Dear Brock

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  • Pain and Preciousness

    Pain and Preciousness

    Dear Brock –

    I’ve been wanting to write, but haven’t gotten around to it for quite a while again.

    Every day, you do or say beautiful things, funny things, sweet things, challenging things. So many new things that I want to document, but I know that recording them all would take at least as much time as it takes to actually live each event, and so I have to let these amazing moments go floating away from me. It saddens me to no end… I keep wondering which of these moments will ultimately stand out for future recollection. Or which ones I might recall only when I see them again in your own child.

    Today was a rough day for me. “Happy New Year” right? For some reason, I woke up feeling fine, mentally, but upon getting downstairs to play with you and seeing a mess that had been staying and building for roughly a month, I broke down. Full-on panic attack… Nowhere to put things; no more space; more and more “stuff” feeling like it was closing in on me. And compounded by wanting to be actively playing with you, but suffering terrible back pain – a remnant of the car accident a year ago.

    I hyperventilated. I cried. Not pretty, and a downright horrible way to wake your dad up to begin a new day, a new year.

    In the midst of it, though, you were mostly charming throughout the day. Hard, with lots of energy, demands, requests and constant talking (none of which are a big deal — or bad — on a day when I feel ok). But still charming… more cuddly than usual, too.

    By the time the day was over, I was tired. Your dad was working on a project for me, to help me clear off more counter space in the kitchen. So I took you up to bed (you’ve been sleeping in your converted crib for a couple of weeks now, and doing fantastic!). While changing your clothes for sleeping, you started to run away from me, exacerbating my back pain as I tried to reach and twist to get your pajamas on. I finally just laid down on the floor and cried a little. And then your wonderful little spirit showed up…

    You said, “Mommy, what’s wrong?” I apologized and said my back just hurt really badly today but I would be fine. “Do you need a toy? Make you feel better!”… You scurried off the bed to find something suitable. “I build you a castle, mommy. Make you feel better! I build you a castle.” You stacked couch pillows on top of each other – your “castle.” You’ve been doing this for just the past few days. I thanked you and told you that a big hug would really help me, too – and you gave me such a sweet one.

    Next up, more help: “Read a book together, mommy! Make you feel better.” You chose your little toddler Bible. “This book make you feel better.” You sat on my lap and let me read a couple of the one-page stories out of it. Then finally, just a few pages of Goodnight Moon, and you were happy to crawl back into bed, satisfied that I was indeed better, I guess.

    You’re amazing. I feel bad that you had to console me, but you’re such a precious one. I can hardly believe how insightful you are. I imagine this is relatively normal in terms of your stages of development… but I like to think you’re just extra-special. 🙂 The perfect little spirit to come and be part of my life.

    Thank you. I’m sorry I’m such a pain sometimes.

    I love you.

    -Mom

  • Imagination in action

    Dear Brock:

    This is a short note to remind myself of the little, beautiful things I see each day in you.

    Tonight, while out for a short walk with your dad and me, you found a leaf that had fallen to the ground. You picked it up, and threw it in the air, over your head, and watched it flutter to the green grass… then repeated. Each time, you exclaimed as the leaf left your hand, “airplane! airplane!”

    Precious.

    I love getting a glimpse into your imagination, and seeing these little hints that you might just be starting to pretend. Whatever it is, it feels like a piece of your little spirit coming out – and it’s exciting to me, to see what’s exciting to you. I seem to want to capture all these moments in a bottle – to remember your openness and complete freedom of thought before you grow so much that inhibitions begin to take over – but I can’t, and it grieves me. Maybe someday you’ll understand this feeling.

    Not too much time passed before you needed to head to bed. Your dad got you changed and ready, and after you wouldn’t settle down, I went back up to tuck you in again. I covered you with one of the sweet little lightweight blankets your Great Aunt Doris made for you. This sometimes makes you chuckle, and it did again tonight. You told me about the parts I just covered: “Feet. Legs. Both.” So happy and proud to communicate.

    As I closed the door, I got another “night night” and a little “love ooo” out of you. It was adorable – and appreciated, after you’d said it to your dad and to grandma on the phone just yesterday. (You said it to me months before, but only once!)

    Today was a good day. No stress, no anger, not too much fatigue. Just a nice, relaxing day, with a lovely end as well.

    Thanks, buddy. I love you.

  • I am a rock. I am an island.

    The title of this post is the name of one of very, very few Simon & Garfunkel songs that I actually don’t like. I mean, I LOVE Simon & Garfunkel, and everything Paul Simon has ever done. Except that one song and maybe a handful of others. I consider myself mostly an introvert, but being an island seems too extreme.

    I’ve been thinking about isolation a lot lately. I’m not sure if what I’m experiencing is simply a cultural norm, but I think it is. I keep wondering to myself, just how it is that I can live in a neighborhood of about 300 houses, and not actually know the names of more than maybe three of our neighbors. Or why every person needs to buy their own lawnmower, drill, aerator, weed puller, etc. Can’t we share, for God’s sake? Are we just all trying to burn money? How often do you use that ladder?

