Adieu

Genevieve took a massive nap this morning. In fact, I had to wake her up after two hours and twenty minutes so that we could get ready to leave—her for the babysitter and me for work.

I shushed my way into her room and sat and watched her nap for a few minutes before I woke her up. She sleeps in a soft-sided pack and play and she was sleeping on her belly with her butt up in the hair and her head pushing into the mesh siding. Her two favorite fingers were gently being sucked in her mouth and her dirty blonde hair was sweated sideways to her forehead.

I think this is the sweetest I ever see her, when she’s sleeping. And not just because she’s asleep and not harassing me, but because she looks so perfect and peaceful. Unfortunately for her babysitter, she didn’t look this peaceful at all this afternoon. I guess that one big nap was enough to carry her through today.

I’m totally not liking my haircut today. It looks nothing like it did when Danny the hairdresser styled it. I think it’s hopeless. Heavy sigh. I guess that’s what you get when you spend twenty-five bucks on a haircut. And my cheap manicure is chipping already, too. Have I learned my lesson? Absolutely not.

Tonight is bill night and I have a lot of other doodads to try and get done, so I must say adieu.

Sunday

There’s nothing like a day of physical labor to get your muscles aching—especially when the day before you took an intense yoga class. We moved, cleaned and organized our new hand me down furniture today. Genny was content to crawl around from room to room with us. Everywhere she went she found a new piece of low-lying furniture to pull herself up to standing with.

We also made a Costco, or is it Cosco, run and stocked our pantry well. Then we were back home doing more work.

Our apartment is finally beginning to look like adults live here. Funny, now that our place clearly has a baby living in it (lots of toys in every room), it feels more adult.

I wonder if it’s another sign of adulthood, I’m feeling very tired and it’s not even 10:30 yet. I think it’s just the result of a nonstop weekend. It’s time for me to shut down so that I will be able to start back up again tomorrow.

It's All About Me

I realized something very interesting today. Even when I don’t spend the day with Genevieve I still can get exhausted.

I started my day with the GRE test, which I lightly prepared for over the last few weeks since the score I receive doesn’t matter. I don’t know my writing scores yet, but for quantitative I received a 450 and for the verbal I received a 570. These scores are from a possible 200-800. I feel darn good about the math score (I haven’t taken a math course in more than 15 years), but my verbal is a tanking if you ask me. For some reason I just seemed to be reading very slowly this morning.

After the exam, I was lucky enough to have the entire day to myself. This is the first time that this has occurred since Genny was born. Nick was out in Jersey with Genny doing work and family stuff. I took a yoga class at Be Yoga. I window-shopped in Manhattan. I got a haircut and a manicure and pedicure. Yes, we are talking about a morning of yucky exam, but an afternoon of enjoyment.

Now I am absolutely wiped out from all the fun and alone time. I felt giddy at points during the day. Positively giddy. And you know what? I don’t really even care that my GRE scores weren’t better. They are what they are and they are fine.

Ah. I need to talk to Nick about me having days like this more often. Even one Saturday a month to myself would make a huge difference I think. It was just so refreshing to not have any responsibilities to any little person today. I just had to watch out for and take care of me.

That felt good. I am an excellent exhausted right now.

Family

Another day done. Nick and I went out for dinner at La Flor in Woodside; a wonderful wedding gift from our friends Rebecca and David, which included babysitting. It was so luxurious to order anything we wanted without worrying about the price. That hasn’t happened in a long while.

Genevieve is sleeping and will hopefully remain so for the rest of the night. I have my GRE test tomorrow, early. I’m not stressing about it at all since it doesn’t matter what score I get—it’s just a formality for Graduate school. I was worried I would over study, but I’ve actually been pretty chill about it.

I feel like I’m actually learning to do something Lloyd and I discussed a week or so ago. I’m forging through my feelings and acting in spite of them. Also, an article I read from this month’s Yoga Journal was pretty inspiring. It’s all about acting as if you are enlightened. I connect these two ideas in my mind. I am doing what I know needs to be done and what is best for me. Well, this is what I am aspiring to do.

Tomorrow is going to be hot. And, yes, for some reason I feel that it’s important to discuss that. I hope the GRE testing facility is a comfortable temperature. The exam is actually taken on computer, which should be an interesting experience.

I’m looking at the photograph from the wedding Joanna sent. Nick, the baby and I sitting together. Genny is reaching out and touching my flowers. Her white bow lopsided in her silky hair.

We’re a family. This picture says to me—family.

Dirty Diapers

My neck and shoulders are massively tight from all the organizing Nick and I did tonight. We are both savers and have thus found ourselves engulfed in our apartment by stacks, files, boxes and crates of stuff. We got two huge office filing cabinets from Nick’s cousin Alison; her office is relocating and ridding themselves of lots of stuff. Ah! Stuff! Just what we love.

It really feels liberating to get started on the job of sorting and organizing all the collected crap from our many years. I hope Genevieve hasn’t inherited the collecting gene from her parents—if she has, we will need a bigger home. It’s amazing how much stuff she already has for a being who has only been on this earth for thirteen months.

I had therapy today and a Starbucks Frappucino. A good combination.

Everything surrounding my frustrations and depression with Genevieve comes back round to my mom right now. Her continuing battle with both cancer and chemo. I wish there were more I could do for her. I love her so much and it hurts to see her in pain and worn out. I would love to do something amazingly wonderful for her, but I’m not sure what that would be.

I think that’s all I have to say right now. Not very inspiring or enlightening. As Lloyd and I discussed today, right now my life is all about taking out the garbage. And the dirty diapers.

Time to take out the dirty diapers.

Me

I am so completely mentally exhausted. Genevieve’s crying jags today bore holes through my eggshell brain. I feel like she crawled all over my soul.

What is a mom to do when she feels like she is losing her mind? There are friends and family, but they cannot take away my mental anguish. There are medications and healing techniques, but they do not always work.

This is what I describe as my depression. I can look at what I’m feeling and writing and say, “Gosh, Sheila. Sounds to me like you’re depressed. Why not do something to make yourself feel better?”

Unfortunately, when I’m in the depression’s clutches it is hard to make myself participate in any possibly beneficial activities.

Perhaps I need to wallow in my frustration? And why am I so bothered by being home with Genevieve? I even had a slight break today when I went to work. Why am I not handling being a mother better? For someone such as myself who has a perfection streak running through her veins, it’s hard to understand why I am not feeling like one of those mothers who love every minute of their motherhood experience.

I know some women must lie about it being so great, but I’m sure there are some who are totally serious; they love motherhood. And even though I know there is nothing wrong with me for feeling the way I do, I still find myself asking—what is wrong with me?

I Am The Winner

Genny is thirteen months old today. That is so young in comparison to most of my stuff. But she is definitely looking like a little girl now rather than a baby.

We took a ride to Connecticut today, so that I wouldn’t have to spend an entire day alone with her and so that I would be guaranteed two naps from her, even if it meant I didn’t get to nap at all, since I’d be driving when she was sleeping. So, she did z-out in the van both there and back.

We had a life insurance salesman over tonight. Nick had to decide on insurance now that he’s not at the old job anymore. Every time Mr. Insurance Man was about to say something about what would happen if Nick died, he would preface it with, “Heaven forbid something should happen to you, but…”

I have so many projects looming. I know I mentioned this before, but it warrants being visited again. I need to figure out for sure about the Mommy and Me class and I need to prepare for my new yoga clients tomorrow, and I need to study for Saturday’s GRE and I need to work on my essay and I need—a bunch of other stuff, too.

I had a run-in with a limo driver this morning getting onto the Whitestone Bridge. There was a twenty-minute backup to cross the bridge because of construction. I waited patiently like most normal, law-abiding individuals, but there have to be those morons who think they’re so much more important than everybody else that they don’t have to wait in line.

So, I’m almost to the point where the roads completely fork and where people try to zip up the wrong lane and sneak in at the last minute, so butthead limo-man and his bigger butt-headed businessman passenger try to edge in front of me and I honk and lock up the space so they can’t get in. Very unyogic of me. They’re both laughing and I’m fuming, but as I passed them by, my heart racing like an alarm clock about to buzz, I felt like I had won. And then I felt awful and sad and angry and all those things, but at least I had prevailed. Sure, the calm guy behind me let them cut in, but whatever.

Who am I kidding? There was a tiny part of me thinking maybe they felt bad afterward for mocking me (they waved to me hysterically as I inched them out of the lane), but I know they weren’t sensitive to their own idiothood. They are not sitting at home right now feeling guilty and amending their ways, saying, “Next time, I’ll wait in line like everyone else.”

Nope, they’re both probably chuckling about that bitchy woman in the gray minivan who had to be a bull-dyke and not let the burly he-men jut into her space. Well, whatever. I won.

Zzz Dream

My thirst cannot be quenched tonight. My stress cannot be squelched. My temples cannot be eased.

Genevieve seems to be teething; either that, or she is going through menopause or puberty or becoming a werewolf. She’s been crying and squawking all day. Goo has been running from nose, mouth and eyes. Onesies have been soaked through and Mommy’s patience has been worn through.

She has entered a new non-sleeping anywhere phase. Strangers still think she is cute though. Somehow, people even smile in an “Aw, shucks” kind of way when they see poor me pushing around this red-faced, bawling bundle of baby. The urge to invite them to spend a day with her and see if they are still standing at the end is very strong.

But I push on and she screams on.

And I feel myself being on the brink of falling down a long chute into a pile of dirty diapers the size of a Great Lake. Any great lake. A big one. A big pile of dirty diapers. You get the idea.

I’m the one who needs a yoga lesson today. I need a great yogi to appear to me and stretch out my body in all the right ways and whisper words of wisdom in my ear.

Then I’d like a great babysitter to appear and quietly say, “Worry no more. I will watch the baby when she is more than you can handle. I will ease your temples.”

Easy and breezy. A cool peppermint-scented wind blows by my nose and lullabies me into a peaceful, uninterrupted 8-hour stretch of zzz’s. Oh, dare I dream?

