Today, I just can't...

It's been a long time since I've written on this blog.  My daughter is rapidly approaching her first birthday.  My son reached double digits nearly 2 months ago.  And I've been plugging along (with my husband's support), back at work, teaching, supervising, writing, traveling to an academic conference across the country (while pumping....My thoughts about that can be found here), finishing up my term as PTA treasurer for my son's school,  training for a half marathon and so on and so forth, being what my son affectionately called, "the EXACT opposite of lazy" last night, and generally balancing life as best I can.

But, that has left me with little time for reflection, something that is a core value, both personally and professionally.

So, although I have 13 things on my calendar for today and mommy-blogging is not one of them, I need to take some time to reflect because this morning was one of those mornings where I just couldn't.

This morning was the culmination of a series of, "I don't think I can....No, just push through it, of course you can.  In fact, you must, because ___________________" conversations that ostensibly started with my trip across the country a couple weeks ago for this conference, but, really actually started perhaps when I became a mother for the first time, or maybe when I was born.  (I only say this on my cynical days.  Other days, I have a much more positive view of my productivity.)

What happened: My son, who is a great kid in general, was zoned out in front of a youtube video instead of getting his own stuff together.  Twice.  In one morning. And I got upset at him in the car on the way to school for not thinking more about others and not being personally responsible for getting ready while I frantically raced about trying to get myself together to get limited parking at work after dropping him off.

I dropped him off with tears in his eyes and mine, frustrated at his lack of expressed mindfulness but more upset at myself than at him and stressed because traffic was bad which I knew meant parking even further out than usual.  I started sobbing on my way to work (which hasn't happened in a couple years), gave myself a headache, was worried about looking like a raccoon as my eye make-up dripped down my face (and as I realized I had no replacement eye make-up so I should try to blot rather than wipe--yes, I had this vain thought as I was sobbing, literally). I called my husband to voice my concern that I was raising a little boy who, although smart, kind to his friends, and good-hearted was going to grow up entitled without compassion for the general world around him and an understanding of how relatively blessed he was in comparison to that world around him. (Okay, so maybe I was overreacting a little bit.  This happens me sometimes.)

I got to work and got a very far parking space.  I tried not to focus on the fact that this would put me behind in my already too full schedule and I tried to calculate at what time I would need to leave my office to return to my far away car to pick up my daughter from daycare on time this afternoon.  This almost made me cry again, but I was already dehydrated.

And I have to fight the feeling that I am, in writing this blog, doing the very thing I admonished my son for, being focused on my own (relatively small, very first world and privileged) problems instead of what I can do about them, because actually, this blog is part of reclaiming my time and my life and it IS doing something about my problems.

I have to stop letting my life be driven purely by time and scarcity and my own problems that no one understands, and I need to pause, and reflect, and be grateful.  If my son is zoning out, it's probably partly a reflection of my own lack of presence, not just with him, but to my life in general.

Yes, I need to address what's going on with him more actively. Yes, I need to get the things on my calendar done.  Yes, I have a very far parking space.  And, yes, I have a relatively large amount of privilege. All true.  But, by taking these 15 minutes to blog, by allowing myself time to reflect, by honoring my core values and re-centering, I am feeling more like myself than I have in weeks, and that powerful position is the only one from which I can effectively work for change.

And that's what I need to remember.  When I can't, I probably shouldn't.  And what I should do instead is to stop and write myself to clarity, find myself again and remind myself that I can't do the work I'm called to do, if I'm not present to who I am in this world.  There are enough external obstacles out there--I would do best to get out of my own way.

Relearning to Adjust: Reflections on Month 1 with My (Second) Newborn

Prior to the birth of my daughter last month, it had been over 9 years since I had a newborn in the house and the first time was no bed of roses for me (You can read about that here), but as we enter the second month of my little girl's life, it's time for a bit of reflection. 

Things I Thought Would Happen but Didn't

•   My postpartum depression would be worse--This is actually one of the reasons I wasn't sure that I wanted another child.  I had done a lot of reading on how postpartum depression gets worse with subsequent children and was concerned about my own mental health and being able to give of myself fully to my children.  I am fortunate and happy to say that, although there have been occasional moments of the "baby blues," I haven't experienced full-blown postpartum depression, likely because of the very different circumstances surrounding my son and my daughter's births and because of prioritizing self-care.  Whatever the reason, I am incredibly thankful that this hasn't come to pass because I know statistically, this is an anomaly.

