Please Excuse My Time In Use

Please excuse my lack of calls. I think of you often and I miss you as well.
Please excuse my unanswered text. The response was lost but, not the words left
still ringing in my head as I cash out a guest with a wom-wom, “Thank you” I think left my lips that also left you to feel dismissed. I’m sorry. Please excuse my absence at the party. I wanted to be there but again, priorities. Not saying you’re not a priority. My life in double negatives, I begin to feel sorry. My practice in meditation diminished. Longing for a future that we give a cheeky kiss, sit down over coffee or tea or a beer and hopefully my mind won’t start wandering about things I haven’t held dear or who else is left I’ve shunned to sit down with over coffee. I’m sorry. Please excuse my self absorbed state where I cancelled our week-in-advanced date. I wanted breadsticks while we waited just absorbing. Please excuse the next week that comes. Or the next month, four packs of fresh breath gum I’ve been giving to strangers touring. Please excuse me of the mess. Of my house or of my dress. I turned the iron on but it went again unused just this morning. My hair was giving me a day and two little boys that need me most, well… I am first, their host and for that I’m not sorry.

The problem with me is my list of many things…to do and things dead before I’m dead to get ahead. Please excuse me while my time is taken. I’m sorry.

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

Positive Vibes that Rhyme

I am a superhero.  That’s what I say every morning, when my son kisses my head, a feeling of glory.  I’m a Queen, a tornado, an unstoppable force, with endless motivation – keep running life’s course. Doing more than just sitting in the clouds of my dreams, even though I’m not sure exactly what they mean.  Pushing it forward – another place and time, a place that parades ‘success’ in my mind.

This place isn’t so bad, just not ideal within my head.  What is the ideal? Not asleep, depressed in my bed.  I want a house without rules like, “No, you can’t paint here.”  A front yard and a backyard, with smells of pancakes and cookout beers.  A tree with a swing, and a fort for the kids.  I want a career that feeds our bellies, lacking all killer additives – replace the preservatives with expensive, fruitful feedings – beat cancer and alzheimer’s and crohn’s before aspartame takes us all along with it.

I want a school system that gives my children room for growth, lets them apply their creativity – puts it on show.  I want standardized testing to fall through the cracks so our teacher’s can freely do their own task.  I want what’s best for my children – their own pace respected – socially unmocked for being different – off course – rejected.  Tell them they’re bright, let the stars shine through their being – special in their own right, all passions being heeded.  A school that doesn’t make the montone maddening – but a place that holds standards of their individuality.

I don’t want a career that financially makes me happy.  I want to apply my happiness into a career so I’ll never go napping.  I’ll take what I love – turn it into something green, even if it’s just a faded mint in the beginning.  A passionate interest keeping me on the go – Not a selfish, hopeless wish but a constantly moving reason to wake up and roam.  My kids will see their mother doing what she loves – see her prosper as she chooses, a vanishing sense of ever losing.  And maybe, just maybe, they’ll end up doing the same.  That’s what I want more than anything.

I want to tell other women in less fortunate places, where I’ve been before and can relate to the phases: cynicism, regret, an insecure fate.  Give love to the wounds that were created by hate.  Know that time is not a barrier, not a social status either.  You’re amazing, a survivor, a limitless leader.  Say, “I am a superhero, a queen, an unstoppable force – running through the phases of life’s troubling fast pace course.”