Weekend

Last night was my first night that I wasn’t able to blog. We stayed in New Jersey at Nick’s Dad’s house. The majority of our time was spent watching digital television on a large screen TV. That’s what we do when we go to New Jersey.

I was dealing with some major mood swings all weekend. I snapped at one point when Genny refused to nap for the umpteenth hour. I carried her out of the bedroom, said something like, “I hate this child,” and bawled and trembled.

Genny has entered this new non-sleeping at other people’s homes phase. Last night was horrible. After she slept for a few hours, she awoke with such gusto and springiness that Nick and I had to wrestle with her for hours.

We did get out of the house this afternoon and go to a playground at a place called something like Scooby’s Mountain. An obnoxious little blonde boy, about five or six or seven, picked up my camera and took a picture of the ground and then knocked over my bottle of water.

“That isn’t very nice,” I said.

The boy was unphased. He reminded me of all the snot-nosed little pranksters I had to deal with as a little girl. And I felt just as powerless in communicating with him today as I did way back when.

Argh. I have a crazy week. New yoga clients. Planning a Mommy and Me yoga class. Taking the GRE’s on Saturday. And trying to remain calm and centered and in one piece.

Writing

Here I am at my computer again. I have showed up every night now for quite awhile. Does working on my blog prevent me from doing more creative writing work? I don’t think that that’s a fair assumption since I had not been doing any writing since Genny was born. Not that I’m blaming my lack of creativity on her or anything.

Obviously I’ll be writing a lot when school starts in the fall, but I was hoping to get into a productive phase before then. What is my problem with doing writing work that’s not for a particular assignment?

Everything feels so unwieldy lately.

I finally made it to my friend Wendy Wisner’s poetry reading tonight. I’ve been trying to make it for the last year, but you know the story, not that I’m blaming Genny or anything. Wendy did a beautiful reading—her voice was very mesmerizing. If you like poetry, check out her book, Epicenter.

I’m just feeling a bit lowdown tonight regarding my writing. I sometimes think I should finish working on my book of stripper poetry that I started, but at other times I feel like it’s not worth it. Sometimes I think I should work on my comic book idea and then other times I want to work on my website and still other times I think I should be working on my memoir. That’s a lot of thinking about writing without a whole lot of writing going on.

Maybe that’s my problem. I can’t just work on one thing and be happy. I’m always thinking about what else I could be working on. I’m always wondering what I do best and what I enjoy the most, so that I could just zero in on that one passion for a while. Well, I’ll be doing that come the fall, but what about the summer? What writing project will I focus on?

Right after that thought, I start thinking about all the other things I need to focus on—Genny, yoga, relaxation, making money, spending time with family. There’s always another thought behind the one before it. Except when I stop and just be. I need to make more time for me to stop and be, but then when does the writing get done?

Rasberries

Genevieve set a new world record for total nappage time—five hours! She awoke from both of her ultra-long sleeps in a joyful mood to boot. I crammed my own nap in there, did the laundry, washed the dishes and sorted wedding photos.

My mood has been a bit erratic today although I enjoyed Genevieve quite a bit today. I’m sure I owe a large part of that enjoyment to the fact that I had those lovely breaks throughout the day. The negative feelings seem to be centered on my inability to get anything creative done today. I didn’t find any of those precious nap minutes filled with me writing. Very annoying.

Genny mastered saying, “Mom”, today. As I folded laundry she clung to my leg, bounced and let go with a long string of the aforementioned word. She also crawled headlong into the stack of pillows on her bedroom floor, rolled from side-to-side and laughed like a hyena.

Speaking of laughing, she tried raspberries at supper and found them hysterical. At first, she nibbled daintily and made a slightly scrunchy quizzical face, and then she began chomping in and absolutely busting her gut with laughs. Blueberries she loves to pop in too, but they do not cause any fits of emotion.

I wish raspberries could make me so happy. She is so in the moment when she does anything. When she eats—she eats. When she poops—she poops. There’s none of this embarrassment or self-consciousness of the plague of adulthood. Gen just does what she does and wallows in it.

When do we lose that pure love of life? When do we lose touch with the simple joys of eating a raspberry?

A Step

From too hot to too cold. Genny and I went on an outing today with three other mom friends and their babies. The thermometer read 61 degrees when we pulled into the Jones Beach parking lot. We huddled on the sand with towels and blankets as our warming gear. The babies didn’t seem to mind the weather at all and other than Grace eating fistfuls of sand, there were no major crises to report.

Geneveive has reached a few new, not milestones, but more like, breakthroughs. She can climb up a step on her own, as demonstrated earlier when she hitched up her knees on to the boardwalk. Also, Gen’s babbling has taken on new dimensions when it comes to inflections. When she’s asking a question there’s a certain lilting rise at the end of her query. When she’s offering food crumbs as gifts there’s a certain forceful heaving grunt that makes you aware of the offering even if your head is averted for a brief moment.

She’s just full up of cute imitations lately. Last night, upon seeing her daddy blowing on his green beans, Genevieve also blew on the beans before they passed her eager open lips. After seeing Dad kissing my back, she lunged upon me and gave me kiss like sounds in the air around my shoulder region. And because Nick and I are always so sure to place our drinking glasses upright on the table, Genny is also very persnickety about getting her sippies and bottles to stand up on the table after a slurp.

Okay, so yes, there, I said it. Genevieve is uber-adorable and I love her to Mars and back again, but I’m still going bonkers during the day. I’m still wishing her crying jags were nonexistent. I’m still feeling like I am teetering on the edge of sanity. I just seem to be clinging to the ledge pretty well tonight. I may even be able to heft my knee on up and imitate Genny—and get myself safely up that first step.

The Heat is On

Genny did a lovely downward dog on the bed this evening. She should have been sleeping, but this new use of her legs seemed more interesting I suppose. Also included in her non-sleeping state were throwing herself onto the pillows, rolling from side to side and plucking Mommy’s bottom lip like a finger harp.

And she’s still not sleeping. Her daddy is in there right now and I just heard the sad little wails starting again. It’s almost two hours past her bedtime.

We did have an adventurous day. A morning trip to UPS to stand in line for half-an-hour to pick up a package. Then we drove to Grandma and Grandpa Koechig’s house for a visit and then finally on to G & G Hageman’s house where Genny went for a swim.

I’m really worried about my mom. The side effects from her latest chemo are knocking her out. She’s lost so much weight and has zero energy. She could barely walk today. I know she’s feeling bad when even Genny is unable to lift her spirits. I hate that I can’t make her better.

It sounds like Genevieve has finally quieted down. I hope this sleep sticks.

If you’re out there reading this and you believe in prayer or visualization or any other helpful remedy, please think of my mom tonight. Please send her strength and renewed energy. Thank you, and here’s hoping we all sleep well in this heat tonight.

But What Do You Feel?

Act in spite of my feelings. That is the kernel of knowledge I came away with today after seeing my therapist. It is really good and simple advice. Yes, I feel fraudulent when it comes to most areas of my life—I’m not a good enough teacher, I’m not a good enough writer, I’m not a good enough mother. The key is that I can’t let those feelings stop me from living my life.

Too often I have bowed down to my almighty feelings, allowing them to determine how my life would be lived. No more. I know I will have negative feelings, depressing loops of conversations inside my head, but I am not going to let them rule me. I am not going to accept those thoughts and feelings as real anymore. They are just thoughts passing by. Wisps of feeling hazes that aren’t necessarily true.

Genevieve has a new book called Tad’s First Feelings, when you turn the pages you hear little rhymes about feeling happy, sad and sleepy. All passing sensations. All temporary. All feel very real when you are experiencing them, but then you move onto another feeling.

I want Genevieve to learn to trust her feelings, to express them, but to also understand that that is all they are—passing sensations soon to be replaced by new ones. What is the state we return to? What is that feeling where we most often reside?

Perhaps this is the answer to the meaning of life—to live in the moment unfettered by passing sensations, thoughts and feelings. I always strive to be in the moment, to experience without judgment whatever is occurring within and around me.

I will act in my best interest. I will be the best person I can be. I will do the best I can at anything I attempt and allow that to be enough.

And hopefully, Genny will grow up to love herself and feel good enough about herself to develop her own healthy philosophy of life. More than anything for Gen, I wish her happiness and contentment within herself. I wish her peace with life and a good heart.

Let's Talk About Sex

Lots of revelations about my lifelong sadness. Nick and I had a conversation last night that started about sex and porno and ended with an in-depth look at my issues about being a woman in our modern society. I think I’m on the edge of discovering the roots of some of my issues about my sexuality and why I became a stripper and all that jazz.

The key factor in understanding my coming-of-age has always seemed to focus on finding the porno magazine trunk in my basement when I was about thirteen years old. I was at an impressionable age when I was just learning about what it means to be a woman. The naked photos seemed to show me what it meant to be a desirable woman.

Thus began my conflicting attempt to become both a desirable woman and at the same time to stop myself from ever growing up at all. One part of me urged on my self-discovery of my sexual self: dancing half-nude in front of the living room mirror every day after school, learning how to undulate my body to make it look good from every angle and practicing my new discoveries with boyfriends. While it seems that I was attempting to become a “desirable” woman like those I saw in the magazines, I also began my attempt to halt the process altogether: starving myself all day long, seeing how tiny (and unwomanly) I could become and sinking into an attention-desiring depression.

I was like most hormone-driven teenage girls—making out with my boyfriends and savoring every passionate-filled moment grabbed in the backseat of cars. I was always dating older guys and feeling super-sexy and just enjoying my discovery of how much fun my body could supply me.

Once I actually physically became a woman and realized the process was unstoppable, I slowly began regaining weight and coming back from the edge of scary skinniness. The crack in my, what I consider normal sexual self, happened when I became a stripper. My sexy self became exaggerated and a performance. That’s who “Kyrea” was. Sheila, on the other hand, became the good girl, who wasn’t terribly interested in sex because that other me was getting all the “sex” she needed at work.

Soon, the split deepened, and I found myself becoming a promiscuous and cheating female. That was when I felt sexy. I began to associate sexiness with being bad. Not a great development for my own sexual self in real-life relationships.