•   My son would embrace being a big brother--My son is an incredible 9-year old, but after sharing his mommy for the first 6 years of his life, he had adjusted to being the only child in the house since our move from the Bay Area, and although he loves his little sister, he's not a super fan of the fact that he's back to sharing mom with another sibling that's in the house.  He's been understanding about everything and SUPER helpful, but I can tell he's a little sad that he doesn't get my undivided attention as much as he used to and that the baby needs me so much.  When asked about how he feels as an older brother, he says he doesn't really like it.  I know I should have expected transition time, but somehow, in my magical world, he'd transform into some enthusiastic kid who thought being a big brother was the best thing since video games.  That was probably a long shot. 

•   I'd be able to go to sleep when I wanted to--Okay, okay, this was a delusional expectation, but I really thought, after 8 years of solid routine with my son, that my daughter (who is an excellent sleeper already) would just fall into a schedule that synced with mine immediately and that when I was ready to go to sleep after tucking in her brother, I could just quickly feed her and then jump into bed.  HAHAHAHAHAHA.  First of all, her strength in sleeping is matched only by her ravenous appetite which means that nursing can take forever and sleep can be restless (the pediatrician told me to expect this).  Second, she loves sleeping near or on someone, particularly for naps during the day, but I have a hard time positioning her so that I can "sleep when the baby sleeps." Third, from the womb, my daughter has been clear that she is the new sheriff in town, and she asserts that authority with a combination of cute and sleep deprivation. 

Things I Didn't Expect that Did Happen

•   I had to supplement with formula--This was actually a big bummer for me.  With my son, I prided myself on being the moo-moo milk cow of a mother (no really, it's true) so when I had to supplement for my daughter, first to help her through her neonatal jaundice and then because she just wouldn't sleep solidly without more nutrition at night, I felt somehow like I was letting her down.  I'm coming to peace with the fact that her health and not my pride should be the priority (you know, like they hand out medals for successful breastfeeding somewhere), but it was definitely a surprise.

•   Everything seems new and different--I had thought that everything would come back to me from being with my son, but new baby, new place in life, new perspectives--everything is really different with my daughter.  Some of it, I think, is that it was a really long time ago and I was really struggling so I try to block that time out of my memory, but a lot of it is probably that my two children are really different (this is good because it leads to less comparison between the two).  I have to relearn a lot, but it's actually been nice to start again, and there are all these new (to me) things like biliblankets and bows!

•   I love staying home with my girl--Despite the cabin fever that I've experienced, it's been amazing being home with my daughter and I've been so thankful for this time.  Because it was such a hard postpartum period with my son, I was hesitant about how to approach this time--Would I be able to get anything at all done? Would I fail at self-care? Could I still have a life? In month 1, I've really had to deal with physical limitations and immediate needs, but it has been a great thing--helping me to slow down and be present (with all of my kids), prioritize and let go.  

Onward and forward to month 2! 

Stepping Away from the Wall

It's 9:27 am.  My 23-day old daughter and my dog are asleep on the couch next to me and I have at least 3 conference proposals, a course revision and an article manuscript on which I should be working. But to work requires sleep, particularly to write academic work that is to be accepted for presentation and publication. And I feel stuck and practically unproductive.

My daughter is a great sleeper.  For the first two weeks of her life, she slept an average of 20-22 hours a day, literally only waking up to eat and get her diaper changed before going back to sleep. (This was a shocker for me, who had only ever raised my son as an infant.  He has never, from day 1 to age 9, literally NEVER, slept more than 10 hours a day unless he is ill.) My husband was also helpfully home, full-time for week 1 and half time for week 2.  So, I actually got a revision to an article manuscript, an edited book chapter and a conference proposal done by working 2-3 hours daily in the morning during the baby's morning nap.  I felt like a pro! I could do this academic mothering thing--no problem!

Then came week 3.  My husband went back to work full time and my daughter started sleeping less and eating more (which I'm glad for because I was beginning to worry that she slept TOO much--probably only because she's so different from my son) which meant my energy levels began going down.  I made it through most of the week then hit the wall on Friday, which also happened to be the day of her first well-baby check-up.  I successfully got my daughter to her doctor's appointment on time, only to wait for an hour as the office was behind.  When we finally got seen, I had hit the peak of exhaustion and frustration and wanted to burst into tears (maybe postpartum hormones had something to do with this too).  I decided work would have to wait that day and I'd give myself the weekend off.

In fact, I went into this past weekend thinking that a weekend was all I would need to regain my energy, motivation, and capacity for writing.  Instead of resting, however, for some reason, I decided that I needed to declutter my entire wardrobe.  While incredibly productive, I really should have slept.  Last night, at 8pm, I realized frantically that my husband and son were going back to school and work this morning and I thought, "I haven't just hit the wall.  It's like I'm head banging the wall in exhaustion." I began to wonder if I'd ever recover from this lingering sleep deprivation.

