in my belly.

Life with children doesn’t mean you have to succumb to being a soccer mom, make brown bag lunches and drive a mini van.  I think of it as a means of motivation, UNDYING MOTIVATION to get what you want so that you can show your kids – “Babes, you are capable of doing anything, too.”

So my second pregnancy hasn’t been the easiest physically.  It has kind of wiped me the hell out.  Chasing around a two year old with an extra 30lbs (whoops) on my hips, is enough exercise for anyone to tolerate.  I get dizzy taking power walks and instead of healthy granola, I crave Nutella smores and peanut butter ice cream (cocoa butter, cocoa butter, cocoa butter).

However, mentally I am at peace.  I am not anxious, except in the way that I want to hold my little’s hand and kiss his new, pink, plump cheeks.

There is a serious joy of pregnancy I missed out on my first time around.  And all those worries are now gone, replaced with feelings of complacency and bliss.  It is beautiful.  Those hippies with their water births are onto something real (maybe not the water birth thinking back to HBO Girls season finale) and I really am enjoying myself even if my feet don’t want to do anything other than swell.

“How do you feel?”  I feel really good.  I feel like I’ve got everything I could ever want in this life, like I’m carrying a gift and not a load (okay, it’s more like a pleasantly heavy load I don’t mind bearing).  I feel beautiful, I feel proud, and most importantly, I don’t feel like the world is ending.  I feel like life’s ongoing, and another child isn’t going to prevent me from doing remarkable things, they’re only going to help me pursue them further than before.

My First Pregnancy

My First Pregnancy

My Second Pregnancy

My Second Pregnancy