Fast forward to today. I’ve gone through a long trip to Hell and back. I’ve landed in a place where I want to reunite my split selves. I go through phases where I think I’ve already done that successfully, but I realize I still have a lot of issues to work through.

Sheila can be sexy without having to be overtly “sexy”, like I was as a stripper. That real sexy part of me is allowed to exist. Time to let go of all those messages driven in by well-meaning boyfriends that I could leave “Kyrea” behind and just be Sheila. Kyrea is a part of me. It’s time to make her feel welcome rather than hanging her out to dry in the name of being more adult.

I am a sexual person and I’m allowed to express my sexiness. Take that world.

Summer Saturday

A warm and wonderful day at Walnut Beach in Milford, CT with Adam and Gayle. Genevieve discovered sand and I received a belly and bikini-bottom full. The day zoomed by. We're all wiped out here. I want to close my eyes and zzz away.

Hugs and Squeezes

Well, I did it. I saw my first movie in over a year. Cinderella Man. It’s one of those stories that you know is going to work out in the end, but during it, you’re simply biting your nails off, as cousin Alison said she did.

Now I’m home and Genny is still sleeping. I just wolfed down four large chocolate chip cookies, which always makes me feel nauseous afterward. So, why do I do things that make me feel like puking? Ah, perhaps a good question for all of us. Some people have alcohol and some have chocolate.

I just looked at the headlines and was reading about the young woman missing in Aruba. How often do these situations turn out well? It makes me grateful for having survived as long as I have. When I think back to the risky lifestyle of my younger days, to the days when I traveled by myself and somehow always managed to hook up with someone. There are always men waiting for young lonely women on vacation—waiting to be their vacation Sweetie.

I remember when I was on vacation I was always ready to be swept off my feet by a local guy or two, and they usually obliged. These travel romances made me feel sexy and desired. I loved the power I felt I was exerting. The thrill of the warm, breezy air. Freshly sunned skin. Unfamiliar places were begging for me to drop my normal self and allow the Kyrea (my stripper persona) in me to come out.

Someday Genny will be a young woman discovering relationships and all the fun stuff that goes along with the territory. I can only hope that she makes wiser choices than I did. How do we protect our little girls—our babies? We have to let them go at some point, to face that huge open floating bubble of an endless world.

I’m going to hug her and squeeze her tomorrow. I’m not ready to even think about letting go yet.

Hot

It was hot today. Very hot. I am wondering if after having a baby the heat bothers you more. I have always begged people to turn down the air-conditioning, but now I’m roaring about the AC not being cranked enough.

Genevieve only needs to wear simple little one-piece outfits now, which is a relief. No more coats, hats and mittens to yank on her. Of course, now Genny needs sun block applied, a sunhat and lots of drinking water.

I visited Lloyd, the hypnotherapist, while Genny was at the babysitter’s today. We talked about what holds me back from making more money in life. Some very interesting issues came out having to do with family and those thoughts we all have that get buried deep inside our psyches. When you think about how many times we absorb the negative messages of our family and society when we are young without being able to control the impact on our lives, it’s overwhelming.

I have always felt that I’m not allowed to have more in life because there are others who have less than me. Wallowing in guilt for what I have obviously isn’t productive, but I have never been able to free myself from this belief. I hold myself back because I resent those women I see who have everything I want and I don’t want to be resented one day.

I’ve got to take action to improve my life no matter what my feelings are about what others will think of me. As long as I share some of what I make, I shouldn’t feel guilty.

And I want a nanny. There, I said it loud and proud. I want to have my own life along with being a mother. For anyone who doesn’t understand that, well, phooey to them. Phooey to all.

From my own life to Genny’s we jump. Genevieve gave me a real kiss on the lips this afternoon. And she hugged me a bunch of times. Laid her head down on my lap. Rubbed her sweaty head and hair against my arm.

I’m a mom. But I’m also so much more.

This Summer

Suburbia soothed my savage mommaness. I am home in the Heights and feeling much more relaxed and at ease.

Genevieve swam for the first time today. Well, maybe swam isn’t the right word, but she did splash around in Grandpa’s pool. And so did Mommy. I was very impressed that I made it into the water up to my shoulders. I usually don’t do well with cold water.

And since I was doing the whole suburban super saver center thingie, I also hit the local Target, which much to my great delight, had nestled within it, a Starbucks. I feel very madcap and carefree when I pull out my Starbucks gift card to pay.

Genny and I were both very excited to see Nick when he came home from work, perhaps Genny a little too much so, because she couldn’t fall asleep tonight. Nick tried to put her down for half-an-hour while I cooked dinner, but to no avail, so Genny had a second dinner of green beans. She finally passed out at nine o’clock.

I’m feeling very revved up and hyper. I’ve got about twenty tasks to do in the next couple of weeks. I have to take the GRE as a formality for Grad school, but I still feel the need to do well. Looks like I’ve got some serious math review to tackle.

And I need to get some writing done on an essay. And I need to figure out what Lit class I’m taking in the fall. Then there’s organizing, ebaying, working on my new website, freeing myself from depression, enjoying being a newlywed, washing the dishes, putting away Genny’s toys, planning a Mommy and Me yoga class and returning emails. And that’s just what is on the tip of my mind.

I think I will make a trip to Connecticut an every week experience for the summer. It will do every member of my family some good.

WalMart

This is what my life has come to. Standing in line at WalMart staring at a bag of fried pork skins and finding myself actually interested in whether "US" magazine's cover story about Tom and Katie, "Getting Married", is true.

Welcome to Suburbia.

I'm in Connecticut tonight at my mom and stepdad's place. This is where I find myself standing during my rare time off. A super saver center. Buying stuff to organize all of Genny's toys.

I smell WalMart pizza and I feel scared because it smells good.

It's 9:30 pm and I can't believe how many babies are here. They all seem to be eating cheese doodles.

Of course, I chose the wrong line. I've been in this line for twenty minute while the manager stands at his little desk with his, "How may I help you?" vest on, but he's not helping me.

Genny cried her little head sweaty again tonight. She didn't take her afternoon nap and did not want to take her evening sleeptime either. Eventually she fell asleep on my chest and I was able to place her down.

I think I'll go savor some quiet time before I pass out.

Savory

Nick was saying last night how people probably think the exact opposite of what I think they think about me. My parents probably couldn’t be prouder of me now. I mean, I was a stripper. Look at me now. Married to a great guy with a job and I’m a mom. I’m finally living on the straight and narrow, or is it straight as an arrow?

Earlier today I walked along the choppy sidewalk, eyes glazed over. And it hit me. I am a zombie mommy. Would that be a zommy or mombie?

I am the living dead. A mommy who has lost herself. Sure, I have moments when I have me, but increasingly I find myself depressed, missing from life and unable to really enjoy my daughter.

If what everybody is saying to me is true, “Enjoy this age. It goes by so fast.” Why am I missing out on the joy?

Or is the reason people give this advice because they felt the same way I did when entrenched in the day-to-day of baby caring, but now, looking back, they wish they had savored it because it’s gone.

But then, what is there to savor? Nick enjoys watching her discover and learn, even when it’s through emptying out a jumbo size box of Band-Aids from Costco.

I have such a hard time letting chaos reign. I’ve spent my life trying to control chaos, so I find it difficult now to just let it happen and see it as education for the baby. I feel a need to put away all those Band-Aids right away. And when Genny grabs something and cruns away with it, like her doll’s plastic pink fork, I have to chase after her and grab the aforementioned stolen object and return it to it’s room of departure.

Why have I chosen this time of my life to get neurotic about cleanliness? I couldn’t wait until Genny goes to college? I think it has more to do with the letting go of how things were pre-baby. I may have to get used to the fact that life will never be the same. I’m going to be running around for the next eighteen years at least. There’s no slowing down for a while. Unless I get better at making the time.

Remember to make time for Mommy.

A Mommy On The Edge

In case you were wondering, babies sweat from their heads. I know this because Genny was just screaming in her crib with her hair completely drenched. Nick called the nurse line, but it’s okay, she’s just a hot, sweaty and cranky baby.

And I’m just a hot, sweaty and cranky mommy.

Today was supposed to be a relax day, but it turned into a workday. We went to Nick’s Cousin Bob’s and I decided I would take our two humungous dirty laundry bags. Well, it turns out Bob keeps the dryer on the delicate setting so that his pants won’t shrink. I spent about three hours doing laundry.

As the day wore on, Genny became increasingly cranky and feisty. She was crunning (crawl-running) all around Bob’s three-bedroom house. In the spare bedroom, which Bob has now filled with hand-me-down toys, Gen was molesting a giant Pooh Bear by jumping on him and rolling and pushing.

She got to play with her cousin, Anna, who is 15 months old. They really didn't interact much though, except when Genny offered her some cheddar cheese rice cake.

Then I had my mommy on the edge moment while I was folding the still damp laundry in the basement, chasing Genny for the umpteenth time to the unfinished section of the cellar and feeling alone and miserable. Nick came in from working on the minivan and I was just like, “She is driving me insane.” I think there might have been an expletive in there, too. No, actually, I know for sure that there was an expletive in there.

I feel so frustrated with myself when I lose my patience with her. I can just hear everyone who hears me complaining about motherhood whispering that I’m a bad mother. But I’m not! I’m an awesome mother.

Why do I care so much about what other people think about me? What is this image that I think others have of me that I’m so afraid of tarnishing? People probably already think I’m a weirdo and a bad mom, so I should probably just relax and be who I am. A mommy on the edge.

Go With The Flow

Saturdays are dream days. I get to actually enjoy time spent with Genevieve because Nick is there to join in on the family unit. I love to watch Genny crawl into his lap, lifting her knees up to attain the height she needs to scale the mountainous Nick knees.

I also got some much appreciated alone time today, which I spent doing yoga with Julie. Later on in the day, while Genny was napping, there was some Momma and Dadda lovin’ time and then even some nappin’ time for Momma.

We then swung over to Michael’s craft store to return the pew bows that we didn’t need because the wedding in the chapel before ours had left theirs up and they were quite lovely. In exchange, we got our wedding thank-you cards (and a venti Starbucks Mint Chip Frappucino since it was right next door).

