Roles

I’m wondering what truth is anymore. I’m wondering whom I speak to when I write my words. I’m wondering who I was and who I am.

Who will my children know me as? When I am old and need to be driven to the grocery store, what will they tell their spouses when they talk about me afterward?

I know I am not the only one who is right.

But I am wondering how and why I became the caretaker. I don’t feel like I ever chose the role, rather it snuck up and clobbered me on the head, said, “You’re mine. Now get to work.”

Perhaps I just need to accept this role. And all the other roles I play.

And the roles I played, that are now quite played out.

Get ‘er Done

I’m still just getting better—not all better yet.

I’ve been doing a good job of keeping up with my writing. It truly amazes me that I’m getting so much more writing done since I became a mother.

I wasted so much time as a non-parent. I would think nothing of watching three hours of television an evening. I don’t even know what shows are on TV anymore.

Have other parents experienced this upsurge in creativity since becoming a parent?

And for you non-parents, how do you keep yourself working and not being distracted by all our digital era offers?

Storytime

Here is a funny stripper mom commercial. This would never fly in the United States.

I’m wiped out. I took Genny and Cole to the pajama storytime at the library.

Cole threw up pear sauce and breast milk all over him and me.

Genny actually sat in the circle with the other girls. She still looks to the others for how to act though. She laughs when they laugh. She copies. She follows.

I’m hoping that this year being the oldest at her Montessori School will force her into being a leader.

I want her to lead. I don’t want her to conform.

My Life In a G-String: A Round Up of Stripper Memoirs

Here’s an interesting article that my friend Tanya told me about. It’s round-up of stripper memoirs.

I agree with the writer, Katie Roiphe, on a few points she makes, but also feel annoyed at the unfair treatment the stripper writers receive.

Are all naked women pretty much the same? Reading stripper memoirs would lead one to think so. It is a surprisingly rigid genre, with a set of rules and conventions as strict as those of sonnets or villanelles.

Of course, there are “conventions” as Roiphe points out, but what books about a certain group of people don’t have conventions? Alas, there are a lot of similarities to some strippers’ experiences.

You would think the subject would have a certain voyeuristic frisson, but something about stripping lends itself to cliché and obviousness, to the literary equivalent of fake breasts and caked mascara and silver thongs. Still a vast number of them have appeared on shelves, including Lily Burana’s good-natured Strip City, Elisabeth Eaves’ journalistic Bare, and Lacey Lane’s ditsy Confessions Of A Stripper.

True, I’ve read these books and there is a bit of cliché laid on, but that just reflects the job. And for there being “a vast number” of stripper memoirs out there, I’d have to disagree. How are a small handful of books “a vast number”? I’d say there aren’t enough (and not just because my memoir hasn’t found a publisher yet).

How many clichéd white male diatribes about the same old business thing are there out there?

We need more tales of strippers and prostitutes and mothers and clerks and waitresses. We need more stories told by women. Perhaps then we will begin to see the true extent of the similarities and differences inherent in women.

....StripXpertease.... The Strip and the Tease.

....StripXpertease.... The Strip and the Tease.

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I just stumbled upon this blog that reposted my Salon article from 2000 with the writer's comments.

She teaches a striptease class.

I've had my own thoughts along these lines...of course, with my own strange twists!

Life is short.

I love it when people take what they've done and find new ways to monetize it and empower themselves and others.

Calling All Mom Writers!

Attention Mom Writers! (Or moms who WANT to write…)

I’m looking for writers for short posts on my blog - strippermom.blogspot.com (and possible inclusion in a book).

Looking for short pieces (25 – 500 words) about what it means to be a “stripper mom.”

It doesn’t mean that you’re out there working the stripper pole at your local “Gentlemen’s Club.” Being a stripper mom is about stripping down to your past, no matter what it may be, and embracing and accepting it, so that you can live more fully in the present. We all have experiences or jobs from our pasts that we view as negative. Instead of letting those things constantly hold us back in life, we can look them squarely in the face and learn from them.

Are you a stripper mom? Are you a woman engaged with using her past stories to create the life you want for yourself now?

Be as creative as you like! What does being a metaphorical “stripper mom” mean to you? What is it like to be a mom writer? How do you make time for everything? What advice do you have for other moms who want to write?

No pay, but good experience and exposure.

Please email your submission in the body of the email along with a short bio and any email or website contact you would like included with your piece. If you would like a photo to appear with your piece, please include that, too.

shageman@hotmail.com

Getting Better

Genny is still at her grandparents. Her grandma was so wonderful to say she could stay one more night while Nick and I get better.