But then I remembered that the sleep deprivation is temporary and these moments with my baby girl are forever.

So, this morning, I'm stepping away from the wall and being grateful for the abundance in my life.  Thanks to a few cultivated self-care and coping skills and the generosity of others--my refrigerator is full of nutritious food and I've realized that if I don't apply to every conference, it's going to be okay. There will be other conferences, other years, and I will be an academic for my whole life.  My daughter will only be an infant once.  I stop to make myself a cup of tea and to look at the angelic face of my baby girl resting next to me.  And, I realize that I may not get everything done today, this week or even this summer, but the only way I'll get anything done that is important to me (including maintaining mommy sanity) is to take things moment by moment, day by day.  And I think, in a few moments, I'll start by taking a nap.

Why I Ask For Help

My mom and me when I was a baby

I was raised not to ask for help.  Raised by a warrior woman single mother who would not have dreamed of going to therapy, asking for a meal or doing anything that might give any indication to the outside world that things weren't perfect.

And for over 30 years, I believed that this was the way to live my life.

When my mother died suddenly after a car accident my junior year of high school, I didn't ask for help.  I went back to school the following Monday, graduated Valedictorian and got a full scholarship to UC Berkeley.

After my husband and I (who had only been married four months at the time) took in and eventually adopted two twin teenage girls from my middle school, I didn't ask for help.  We just said yes and figured we would figure it out.

After we found out we were pregnant with our son, during the adoption process, while I was working full time and pursuing my doctoral studies part time, I didn't ask for help.  I just kept working hard and plowing through each new task, adjusting both the married life and parenting teenagers at the same time.

During the pregnancy and once Nate, our son, was born, when both our daughters were having adjustment issues to the new baby, I was going through a hard recovery from delivering him and was struggling with missing my own mother, I didn't ask for help. In fact, I sent my husband back to work the next day and hobbled around the house trying to take care of myself and my son while still physically and emotionally exhausted.  (Thank God a few friends stepped in with meals and support during that time, but I certainly wouldn't have dreamed of asking!)

When one of my daughters began showing signs of a serious mental health issue, I didn't ask for help.  I did a ton of research on her diagnosis and took on counseling her in every spare minute I had when I wasn't working or going to school.  When she developed major impulsivity issues, I didn't ask for help. I decided I would just take on more work to support her or more loans.  I gave and gave and gave, but I never asked for help.

And then, I almost died.

Five years ago, when everything in my world came to a head, I was 84 lbs. I couldn't sleep well, was constantly on the phone trying to do everything I could to help my daughter, made a monthly trip to the ER for horrible stomach pains with no explainable cause (we thought taking out my gall bladder would help, but that made the trips every other month instead of every month), was working 5 jobs in total and was slowly disappearing.  I couldn't think clearly except for the thought that I was going to just go to sleep one night and never wake up.  Sometimes, I even hoped for that.  I couldn't enjoy anything in my life.  I would cry on the sidewalk outside my house, alone and exhausted.  I kept telling my husband, "There's something wrong.  I'm going to die.  I don't know what it is but I just can't keep living this way.  There's something really wrong."

Finally, I called for help, and was admitted to an Eating Disorder inpatient treatment program.  I didn't exactly fit the textbook criteria for having anorexia, but my weight was so low, I needed weight stabilization combined with emotional support, to get myself back to a place where I could function again.  I spent 10 days in the hospital, followed by 6 weeks of intensive treatment, before scaling back to regular therapy and nutritional counseling for the next 3.5 years.  During that time, I lost one of my part-time jobs, cut out several others, had a parent of one of my middle school students file a complaint against me for "taking time off" when clearly I couldn't be that sick because I was on social media, and struggled to learn about the concept of physical and emotional self-care.  I had spent my life taking care of others and ignoring my own needs, so much so that I was literally wasting away.

That was a turning point for me.  While it has not been easy, I have fought back over the last 5 years, to regain stability and joy in my life.  I finished my doctorate, found an amazing academic position doing the work that I love, established a new community, joined my son's school PTA executive board, set boundaries on my relationship with my daughter, worked hard to establish an incredibly strong relationship with my other daughter, and just last week, gave birth to a beautiful, baby girl.  All of this, while maintaining my weight and relative sanity, supporting others and following my passion.

We named our daughter Johana, which means "God is gracious." And, God has been incredibly gracious to me through this journey.  But, I have also learned that self-care does not come naturally to me and sometimes I need to let others pick up the slack where I just can't.