Genny passed another milestone today—she’s a forward-facer now. It’s so convenient to be able to simply turn around while we’re driving and check on her. Ah, the wonders of modern-day car seats.

Speaking of seats, we purchased Genny’s first potty-seat at Toys ‘R Us. She is a bit young, but it’s never to soon to start introducing a baby to a more convenient (well, for Mommy anyway) place to poo and pee.

I was just thinking how my blog is an interesting testimonial to the up and down swings of my depression. I bet I could go back and make a chart documenting my depression level on a day-to-day basis. That might be kind of neat, and perhaps a bit neurotic. I could just see Nick creating a flow chart to go along with the tracking of our budget. Hmm, I wonder if there would be any correlation between our cash flow and my mood flow.

Kisses

Genny learned to kiss today. It’s more of a lip smack than a kiss, but we’ll count it just the same. She also planted a big wet open mouth all over my chin a couple of times; I think those were kisses, too.

I had my second hypnotherapist visit today, which went very well. He didn’t actually hypnotize me—we just talked. It was very motivational and I left on a buzz and ready to take on some new writing projects. Now, will I be able to keep the forward thrust moving?

The most important point I must remember when it comes to dealing with my hatred of motherhood is that I am still doing quite a fine job of it. I mean—I am a perfectionist after all. Even though I am not thrilled with the day-to-day life I am living right now, I still love Genny. And it’s not like I have ever really loved normal day-to-day life, no matter what I was involved in.

That thought is just making me realize that perhaps I have never been truly happy as I suppose most normal people experience happiness. Is it that I have a mixed-up notion about what true happiness is? Or has depression always caused me to blame the external circumstances of my life for the sadness I feel? Maybe it doesn’t matter what is going on in my life—maybe I will always hate whatever I am doing.

Hmm…if I was just to assume that this is true, that it is not so much what I am doing in my life that I hate, but rather just this snarky depression making me think I hate whatever I’m doing, would that free me in any way to enjoy my life more? Maybe I can find a way to sidestep my depression by laughing when I feel hatred of everyday life knowing that I don’t really hate life, my depression only wants me to think that. But what does my depression gain from occupying me?

How interesting that I talk about my depression as though it is a thing of and to itself, like it’s not an illness or a feeling, but rather an unwelcome intruder creeping through my brain, trying to infiltrate my soul—well, no, I think the infiltration has already happened. I just have to find a way to force out the invader, so that I can enjoy watching my daughter grow up.

I imagine my whole life has been about trying to find ways to defeat the enemy. As an actress, I was allowed to be somebody else and escape my own darkness on a regular basis. As an exotic dancer, I got to pretend that I was a happy-go-lucky gal who just wanted to prance around naked. As a writer and a yogini, I get to delve into the meaning of the pit within me and try to find ways to restructure and deal with the darkness.

For Genevieve, I’d really like to banish depression once and for all, but I don’t want to put too much pressure upon myself and then only get more depressed because I don’t succeed.

And I come to the end of another day in my life. I close my eyes and see Genny’s drool-dripped chin telescoping toward me and I feel a wet pucker on my nose and I smile and I feel good.

"A" is for ahhh

Okay, so motherhood is not what I expected.

I thought as a mom my depression would be gone. I thought I would be personally fulfilled.

I was wrong.

Nick suggested I try enjoying the anger I have—anger at having my life and freedom taken away. Express my hate loudly. Then maybe I’ll come to acceptance. Don’t deny the hating of motherhood. I hate the responsibility. I hate the mind-numbing tedium. I hate the not being able to have a conversation with the person I must spend my entire day with.

I hate being a mom. I hate having to take care of someone else instead of me. I hate picking up toys that I just picked up twenty minutes ago. I hate it all. I hate it. I hate it. But I’m afraid if I go back to work fulltime that I’ll hate that even more.

And I hate the word hate. I don’t want Genny to think I hate her because, obviously, I don’t. I love her to smithereens. I just hate this new life I’m living. I don’t even remember what I like anymore or who I am or was.

My friend Rebecca pointed out today that there are also many good moments and experiences I have with Genny. It’s good to be reminded of this. I know that it’s true. And I don’t know what I would do without all my wonderful momma friends that I’ve made here in Jackson Heights. They help keep me sane.

I am going to see a hypnotherapist for the second time tomorrow. I will hopefully be much happier when you read from me this time tomorrow.

I know I’ll make it through this wave of low feeling. I always do. And I have so much to be thankful for. My friend, Clover, and I used to go to this Interfaith church in the city, after the service we’d walk along 57th Street singing, “I am as God created me.” Then we’d end up in a diner for brunch where we’d go through the alphabet naming the things we were grateful for. We were developing “an attitude of gratitude”.

I am grateful for what beginning with the letter “a” tonight?

Hmm, aromatherapy. I think I’ll take a bath and sniff something flowery.

Another Day

Today was one of those days during which I questioned why I ever wanted to be a mom. I didn’t even spend the whole day with Genevieve; she was at the babysitter’s for four hours while I went into the city for my advising appointment for the coming semester.

I am disappointed that I am not enjoying motherhood more. I don’t know why I didn’t realize how much work there would be. Honestly, I don’t remember what I thought being a mom would be all about. The main disappointment that I can plop my finger upon is that I don’t feel more satisfaction at the end of the day. I thought I would feel fulfilled on all levels as a mom, but unfortunately, I am feeling the exact opposite.

Perhaps I thought that I would feel complete and happy once I had another life dependent upon me, but that completion hasn’t happened for me yet. I think also that I am unconsciously always thinking that the next big thing is going to erase my depression permanently. Of course, I know that life doesn’t work that way.

I am probably feeling the post-wedding blues, too. Sunday was so perfect and love-filled; how could I not feel slightly let down upon returning to everyday hectic life with Genny?

A sampling of our time spent together today: Genevieve pulled every single book off her shelf creating a jumbled pile; she emptied out an entire box of panty liners crumpling a number of them into unusable crinkled garbage; she slopped baby food on the wall and threw melba toast crumbs way under the kitchen table; she threw Baby Doll Two from the stroller at least a dozen times, but would scream if I didn’t hand her back after being rescued from the filthy sidewalk.

Now, for all of you wanna-be moms out there, I know you are probably thinking to yourself, “Oh, I think that all sounds so cute, and besides, my baby won’t throw things.” Well, just for the record, you‘ve now been warned, so please don’t come crying back to me, “Why didn’t somebody tell me what it was really like?”

Number Two

Three days in a row of Genny waking up at 5:30 am has caught up to me. A dizzying exhaustion is rampaging through my head, stomach and soul. I need a break before I crack in half. Nick and I really need a vacation.

To make matters worse, Genny’s Baby Doll was doll-napped from the playground. She had been propped up against a rail of the old jungle gym, but when it was time to go, Baby Doll was no more. There had been lots of toddlers darting in and out during my visit and I guess I just lost track of Doll.

We left the playground empty-handed. Back at home, Genny pulled all the sheets, the blanket and even the mattress from Baby Doll’s cradle and then sipped at the little toy bottle. After two hours of on and off screaming and crying I gave up on her taking an afternoon nap, which I had been looking very forward to.

We strolled to Kaybee Toys instead where we dawdled in the doll aisle. I’m happy to say that we found a Baby Doll replacement—I give you, Baby Doll Two. I found myself repeatedly saying to Genny, “We’re not trying to replace Baby Doll, we’re just…replacing her.”

This didn’t make much sense then, or now. I think though that the switch will be accepted even though Baby Doll Two is slightly different than the original. The new doll is not all hard plastic; she has a soft and squeezy torso, but the same bristle blink eyelashes that Genny loves to touch.

Genny is sleeping now and that’s probably what I should be doing. I’m fighting off a clinking depressed feeling in my chest. The wedding euphoria was too short-lived. I wish we could celebrate a few days without us having to rush back to work, but that is not the way the world works. We must work hard for our money.

Argh, I’m feeling squishy and sentimental and sad and happy all at once. I think Gen just really burned me out with all the screaming today.

I’m thinking of putting a harness on Baby Doll Two tomorrow.

The Day After

We ended up going on a tourist adventure with Nick’s Aunt Nina and the rest of the family. First stop was Starbuck’s, where I realized I’d forgotten my fabulous new Starbuck’s gift card (thanks Julie!), and then we hit the subway down to the ferry. We chugged over to the Statue of Liberty and then on to Ellis Island.

Genny liked the breeze on the boat flying through her wispy hair, but her lashes were flashing like mad. She wore sun block for the first time. Is that a milestone? And I wore sun block for the millionth time and still got sunburned shoulders.

I tried using up some of the disposable cameras left over from the wedding. It’s a very freeing feeling to snap away with no reservations on how much film you’re using. Some of my mad-hatter shots today included: Nick holding Genny up in front of Lady Liberty, the aforementioned breeze rustling through Genny’s hair and assorted subway family shots.

Genny finally knocked out for a nap on the subway ride back uptown. She slept straight through dinner at the Heartland Brewery restaurant and then suddenly woke up in a crying frenzy. We probably overdid it for her these last three days of nonstop fun.

Since we aren’t going on a honeymoon until October, we are back to normal life. No week off where we can just lounge out and be lost in our wedded bliss. Nick is back to work tomorrow and diapers wait for no wedded anything. Our apartment is a total disaster area. I have a zillion chores and work type things to do. And, yes, I am still exhausted.

And, yes, the wedding was phenomenally perfect. Is it odd that like absolutely nothing went wrong?

Wedding

Today was a whirling swish of love and I am now a Mrs. An incredible day. Happy. Joy. Love.

I am also utterly exhausted.

Today Is

Today is my birthday. Today is the day before my wedding.

I am feeling overwhelmed and disconnected from my body at the moment. We had a big family dinner at The Delhi Palace. There were seventeen of us around a long table on the second floor. Nick, Genny and I sat at the head of the table.

I felt like I was hovering above the table, floating atop everyone’s heads and gently waving hello to all below me. The constant feeding of Genny of bread and chicken and cucumber slices is like a fly buzzing about your face, so close, so there, so far.