Absence really does make the heart grow fonder. I miss her silly personality and her needling.

Cole is sleeping as I write. I am hoping this will last for a few more hours.

I am feeling better physically.

And mentally.

I’ve upped my Zoloft to 75 mg from 50 mg. Not a big jump, but I think I feel less anxious.

Next week I will hopefully be back to my “normal” self and getting some work done.

One day at a time.

Still Sick

Cole’s first tooth is officially in and it looks like the second one is on the way.

His personality is really showing forth this week. He seems to be a happy soul! I hope he continues along this path.

I’m feeling an eensy bit better after my hospital visit last night. I have a sinus infection, but by the middle of last night, after not having slept for two nights, I started gasping for breath. I had been so congested for hours that I could only breathe through my mouth and it was causing me to hyperventilate and freak out a bit.

I got fluids, medications, and a breathing treatment at the hospital. I’m still crazy congested, but at least I’m not feeling so horrible.

Cole is rubbing eyes like crazy now. I’ve got to get him to bed.

Sick

I am sick.

That's about all I have strength for right now.

Naked Tushie

I’ve got one of those headaches that feels like a starter headache of something else.

Cole’s getting his first tooth in on the bottom. I thought the first one was supposed to be on the top?

Perhaps my headache is simply a starter headache from all the teething screeching. A warning of more pain to come, for him and me.

I’m sitting on the floor typing this so I can be close to Genny and Cole. They’re both rather needy.

I have one sleeve of my tank down because I was nursing. Genny tried to do the same thing with her long sleeve shirt and practically tied herself up.she decided to just take off her shirt instead.

Speaking of my daughter and her liking being nude (oh God, no, please!), she does a tushie dance. She’ll just pull her pants and undies down and shake her tushie and sing, “Shake your little tushie!”

I asked her where she learned it, but she said it she made it up herself.

It is quite funny.

When does doing a naked tushie dance go from being funny to being stripping?

Where am I?

Cole had his six-month checkup.

He’s only 19 pounds 8 ounces. I really thought he’d be over 20 by now.

I realized where my mysterious bruises on my thighs have been coming from—Cole in his car seat smashing against me as I carry him.

I’ve got to say, I’m feeling extremely depressed tonight. I feel disconnected from my body, from other people. It’s one of those things that’s so hard to explain. I feel nervous, anxious.

I just want to be able to relax and stop thinking. I guess I miss my yoga practice. I’ve got to get myself some alone time.

It’s hard to breathe. Shortness.

Blech.

Gotta Go

The nap gods smiled upon us today. Cole took two, I repeat, two two-hour naps.

The rain fell nonstop.

And I gained back a fun side-effect of having a baby.

I pee nonstop.

Well, not nonstop, but any amount of peeage not associated with a toilet, I consider as good as nonstop.

This is one of those untalked about features of stopping your kegel exercises, I guess. I was squeezing my “pelvic floor” like a good yogini many times a day, but stopped about a month ago.

Now, after having partaken in a baby-making activity the other day (with no actual baby-making attempted), I get this silly, if-I-don’t-find-myself-on-a-toilet-the-instant-I-have-to-pee-then-I’m-peeing-where-I-am-phenomenon.

So I’m starting my kegels again. I’m thinking that the recent activity shocked the muscles and they’re saying, whoa, lady, we’ve got to take things slow here, or at least get squeezing!

Questions

Why is Cole not sleepy?

Why does my back ache?

Why does Genny not like me to take her photograph, but she’ll let other moms take it?

Why did I not appreciate my free time before I had children?

Why has the weather been so chilly even with global warming?

Why is Cole scratching my leg brutally and slobbering on my hand?

Tired

Something cute and fuzzy was munching on our corn stalks. We need to build a protective fence around our entire garden.

Tomorrow is Genny’s last day of Montessori school for the year. I’m looking forward to the cute graduation ceremony they do.

I was doing pretty well all day, but I’ve got a headache now. And, you know, I’m a bit exhausted.

It was chilly out today. In fact, I took Genny and Cole to Long Brook Park and Genny wanted to come home without playing because she had goosebumps.

That’s it. I’m absolutely dry. I have nothing to write about. I was writing all day in my spare moments. My eyes are tired of looking at the keyboard.

A Day

Cole continues to astound with his, “Maaa, maa, maaaaa.”

He also seems to have grown an inch in like two days. We had to raise his exercauser a spot.

He likes to practice standing with assistance.

And from his reactions right now, it seems as though he may have a future in computers. He’s practically leaping at the keyboard and his whole body is shaking.