Yesterday, I set up a meal train.  It's a service that allows for people to contribute meals after major life events.  This was an incredible breakthrough for me.  Not only did I ask for help, but I did so to promote my well-being and that of my family through food, something that I so recently struggled with.  Although most of the response was neutral or positive, I've received some criticism saying that it "looks bad to ask for food" from others, like I'm begging, or that it's just not right.  That criticism has hurt me a lot.

But, what I've had to remember is the promise I made to baby Johana as I was rocking her to sleep 2 nights ago, while still recovering from her delivery.  I whispered to her that I would try my best to be there for her if/when she became a mommy because I knew how hard it was to be without my own mommy during this time.  And if fulfilling on that promise means asking for help then I'll take looking bad and being my own type of woman warrior for myself and my family.

Radical Self-Care 101

Last night, I woke up around 2:30am and though I was feeling the early contractions of labor.  I'm at 36.5 weeks so this would not have been a crisis necessarily, except that, for all my talk of contingency plans, I really wasn't ready to figure out what to do with the back to back classes that I'm supposed to teach tomorrow and with the numerous meetings I still have scheduled in the next couple of weeks before the semester ends.  Sure, I know that everyone is well aware of the situation and will be flexible, but it was overwhelming just thinking about it.  Ah, my old familiar friend, overwhelm.  I'm sure the fact that I had only gotten 3-4 hours of restless sleep and was thinking about this in between contractions wasn't helping matters.

I did not actually go into labor and was able to get to sleep successfully by 3:30 am.  I woke up at 5:45 (my son is an early bird) though and was exhausted.  So, what better reason to have a major self-care day.  I figured, with the real early labor possibility and the impending end of the semester, this would be one of the last few opportunities for me to truly take a day to get myself together.

So, after dropping my son off at school, I came home and took a 2-hour nap.  Then I did get a little work done before heading out for lunch and a pedicure.  It was so nice to have a little bit of time to rest, relax and take care of myself.  And, as I stare at my toes, I remember how it's the little things that make such a huge difference in life.

I know, of course, the despite the best laid (and incredibly packed) plans of the next few weeks, if the baby decides she's ready to meet the world early, I'd better be prepared, but it was nice to take a day for myself.  It was pretty radical, in fact.  

 

Oh Where, Oh Where, Has My Motivation Gone?

Actually, the title of this blog is misleading.  This is my couch (with a friendly stuff carrot pillow).  This is where my motivation has gone.  I thought about taking a picture of the drain, but honestly, it's really about the couch.  If I could stay home all day and rest on the couch, with my feet up, a cold glass of spa water and food delivery, I'd be set.

In reality, despite a severe lack of motivation, I have a lot of stuff to get done before I meet this baby girl: tons of grading to do (but none of it actually in my inbox yet--it's all pending and coming in the next 3 weeks), presentations to coordinate, a curriculum proposal consultation, accreditation meetings to attend, finishing up the flipped curriculum course I'm taking, teaching, volunteering for my son's class, taking him to school everyday, etc. etc. etc.

And, the lack of motivation with the life set up for a highly motivated person means that actually, I just spend a lot of time being tired.  I fight with myself about the things I have to do v. the things I should do v. the level at which I have to do the things that I have to do and all of this takes energy (as does carrying around a baby full time).  While I've thankfully been able to get decent sleep 2 nights in a row, it's always a toss-up.  Without sleep, I feel like I'm going through the motions of my life...very, very slowly.

I know it's all preparation for when Baby Girl comes and I'm actually so excited for her arrival (and still somewhat hopeful that it will come after all of this work is done) but seriously, some extended couch time would be awesome.

PSA: Car seats expire

There's a certain amount of hubris that comes from having a second child when your first child is a reasonably high functioning human being.  You think, despite all your trepidation about having a new infant in the house that, hey, at least you've been there once, and you've got some experience with the whole new baby process.

So, imagine my surprise when, at a PTA gathering this morning, the subject of car seat expiration dates comes up.

"Car seats expire?!" I exclaimed, incredulous.

"You didn't know that?!" Responded my friends, just as incredulously.

Um, no.

So, my friends told me to look on the bottom of my car seat, which I did as soon as I got home, but that didn't give me the expiration date, so I turned to my bff, google, who informed me that my carseat expired 5 years after the manufacture date, which was 8 years ago (BTW, the internet also was incredulous that I didn't know about the child seat expiration date).  Um, whoops.

And this has been your friendly public service announcement about car seat expiration dates lest you be ridiculed by moms who are in the know or stopped on the way home from the hospital.