And the crushing down responsibility of knowing we need to take her home and put her to bed and then feed her again tomorrow and the next day. We must consider her in everything. Consider her before we consider ourselves.

Nick got me a beautiful chocolate cake with cannoli filling. Everyone sang Happy Birthday to me. I could hear the applause from downstairs as well. So nice. So about me. Maybe that’s part of the overwhelming feeling, knowing people love me and think about me in the way I feel about Genny.

I’ve never dealt well with receiving things. I tried to give myself over to it tonight and just allow myself to sink back and savor the generosity of those who love me.

I feel so tired now. Tomorrow I will be married.

Crazy Days

The crazy three days has begun. Today was all about getting things done for the wedding and trying not to chip my nails. I think almost everything is just about ready—the keywords being “almost” and “just about”.

I am feeling a strange and breezy excited buzz. I remind myself every once in a while that I’m getting married in a day and then I feel tingles in my cheekbones. It’s a rush, rush, cool kind of sensation.

My friends and I had a dinner tonight in the city at The Sanctuary on 1st and 1st. My sweetheart friend, Wendy, organized it. The restaurant was out of cold beverages and only had a buffet—all you can eat for five dollars! The man in the saffron robes told us they might be closing because the running of the restaurant is cutting into their spiritual practice.

Yup, so I was baby free in the city. Nobody knew I was a mother (except for everyone who knew me). I actually was able to just allow myself to be out and not feel bad about leaving Genny. It’s okay to allow myself to have some free time without baby when I have the opportunity.

And I had Starbucks twice today. I may not fit into my wedding dress. And my face may break out. But when faced with the opportunity to have two Starbucks in one day, one must dive fully into the experience.

I must say adieu now. It is way past my bedtime. The baby will not allow me to sleep in tomorrow morning.

Now I know my ABC's

Why am I always looking for controversy in life? I was just saying to Nick, I don’t know what to blog about tonight. If there isn’t something big and exciting, or profound and sweet, but just ho-hum, I feel like I’m not supplying good material worthy of being read.

I guess I’m a bit of an attention-monger. I certainly was the center of attention when I stood naked on stage in a room full of men. How much more desperate can someone be for some “look at me” time. I’m used to there being certain expectations set up for me when I present myself in any way. When I was a stripper, in exchange for the attention and the money, I had to be dolled up and, oh yes, naked. A pretty straightforward exchange.

As a writer, I need to be able to provide a window into experience or feeling. If I have no interesting stories to share on a given night, do I blog just the same? Can I allow myself to be boring and uninspiring, but write anyway? Can I reveal no secrets, but only chitchat on the screen?

Well, I appear to be doing the boring thing pretty well at the moment, but I must admit that the back of my mind is desperately searching for some cute way to tie things up and make you go, “Aha!” or “Really? Isn’t that delightful and intriguing.”

Speaking of being the center of attention, Genevieve said the letter “A” today. It was quite distinct and right after a Leap Frog toy began singing the alphabet. She said it about half a dozen times. “A. A. A. A. A. A.” I believe it was the capital “A” she was hinting at and not the little “a”, although I have no proof of that.

You know, I myself must have said the letter “A” one hundred times today, but I don’t pat myself on the back. I don’t get all excited. I don’t hush everyone in the room to pipe down so I can hear myself pronounce the first letter of the alphabet. Maybe I’m making too big a deal out of Genny’s little accomplishments. I don’t want her to grow up thinking she needs to be praised for every little thing she does. And I certainly don’t want her to wind up feeling the need to shed her clothes to get the attention our culture so readily supplies to naked females.

Hmm, just the right amount of attention, so she is neither starved for it or living for it. Now, if I can only figure out the perfect quantity and quality of attention a baby needs to grow up with a healthy self-image—it should be a small undertaking for a woman who can so clearly pronounce the entire contents of the alphabet forward and back.

My American Idol

It’s embarrassing to admit, but I just watched the American Idol finale. My whole life I have avoided liking anything that is popular among the masses, or at least liking these things publicly.

I’m not sure how I got hooked on Idol. The cheesily bad auditions drew me in and then the weekly anticipation of the singing and more importantly, the excruciatingly drawn out results shows, kept me finagling with the cable to get reception. Not that Idol is an original show; I am carried back to my childhood—sitting on the scratchy couch in the den watching The Gong Show. I always admired the folks who ignored the gong, or who honestly didn’t seem to hear it, even when it was being pounded upon by some has-been celebrity judge.

Tonight, the gong rang for Bo and Carrie was crowned Miss American Idol. She helped her mom up onstage and bear hugged her. Mrs. Mom Idol patted her daughter on the back, just like I pat Genny, and just like Genny pats her Baby Doll.

From one mom to the next and already we are passing the baton down to our daughters, even when they are still in diapers. Genny is already maternally caring for Baby Doll. True, she does lose her patience with the doll every now and then and toss her onto the sidewalk where she is then run over by the stroller, but other than that—true love and caring.

Perhaps one day my baby will be helping my aging body up on stage to be congratulated for her accomplishments—American Idol, Academy Award winner or Spelling Bee Champion. I will certainly be clasping her body to mine, jumping up and down, hooting and hollering and proclaiming wildly, “That’s my little girl!”

Squishy faces

Genevieve makes the cutest little scrunchy face when she’s happy. She wrinkles up her nose, opens her mouth in a half moon smile and chuckles. I squish up my face when I’m happy, too.

I am so much happier nowadays than when I was taking off my clothes for a living. My life and my choices have steadily improved throughout time. I’ve managed to extricate myself out of unwise career decisions, unhealthy romantic relationships and dangerous lifestyle habits. I’m sure we all have escaped specters of death, but when I think of all the events in my life that could have turned out differently, I feel grateful for having survived.

I am a survivor. Depression, regret and guilt may tug me down to the ground sometimes, but I know now that I will always be able to pull myself up again. I will learn from Genevieve as she becomes skilled at physically hoisting her trembling body onto her standing feet.

Genny and I both know that she will be able to get herself up soon. Even though right now she needs lots of assistance to stand, there will be no stopping her. She will stand on her own.

And I will continue to move forward in life, just as I always have; only now I am not alone. I have Nick’s hand and Genny’s hand wrapped in mine.

There are many squishy faces to come in life.

The Price We Pay

Yes, the rumors are true; my baby has fat feet. I bought Genny a pair of wedding shoes, which should have fit her, but her puffy feet squeegee out the tops. She may just have to wear white plastic grocery bags tied with ribbon around her feet.

Speaking of things squeezing out of their holders, I bought my seamless, strapless push-up bra for the wedding at David’s Bridal. When I reacted to the $69 price tag the saleslady was quick to point out that the exact same bra sells for $89 at Victoria’s Secret. Ever the bargain seeker, I bought the floor model and received 20% off.

I even sought good deals on clothing when I was a stripper. Flimsy little nothings cost a lot of dollar bill tips and paying for lingerie in singles is always a dead giveaway that one is an exotic dancer. To save on spending all my hard-earned cash on costumes I even handmade many of my bikini sets. I still have a large blue bin stuffed with fading colored thongs, plastic bras and lacey what-nots.

Unfortunately, I do not have any rolls of dollar bills stashed away anywhere. People often ask me where all my stripping money went. The answer is, the same place anybody’s money goes. The cash flow potential of stripping is overrated unless you’re willing to perform extracurricular activities outside the clubs. The most I ever made on a shift was like $600, but the average daily rate was about two or three hundred dollars. Not bad money for dancing around in your skivvies, but not great by any means.

Well, at least I kept most of my morals intact, although “morals” is a funny concept. Who’s to say what’s right or wrong when one isn’t harming anyone else, except perhaps for oneself and possibly the dignity of womankind. I’d rather not speak for all women though, seeing as I change my own mind about stripping around twenty times a day.

Pee and Planes

I felt like a bad mom today. We were busy all day, from going to brunch, to attending Nick’s mom’s memorial, to shopping at WalMart. I picked Genny up out of her stroller in Wally World only to find her flower-skirted bottom soaking wet, then it took me only another moment to realize that I hadn’t changed her diaper in like eight hours.

I had done smell checks a few times, but there had been no offensive odors, so I kept thinking, I’ll just wait a little longer. I guess I just pretty much plain forgot to take care of my daughter’s bathroom needs today. So she rode home wrapped in a blanket. She survived.

I’m surviving the final week before the wedding so far, but there are still a lot of last-minute details to attend to. It is amazing how all the little this and thats add up to create a frenzied state of pre-wedding stressamopolous.

The apartment is a mess. Genny still needs white wedding shoes because the ones I bought her at the flea market don’t fit. I’m not happy with how my wedding bra fits (it’s an old one and has seen better days). We still need to do work on the ceremony and figure out how all the people go and what we want here and what goes there and so on.

I hear a plane overhead. Our apartment building is directly in the path of one landing route for LaGuardia Airport. Planes only seem to fly over us on weekends when there is a certain wind pattern, but when they do, you need to be ready to duck because these bad boys could singe the hair off the back of your neck.

The underbellies of jets are really quite lovely—round and white just like my once pregnant belly. But my plane landed over a year ago now. She touched down just fine.

The Way to Go

Not only did Genny survive her first year on this planet, but so did Nick and I. Not only that, but she fit into a size 3-6 month outfit today. Way to stay nice and trim, Genny. (For any babies that may be reading this, that last statement was a joke. Baby fat is adorable. Love yourselves.)

I fit into a size 4 Gap pants and a small top today. Way to go, Mom, but really, we would have still loved you if it had been a size 6.

For Gen’s big day, we went to her friend Abel’s birthday party at a baby gym in Astoria. She loved the pink ball and the cyan balloon with the yellow string. She crawled through a large plastic caterpillar and lounged on his red tongue. She even had “Happy Birthday” sung to her after Abel’s turn. This didn’t register at all—her mouth just hung open in mild confusion.

Tomorrow is Nick’s mom’s memorial in New Jersey. Then next Saturday is my birthday followed the next day by our wedding. And while the wedding is being held in Astoria, it is not at the baby gym, although it might be fun for one hundred wedding guests to roll around on a padded rainbow floor.