My own mood is pretty okay today. Not manic. Not depressed. Just pretty focused on working and getting things done.

After dropping Genny at school, I took Cole to my home away from home, Starbucks, and I was able to get an hour worth of writing in.

After school, the three of us went to Target to buy diapers and cranberry juice.

I just came in from my daily stroll through our garden. It looks like we may have fresh lettuce every day forward from yesterday.

The Only Good Thing in My Life

Nick said I should call my blog post what I said about coffee this morning.

I don’t understand why it should upset my husband for me to say it. I obviously meant coffee is the only good thing in my life BESIDES my family. Besides, I mean, you can’t drink your family.

So, Cole said, “Mahm.”

Not Mom or Mama exactly, but he made the sound. And he knew he was doing something marvelous. He practiced at least three times for ten minutes. He put his whole being, body, and breath into it. He pushed out the sounds from deep in his belly.

He just said, “Mome.”

And now, “Uh-Mum-mum-mum.”

Okay, THAT sounded like, “Mama!”

Very cool.

I’m just saying

Today is Cole’s six-month birthday. He celebrated by screaming whenever we tried to put him down.

Right now he’s sitting on my lap making baby grunts and “uuunh” sounds. If I were to place him on his playmat, which is full of fun baby things like crinkly cows and mirrors, he would once again begin crying until his eyes wrinkled and his entire head and face turned red.

Not the makings of a peaceful day, or a day where one gets much done. I hate having high hopes for a day’s work and then having to settle for being thrown up on instead.

Wow, I am really being a crepe hanger today, as my grandma likes to say.

I just thought of something cute Genny picked up. The other day she asked me what something meant, I don’t remember what, and I said it was just a saying. Now when she says something that I don’t get and I ask, “What?”, she says, “Oh, it’s a saying, Mom.”

Beliefs

I’m sick and tired of being depressed. I can’t stand that I can’t just enjoy life. I want to be able to savor the moments with my children when they are young. I want to relish every smile, laugh, and baby poop.

I know there isn’t anything “wrong” with me, but that thought is always nagging at me. Like I’m supposed to be loving motherhood more. I’m supposed to not mind sacrificing so much of my own life for others. I’m supposed to survive on the joy I receive from others’ dependence on me.

But I don’t fall into that mindset like many other mothers may. But I still want to be a mother. And I really want to find ways to enjoy motherhood more. Perhaps this is enough for one day—to realize how I feel is fine and to want to find ways to gently shift my experience.

I really don’t like how I can’t stand up for my own beliefs sometimes. Why must I feel the way I believe people think mothers should feel? Why must I meet expectations when it comes to motherhood? When it comes to anything?

The same goes for my feelings about strippers. When I read people talking about strippers as if they are whores or dumb, I go through different emotions. Anger. Agreement. Sadness. Disgust.

It’s like my mind is constantly trying to figure out who I agree with, but I never find the exact right belief.

I’m just here. Me. Trying to figure my life out.

Mood Swings

I am considerably better today. I had phone therapy during which I spoke to my therapist about the possibility of my being bipolar. I have such massive mood swings. I physically feel unable to move when depressed, but when in my up state, my body feels like it’s fueled by baby hamsters running through my blood.

I’m hoping that this whole brain imbalance is simply from lack of decent sleep for six months. Perhaps when I begin getting a solid four hours every night I will begin to feel evened out emotionally.

I just took Genny and Cole for a walk. We probably went about a mile. It felt good to move and the added benefit is that Cole fell asleep. I now have some time to work on my project.

On a side note, one of my favorite pairs of pants would not close around my belly this morning. This, I do not like.

Stressed Out

You know how when you’re really stressed out and angry you can only focus on that and not write about anything else? That’s where I’m at today.

Cole was not happy all day. Crying and whining the moment he was set down. He had to be held. And he still does. Nick is holding him while he and Genny watch Kung Fu Panda.

Some days I feel like I can handle everything. Today, I feel like I can handle nothing.

At one point, trying to put Cole down for a nap, I sang, “I want to kill myself, kill myself, kill myself!” It was a rousing chorus.

My depression makes me feel physically heavy, unwieldy.

Tired. I want to pull the covers over my head. I want to call out for my mother to come and help me. And I do call out to her sometimes, but she doesn’t answer. Then I feel sorry for myself.

But the baby still cries. And I still get down on myself for not getting more work done. It’s a bottomless swirl where each depressing thought feeds the next.

I hope tomorrow I can lift my head up above and breathe.