We are all belly button deep in planning. There are still a zillion details to be figured out, but that is okay. We get done what we get done. And what we don’t get done, well, it goes undone. Way to impart the wisdom, Mom, but really, you made it through the year, way to go.

Take Two

For your reading pleasure, I give you, Emergency Room visit number two.

Genevieve’s being sick has become second nature to us this past week, but this morning took a new turn. She was crying uncontrollably for an hour and a half and had a red pin-prickly rash all over her body. We called our nurse line, a service provided by our insurance company, and were instructed to take her to the Emergency Room.

This time we strolled the sidewalks in the slanting rain. In the hospital, we waited for Genny’s name to be called, while in the background Montel Williams supplied a poor, unfortunate 4’11” girl with a makeover to make her feel good from the inside-out.

A short time later, Genny was awarded the Triple Crown: a new tooth, a virus called Porvo and an ear infection. Certainly nothing worthy of a hospital visit, but more than enough to cause an about to be one year old girl with a crying jag. We set back out into the cold rain with a prescription for antibiotics in hand, or rather, in pocket.

These must not be the times that other moms mean when they say, Enjoy every minute of it. It goes so fast. I could stand for a few of these screaming baby days to go a little quicker.

But it is true that tomorrow is her first birthday, which is strange—since she was only born just yesterday.

Security

Genevieve developed a need for a security blanket today, or rather I should say, a security baby doll. It’s a simple plastic doll with fluttering plastic lashes that her great-grandparents gave to her. She hugged the doll to her face and every time I tried to pry it from her dirty hands, she would wail.

So, Genny ate dinner with Baby Doll, who enjoyed her own banana-blueberry treat on her round cheek. Baby Doll went for a swing at the playground. And Baby Doll got dragged around the apartment, sweeping up kitty-cat fur clumps as she went.

I don’t think I ever had a security object. My sister had a blankie that eventually disintegrated from so much use. I did have a “pretty spoon”, which I loved to eat my cereal with.

As we strolled along 34th Avenue, Genny with Doll and I with iced latte, my mind floated back to my teacher’s lingerie comment and I realized that he might have said black negligee, not black lingerie. Not that there’s much of a difference in the impact of the meaning.

Did my teacher see something in me that I didn’t? Or did he create some desire in me to fulfill men’s fantasies?

Perhaps it’s all hooey and his words didn’t get into my brain. Maybe I would have become what I became no matter what, but it does make you think about how a simple statement just might impact a child’s life path.

The definition of "awed"

I love the mind buzz that happens when I make a new connection that I’ve never seen before. Sometimes the realization isn’t even one hundred percent, but just the possibility that I’m being enlightened about something that can make my ears tingle.

My friend Julie and I were holding our writing workshop tonight. We were discussing a piece of her memoir. I felt very excited when a parallel became clear to me that she’s working on in her manuscript. For a brief flash I could envision her completed work—finished and structured and published.

I have moments like this with my own memoir, but tonight’s revelation was smaller. Just more of two parallel moments worth exploring. Something that might have had a bigger impact on me than I ever realized before.

Well, I’m not one to tease and leave, so—When I was in grammar school, a certain teacher made a joke to explain a point. I can’t for the life of me (what a strange expression) remember what word he was trying to illustrate, but it must have been something like “awed”.

So, Mr. Teacher says, “Imagine that Danny is standing in a room and then all of a sudden the door opens and Sheila walks in wearing black lingerie.” All of our little minds were trying to compute what this meant. I remember feeling awkward, yet somehow pleased to be plucked out of all my other classmates to be described as causing this interesting effect. Not that any of us kids knew what he was talking about at the time.

The story gets stranger. When I first came on stage one shift at The Oasis, (now a Starbucks coffee house) I spun around to come face to face with the aforementioned teacher. Here I was, dressed in black lingerie, facing down the man who had envisioned just such a scenario.

Suffice it to say, he did look “awed”.

After I spun back around, all I saw was an empty barstool amidst a sea of smarmy faces.

Could it be that somehow or other that one comment expressed when I was a child burrowed its way inside my soul and took root? Did my whole life divert itself to fulfill a teacher’s word definition? I set out to awe the world just to recapture that brief moment of feeling special?

Fever

Fevers go up and fevers come down. At its peak, Gen’s temperature was 103.1.

Welcome to my day.

Genny’s little forehead has been kissed many times. Crankiness was an unfortunate side effect—for both her and me.

Even with Genny feeling as crappity as she did, we still managed to get a lot done today: three loads of laundry, a trip to the grocery store, and a walk with friends to the playground.

And now here I sit, with my mail piled on my unbuttoned jeans lap, my belly poofing comfortably out. My unwashed hair pulled back in my usual ponytail. An enormous pimple on my chin. I feel like the opposite of glamour. I can’t even remember what it feels like to feel pretty.

I’d love a facial. And a manicure and pedicure. And a massage. And a clothes shopping spree. And a new purse and pair of shoes. And—this is me being needy and greedy. To go from a single independent woman who bought lots of fun stuff to an overworked and underpaid mom can really suck. Not that I’d wish to trade it. I’m just being silly. And tired.

Will I ever not be tired again?

Must-be-dones

It’s been a bustling day for me. I had an interview for an Executive Assistant placement agency. I don’t know why I do things like that sometimes, but with Nick laid off, we are both trying to find more work. I do have a new yoga client on Thursday, which I’m hoping will work out on a permanent basis. And I’ve been tacking up yoga fliers all around my neighborhood.

I picked Genny up from her babysitter’s and learned that she had a fever. I thought she was doing better, but the poor thing was as hot as a baked clam. Well, no, she was only 101.6.

I put her to bed early and she dropped right off to sleep. I haven’t heard a peep from her since. My motherly instincts tell me I should go in there and feel her forehead.

And no sooner do I speak of her, but I hear a little, cough cough.

As coughs go, this one is pretty gosh-darn cute.

My own throat feels a rather tightening sensation. A scratchy, lava-bubbling rawness. Please do not let me get sick right now. There are too many must-be-dones dangling about me.

Goodnight

Children can be so mean. This weekend at the playground two older girls said they didn’t want to play with Genny who kept crawling up to them and tapping them. I suppose when you’re six years old, an about to be one-year-old baby doesn’t interest you much.

I’m reminded of how difficult it is to be a child on the playground—hoping the other kids will like you and that you don’t do anything stupid. I always felt so awkward and shy around other kids. I’m hoping that by introducing Genny early to lots of playmates she’ll be easy-going and make friends easily.

I’ve found it a lot easier to make new friends since Genny was born. She has helped me to feel less shy—I now have a point of reference to chat about.

I feel like I’m just talking in a circle tonight. Nothing seems genuine or important. Maybe it’s just the tired catching up on me. I think I’ll say goodnight now.

Moo Cow

Genevieve fell in love with a blue and purple stuffed cow today. We were in Daffy’s picking out a dress for her for the wedding. As we passed by a bin of stuffed animals, her little hand reached out and grabbed up her new love.

The Cow winds up and twinkles out a lilting lullabye as his head gently rolls side to side. Within moments, his white fluffy snout was snot and drool drenched. Gen hugged him into her cheek as I said, “Do you like Mr. Cow?”

Of course, I don’t know if it really is a male or female cow; I took the liberty of assigning him his gender role. It’s interesting to me that I always call her poops—Mr. Poopsies. Why are poops male? I don’t want her to associate men with excrement. Perhaps I should be fair and once in a while say, “Oh, you made a Ms. Poopie!”

I’m probably aware of all this he/she stuff because I’m reading a memoir, Dress Codes, by Noelle Howey, which is about the author’s transvestite father. I always had trouble reading things that went anything like this, “My father said she was going to...” It felt stilted and strange before reading this book. Now, it makes sense and rolls off my mind no problem.

Which reminds me, there is this one old lady at the playground in the late afternoons who points at Genny and says, “Oh, he’s adorable.” I’ve stopped correcting her. Even though I can’t understand the gender confusion—I really think Genny looks like a girl—I refuse to tack fluffy bows to the side of her head just so she can be called she rather than he. And besides, Genny doesn’t seem to mind. She’ll wave to you no matter what you call her.

Breathe

Genevieve’s stuffy nose caused her to wake up crying around eight o’clock tonight. I did something I haven’t in months; I cradled her against my body, sang Rock-a-Bye-Baby and swayed. After a few minutes of gasping and nose snuffing, she rested her head against my chest and brought her two favorite sucking fingers to her mouth.

Genny’s warm heavy head pressed against my left breast. Her lashes flickered on my arm. I closed my eyes and gently stepped around her small room. I felt like all was fine in the world. I asked myself to remember that peaceful moment of inhaling Genny’s soft hair. There was nowhere else I was needed at that moment and so the anxiety that usually tugs at my heart dropped away.

I close my eyes now and breathe deeply—my own nose snuffing slightly. The anxiety drops away again. So simple, to just remember to breathe.

Guaranteed On Time

Baby boogers will be dripping through my nightmares tonight. Genny woke up with a raging cold and she’s been oozing snot all day long. She soaked through three onesies and at least as many bibs, baby wipes and washcloths.

She only took one short nap this morning. She cried and screamed. And she so badly wanted to eat, but as soon as she would try to chew she had to reopen her mouth to breathe resulting in food just falling back out upon her bib.

Then there was the rubbing of the nose, mouth and eyes that spread goobers from left ear to right.

With all the dealing with sick baby I totally missed my florist appointment. I’m a tad bit afraid of Lou the florist, too. He made a big deal about me not missing the appointment and then I go and flake.

This is so not like me. I’m the type of person who shows up a half-an-hour early for all appointments. This is why I always ended up being first dancer of the day at strip clubs. No wonder bar owners loved me so much. Who’d ever heard of a habitually punctual stripper before?

Steps

First steps. It doesn’t get more momentous than that.

Genevieve was holding onto the back of her plastic pink car. She teetered and balanced as she has for over a month now. Her toes curled under as if they were digging for stability. Then, left leg locked, Genny stepped forward.

Her face flushed with an open smile. Then her right leg scuffed its way forward. She made it halfway across the living room rug with me just assisting her legs from behind.

All the planning in her head. All the watching and studying. I can just imagine her dreams tonight—her pink feet scurrying across the playground floor, crawling up the plastic curly slide and standing upright triumphantly on the top before she plops down and slides down with the wind rushing through her crooked bangs.

I’m reminded of my own first stripper steps. I had assumed I would be able to study the other dancers before I had to perform, but I was the first dancer to arrive and thus the first dancer to strip. I had not prepared at all for my first day except for the buying of costumes and the shaving of legs and bikini area.

I stepped onto the long runway stage at The Hideaway after slipping sweaty dollar bills into the jukebox. I don’t remember my first song choice, but I do remember that it was a fast song, something that I could just move to without stopping. Before the song began I wobbled downstage to the brass pole and reached out with my right hand and clung to its coolness.

The music rumbled from far corners and I felt the eyes from all around me land on my flesh. I swallowed hard and pushed one foot forward in front of the next. I shimmied down to the end of the stage, thrust my hip out and swung my hair over my shoulder. I spun around and began to dance. My legs pushed forward by the sheer strength of my will and the fear of what would happen if I stopped moving.

Once I flopped into bed that first night my legs ached and my knees trembled. My dreams were mixed with banging music, flashing lights and quivering stripper steps.

Feeding Techniques

Genevieve’s appetite for adult food is insatiable. Tonight she stuffed handfuls of brown rice, chunks of chicken and bits of veggies into her overflowing mouth. As long as Nick and I are eating it, she wants it.

Nick asked, “Do you think anyone else feeds their kids this way?”

“This way” includes pre-biting her food, licking off any sauces for her and then dropping the prepared bites onto her highchair tray.

I’m sure there are other parents out there using our methods. And I’m sure there are other moms and dads who would be mortified to know that I suck spices off of my child’s food before giving it to her.

I will even admit to following the 30-second rule regarding toys and crunchy foods that fall onto the floor. And sometimes when her toys fall on the street from her stroller I will pick them up, brush them off and hand them back to her when no one else is looking. I’ve even been known to use tap water instead of filtered water for mixing her breakfast cereal.

In spite of it all though, Genny keeps purring and choo-chooing. She doesn’t seem to mind our parenting techniques yet, although I imagine there will come a point when she’ll rather receive her food unsucked.

Crawling

I’m feeling under the weather today. There’s that fish-swimming-in-my-head feeling and that itchy eyes and ears sensation. My throat tickles and aches. Oh, and my nose is running.

It came on all of a sudden. I woke up this morning and moaned, “Ugh, I’m sick.”

It’s not like there’s any new stress in my life right now. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot, Nick lost his job last week. There’s nothing a new family needs more than an unemployed head-of-the-household.

Not that I’m worried or anything. Nick’s always able to get freelance work. I’m thinking it’s time for me to start working more, too—add on some more yoga clients and maybe start a class out here in Jackson Heights. What a perfect time to get sick.

I still managed to take Genevieve to Travers Park. She tried crawling up a slide at the playground. She tried eating a pistachio shell she found stuck in a crack in the padded blacktop. And she tried crawling through a barred fence to get to a dirty balloon.

Now I’m noticing that my body is aching so much that I can barely lift my arms. I think I’ll go crawl into bed myself.

Rites of Passage

I had a revelation about my memoir today. My current draft is written in a pretty straightforward chronological order. I have struggled with feeling like there is something missing, something wrong.

After finishing “Slow Motion” I really see how important it is to have a clear vision of from where and why I am writing my memoir. There needs to be more than just, “I have a great story to tell.” Why is the story important today? What will readers experience from reading it? What did I learn about life beyond what the physical story tells?

I am working in my head now on where my story begins in time. I am narrowing events down. Sifting through the rites of passage I experienced to uncover what other women will relate to. I am deciphering what my deepest message is.

The deepest message of the day is that Genny loves to eat rice. We visited my mom in Connecticut today and ate at a Chinese restaurant. Gen shoveled fistfuls of white and brown rice into her mouth. She made scrunchy faces at Mom and my step dad, Marc.

We also visited my dad and step mom, Pat, who bought Genny her new convertible car seat. In only one short month she will be eligible to ride forward facing. I imagine this directional shift will be a great rite of passage for her. Perhaps installing each successive car seat in the backseat of the minivan will be a rite of passage for Nick.

I’m experiencing my own rite of passage now as Genny is being weaned. Well, that’s obviously another momentous time for her as well. So many changes. So little time.

We’re all growing up.

Baby Yogini

Today at the playground there were two girls about eight years old who were mesmerized by Genny. They sat next to us on the blacktop and smiled and waved at Gen, who was clucking and honking like a goose; she just loved all the attention.

Back at home, Genny showed off one of her new skills—putting toys into boxes as opposed to only scooping toys out and tossing them aside. She seems to be learning all these similar concepts at once: in and out, open and close and on and off. Her bedroom door gets pushed and pulled and inspected. Genny even learned how to put her baby doll in the wooden cradle and cover her with a sheet.

Now that Genny is becoming more conscious of the world and how things work, I am finding more enjoyment in playing with her. Watching her repeat an action over and over, improving in great bounds with each try is really awe-inspiring.

I have a great desire to be able to go back in time and experience this feeling for myself. Perhaps I should take up a brand new hobby, something that I have no knowledge of at all, so that I can remember what that discovery rush is like.

It’s hard to imagine what it must be like to go through an entire day with that experience of everything being new everywhere you turn. To be mesmerized by each odd person sauntering by. To be thrilled when a stranger returns your wave hello. To be astonished when by sliding your hands and feet back and forth you are able to move from one room to the next.

Genny lives so fully in each moment. No thought for the past or the future. She is a true yogini.

Sheila Who?

Making time for reading every night has helped my brain feel more active. For quite awhile there, I was barely reading any books that didn’t have pictures.

I’m reading the memoir “Slow Motion” by Dani Shapiro right now. I’m finding many parallels between her chaotic young life and my own. As I read about her affair with Lenny Klein, I am reminded of a few of my ex-boyfriends. I find my mind writhing in discomfort as I recognize my own youthful experiences of romantic relationships.

It’s releasing to close my eyes and think of Nick. We are rapidly approaching our wedding date. Never before have I felt so confident in a relationship and its ability to stand through our lives. I experience a deep sense of stillness and quiet when I contemplate our future together.

I do need to decide about my name. Will I change it to Nick’s name or hold on to my own? Or make some kind of combination? I would like to have the same last name as my husband and my daughter, but at the same time I do not want to give up my identity that I associate so closely to my own surname.

Genevieve is crying now. I am not sure whether I will nurse her or not. I think I will just try cradling her. Slowly rocking her in my arms. My back is hurting though. And I am so tired once again.

More Than Mom

It is time for me to start my own life up again. I am ready to do this. I know that it isn’t going to be easy and that I am not going to be able to be perfect in everything I do, but I am going to get started.

I do not want to be or have to be the perfect mother, teacher and writer. I am a good mother, teacher and writer. This will be enough for me. I accept that I cannot perform perfectly at all times in all roles.

I will cut myself some slack. Just because I have always felt the need to be perfect at everything I do does not mean I cannot change my mind today. Perhaps the key to my long-term depression is that deep down I am always expecting perfection of myself, but never attaining it. I will work to quiet this conflict within me.

I will still be a mom even if I work outside the home more than I do now. I am not doing anything wrong by needing more in my life besides raising Genevieve. By taking care of my own creative needs I will be modeling how to be a strong and loving woman and mother.

So, there it is. Let me be more than just a mom.

Acceptance

I tried to do too much today and it fizzled out my brain.

Genevieve ate five small meals. We took a trip into the city on the subway. I did laundry. I washed dishes and the floor surrounding Genny’s highchair five times. I went grocery shopping. I made lunch and dinner. I watched “American Idol”.

I sit back on the futon, my eyes barely fluttering open and I realize I have nothing creative to show for this exhausting day. Nick pointed out how important it is taking care of Genny. I know this; I do, but childrearing just doesn’t feel very satisfying.

There was an article on MSNBC.com the other day about how much salary moms would make if it was a paid position—it was over $100k. Seeing this doesn’t make me feel any better about my role.

I’ve got to shake out of this funk and get inspired and working again, but without burning myself out. There’s got to be a way to balance it all.

Sure, Sheila, billions of women before you have tried balancing all the roles and not succeeded, but somehow you think you’ll be able to do it?

I need to come to terms with my current life situation and accept it. Acceptance must be the key I am missing, or at least it’s a possibility.

Tomorrow, I work on acceptance. Tonight, I sleep.

Cookie Monster

When there are cookies in the cupboard I have a hard time not eating them all at once. I know they are there and it would be so easy to stroll over to them and place them in my mouth.

I found myself sneaking a cookie behind Genny’s back today. We are holding her off of sweets for as long as possible. I do feel slightly guilty eating something that I don’t want her to have. Of course, I don’t want her to drink coffee, but yet I still drink that.

And now I am thinking of the cookies again.

I am lucky enough to not have gained weight after my pregnancy. In fact, I had to dig through my old clothes to find smaller jeans because I have actually lost a bit of weight. I wonder how many cookies I would need to eat to fit in my bigger jeans.

This all seems like a bunch of hooey tonight. I feel like I’m avoiding important things. I feel too exhausted tonight to deal with real issues, hence the cookie talk.

I guess I’m feeling a bit dragged-down depressed, but I am trying very hard to ignore it and hope it goes away. I think I need a good night’s sleep and I will feel more rational in the morning.

And at least I didn’t eat all the cookies; there are still two left.

Spring

Walking home in the rain with my friend tonight, I realized that the trees budded the same week that Genny learned to crawl. Julie and I had paused outside my apartment building; I looked up at the baby green maple leaves glistening in the streetlight and noticed their startling growth.

Genevieve’s crawling skill has grown just as rapidly. She went from the smallest tentative crawls to choo-chooing down the entire hallway. I wonder if I have the patience to sit and watch a leaf grow; I wonder if I have the patience to sit and watch Genny improve her crawling technique.

I imagine when the leaves are fully-grown that Genny will be walking.

What will she be doing when the leaves' colors are fading?

And when the leaves are falling, which new skills will Genny be rising to?

If I were to link my own growth to the seasons, where would I be right now? What aspect of myself is budding right now? Perhaps my commitment to writing this blog mirrors the season. I have begun anew from where I stand. I so often hold off on starting things until the time is right, but then, of course, the time never ripens. I didn’t wait when I felt the drive this time. I allowed myself to spring forth and not hold back.

And now the summer hovers warmly just around the block.

The Hum

Genevieve visited her grandpa in New Jersey today. It’s such a joy to spend time with Genny and other family members. I am released of the entire responsibility of keeping her stimulated and enjoying her day.

Nick, Genny and I strolled along the country road picking forsythia and big, bushy pink flowers. Nick pointed out where there used to be cornfields, but now there are big, modern homes with three-car garages.

Genevieve tried pork chops and hummed the whole time. She touched prickly shells. She warmed up to Grandpa, as she always does with people she only sees once in a while, as the day wore on.

I imagine Grandparents were a more important part of raising children when families lived closer together. Moms were freed up to pursue other goals besides motherhood.

I would love to live near our families—be able to just hop in the minivan and see my mom and dad in five minutes. If we actually did live in the country though, I am sure I would miss the city: the playgrounds filled with playmates for Genny, Starbucks on every corner, a diverse population and museums.

Yes, Starbucks did get mentioned before museums, but expensive decaf coffee isn’t such a bad addiction. Now, if they’d only open a Starbucks in Jackson Heights, there would be happy mommies humming all along the streets.

Porno Model Mommy

Genevieve only had one nap today. I hope that this is not a coming trend. She was also very finicky at dinnertime. All she wanted to eat were Kix.

Her pointing is now often toward the television when she is in the living room—a disturbing turn-of-events.

It seems as though when I sit to write the first thing I think to mention is what’s going on with Genevieve. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just noticing.

Now I am sitting here reminding myself that I am more than a mom. It’s strange how the role of mom just seems to overshadow all other aspects of a woman. I can remember being a little girl and resenting that my mom worked outside the home. I wondered why being my mom wasn’t enough to fulfill her life. I also remember at other times being very proud to be able to say that my mom was an art teacher.

I suppose Genny will have these conflicting feelings about me, too. There may be a point in her life when being able to tell her friends, “My mom was a porno model!” will be a cool thing. Of course, more likely, it will be a source of embarrassment.

Which leads me to ask myself, if I had the chance to do it all over again, would I do things the same way? Would I have been a nude model if I knew I was going to have a daughter who would be upset by it one day?

The answer is, yes, I think. I know that no matter what I had done in my life, Genny would find something wrong with it at some point. There’s no use wishing to change my past now, especially since my life has given me so many interesting stories to write about today.

Rolling On

Genevieve’s life is all about crawling, waving and pointing now. And eating, of course. She’s gained tremendous crawling speed in just one week. She is now able to catch up to Luke and point at his pink nose.

My life is all about chasing Genny, drinking my decaf, soy lattes and trying to consistently write and do yoga. I’ve gained tremendous crawling speed in just one week. I am now able to catch up to Genny and yank the telephone cord from her mouth.

Life can be so simple.

I think perhaps I like complicating life—or trying to shove too many things into one day. Genny is happy working with her simple skill set, layering her skills as the days roll by.

I feel like rolling now myself. Down a green slope, under a blue sky. Scratchy grass woven through my hair. My laughter mixed with Genny’s and Nick’s voices. Closing my eyes, I feel the world spiraling inside of me. Deeper toward my center. Deeper toward my peace.

Poses

I was in bridge pose on my purple sticky mat one moment and then suddenly I found myself in a strip club. I was bent over backward in shiny heels smiling at a bald man with glasses chugging a beer.

I felt my chest expand open with light as these two very different moments of my life converged—dark, dirty bar filled with drunk men and sunny living room occupied by my daughter and I practicing yoga.

I’ve had these stripper flashbacks in yoga poses before. My hatha yoga practice has taken me deeper into finding meaning in these odd experiences. Asanas closely resemble many of the poses I struck as an adult entertainer and model. Could it be that even then, before I was on a spiritual path, that my self was trying to point me in the right direction? And perhaps at the time I was not yet ready to receive the message and start the journey?

My revelations regarding physical poses help me heal today. When my body takes a familiar pose that pulls up past memories, I allow the memories to surface. I practice being non-judgmental of the woman I was then and refocus on the present and the fact that the pose is just for me now. I am no longer performing for others. I now refocus on correct alignment, a quiet mind and strength, rather than how my pose looks to others and how much money it can make me.

Yoga asanas are doorways to my past, but from a centered self who knows where she wants to be today. I am able to make different choices about how I use my body and how my spirit expresses itself through that body.

I hope that Genevieve will learn a love for and respect for her body not easily achieved by most women today.

Swinging

I push Genny on the baby swing at the park. My hands push her thighs as she arcs toward me and I can remember the pat of hands on my own thighs. The reassuring light clap and push against my skinny girl legs. I feel the breeze in my face and taste my flying warm hair in my mouth.

I tickle Genny as she comes to me. We laugh as she flies away. She points at the other kids, I think, or perhaps she’s pointing at something I don’t even see. She kicks her legs and waves her pink-shoed feet.

By the time we head home from the park, Gen’s blue pants are dirty at the knees from crawling practice. This is the first time that she’s ever had dirty knees. I suppose this is one of those baby milestones to remember.

Since she learned how to crawl last week, Genevieve is becoming clingier. She never used to like to just sit in my lap and relax, but now she eagerly crawls into my lap and even rests her head on my shoulder. I think this is what Dr. Sears (or some other Dr. writer person) wrote is separation anxiety. Gen’s body is growing more independent, but her mind still needs to check back in with mom.

I like it when she comes to me on her own. It makes me feel wanted and needed and loved.

I am starting to think that this is the easy part. A baby loves you no matter what. As she grows older, I will have to prepare Genny for being a female in this society. How will I prepare her for the stress of being a woman? How will I explain the choices that I have made? Will she follow in my footsteps?

How funny that I can go from swinging babies and happy memories to wondering if my daughter will one day want to be a stripper. Stop, breathe and laugh, Sheila. Stay in this moment. Enjoy the swinging while it lasts.

My Mom

My mom has stage-four breast cancer. She has been sick for a long time. I doubt if even Mom knows how many chemo treatments she has received and will need to keep receiving.

She has just started yet another new chemo. This one will probably make her lose her hair again.

Genevieve and I visited her in Connecticut today.

Genny crawls to my lap in the warm sun and rests her head on my thigh. Her untrimmed fingernails are lined with dirt. We don’t have much grass for digging through in Jackson Heights. This is a special treat.

I want to crawl to my mom. I want to bury my eyes against her shirt. Bury my skin against her freckled face. Close my eyes, open them and find us back at our house in Trumbull. Mom’s brown curls bobbing against her bare shoulders. We could be raking leaves or running down the driveway to get the mail or hanging wet clothes on the clothesline in the backyard.

I want to take away her illness. I want to cast it out of her. She is my mother and I need her as much as Genevieve needs me.

Having my own daughter has allowed me to understand the incredible love my mother has for me. And, of course, I think of all the hand wringing and teeth gnashing I have caused her over the years.

I understand now why she didn’t want me to become a stripper. I understand now why she made me brush my teeth. I understand now why she slept next to my bed on my bedroom’s bumpy gold carpet when I was sick.

And I understand why I always felt better in the morning.

Mommy, The Entertainer

Genevieve’s latest skill is pointing, which I’m quite enjoying. Her finger smells like cinnamon from the Zwieback toast. I kiss her sticky little pointer like it’s a ripe, juicy berry hanging from a branch.

She points at her pile of toys on the table. I pull out an orange fish puppet and offer it to her. She takes it and tosses it to the floor. I offer her a life size Minnie Mouse and she pushes it away. This game continues until the table is bare.

This has just been pointing practice.

Genevieve practices and I observe. This is not a new role for me—observer. I have always enjoyed watching people, quietly making note of details that make people unique. Perhaps if I try to focus in on my role as observer of Genny I will be able to enjoy our time together more.

Observer, not entertainer.

I am so used to being the entertainer, whether I was stripping on stage or acting on tour. Eyes grazed my body and face, feeding off of what I offered. And I always felt like I needed to present more. I required of myself perfection.

Maybe I sometimes think that Genny is expecting the same perfected entertainment from me. She is just a baby; I’m the one putting pressure on myself to be the perfect performing mommy.

I need to practice stepping back. I need to remember that it’s not the end of the world if Genny cries a little bit. I do not have to rush to entertain her into happiness. How I have always hated it when people tell me to smile when I am crying.

I can let Genevieve feel upset. I can handle it. Or I can at least practice handling it until my own table is laid bare.

Hot Chili

Genny just went to bed. I walk out of her room, shut the door behind me and feel a sense of relief. Hopefully, she will sleep all night, but most likely she’ll wake up around Midnight or so.

My depression is feeling very heavy tonight, like a dirty trench coat on a crippled old man. There is no obvious reason for my depression at the moment. None that I can think of at least. And I feel very cold, although it isn’t that cold outside.

I think the higher dosage of my antidepressant is making me feel cloudy headed. Tired, like fuzzy curtains drawn across my brain. I wish I could tug on the cord and pull the cloth aside. Open the shades and reveal a clearer space.

Sometimes I think I am not cut out for this mothering gig. I want to be more enthusiastic about playing with Genevieve. I want to be more creative in teaching her about life. I want to feel sad when it is time to put her down for bed.

I know that I am just in a low mood and that it will pass. I love Genevieve. Nick is opening photos of her from some emails. She was so tiny and had so little hair.

I’m going to cook dinner now. I feel a certain sense of serenity when I cook, even if I’m just heating up my vegetarian chili. The results of my efforts will be immediate—hot food to quench my growling belly. I will not have to wait years to see how my chili’s going to turn out.