    On the parental front, I also don’t get why it is that all day long, I see stay-at-home moms out pushing their strollers for exercise – but doing so completely alone, even when there are five of them out at once. How do we not talk to each other, and support each other in the daily challenges of motherhood? Are we really this afraid of “talking to strangers”? Or of getting in each others’ way?

    Having a kid is a life of inexplicable paradoxes, and this one isn’t a small one in my mind. I find it so odd how, in some ways, having a child is a huge ice-breaker. Neighbors will indeed talk to me more when they have my son to comment on. And mom groups open doors to potential new friends.

    At the same time, though, there’s this weird sense of having to stay at opposite ends of a playground. When my kid begins to interact with other kids he doesn’t know, parents sometimes pull their children away. Like, ok, kids, we should all learn how to walk over this little wiggly bridge – but every kid needs to learn it on their own. Do not watch that other kid! Do not listen to what that other parent is saying! Get away! It happens literally on playgrounds, as well as in restaurants, museums, etc. Why should my son not throw a ball to this other child? I don’t get it. What are we all so afraid of?

    As a mom, it’s very isolating. I find that wherever I go — unless I have a friend to go with me (and I rarely do) — I’m just alone in a crowd. I’m like so many people where I live: a transplant from another state, little to no family in the immediate area, few local friends. All us moms (and dads, for that matter) are doing hard work, and I’d really like to talk about it. But we don’t. We stay in our corners, wallow in mom-guilt, and think we’re crazy or terrible mothers.

    It can’t be good for the kids, either. When they have no grandparents or cousins around, and others want to be careful not to overstep their bounds… how do they fill that void? How will I fill this void for my son? Is it even possible?

    I’m blessed that, for now, my son gets to enjoy daycare where he makes older friends, and gets lots of play time in with a surrogate family of sorts. It’s good for him, and good for me in a lot of ways. But I don’t know what we’d do if it wasn’t for that. I have a hard time finding activities to fill my two weekdays with him each week – most things aren’t fun without friends to join in. I can’t imagine doing it every day.

    So. I think it’s time for us moms to stop worrying about bothering each other, and realize we can be assets to each other instead. It’s more than likely that we all need a little support. I have ideas for how to make certain things happen – I just need to see if I can overcome my own fears and make it work. Be the change you want to see, and so on.

  • Embrace the hard parts.

    Embrace the hard parts.

    Sometimes, a baby not feeling well results in beautiful moments. In this case, pure fatigue that allowed for a nap with a very patient dad.
    Sometimes, a baby not feeling well results in beautiful moments. In this case, pure fatigue that allowed for a much-needed nap with dad.
    I don’t know why I think being a mom should be easier than it is. But the fact is, it’s hard work. This past weekend was one really rough example. With Brock apparently teething (2-year molars starting in early), there was much screaming and wailing all day and all night from Friday night through Monday morning.

    He yelled at us because we didn’t give him milk. And because we gave him milk. Or because he wanted food. Or because we gave him food. He threw food at us. He screamed. He bawled. He pushed our faces away from his, rather than giving his usual, sweet-little-boy hugs. He was over-tired, but wouldn’t sleep. Stumbled, fell, and had very dramatic reactions. But wouldn’t stop trying to climb furniture. He seemed simultaneously bored out of his mind, and completely over-stimulated. Our response was pretty much to turn Daniel Tiger on, and shrivel up on the couch to await Brock’s final destination of sleep. Was there a better solution? I still don’t know. But we were too tired to even think of anything else.

    This all set the stage for a tough Monday start for my husband – who made a foggy-brained, sleep-deprived, 50-minute commute to work only to discover that he’d left his laptop at home after working from home on Thursday and Friday. Back he came, and at his home desk he sits.

    I keep wondering how these women with hair flowing beautifully down their backs, and an easy-breezy jaunt in their step do it. How does that woman in my neighborhood go jogging with a double stroller, a dog on a leash, and all that energy? Even more importantly: Does she get to take a shower after that mid-afternoon jog? Why do I feel like I never get to shower? My son is in daycare 3 days a week and I still can’t work this in half the time!

    I asked my husband, What are we missing? How do other people do this? Why does it feel SO HARD to us? Is it JUST US?

    I suppose the answer is that it’s not just us. What I continually find astounding as a parent is that billions of people worldwide go through this “unique” experience in their lifetimes. And yet so many aspects feel so hushed. How are so many people around the globe acting like this isn’t happening to them? Why do we all feel like it’s just us? Is it really that bad to admit it’s hard? Do people think we love our kids less if we admit they’re a pain sometimes? Trust me: This is hard. And I LOVE my kid. More than anything else. I ADORE him.

    I’m trying my best to embrace these hard days, and not let them get me upset. They come and go – and as I told my husband, we’re blessed that we don’t have a kid who’s like this all the time. THAT would be rough. I do find that I’m much more prone to frustration and anxiety when I’m this exhausted, though – and I start to lose my temper at times. The thing I try to remember, is that Brock is a little person. Not just an extension of me that I can control. He’s his own little being, a unique soul with his own sensitivities, and he goes through bad days. That tends to make bad days for me as well, which is unfortunate – but it’s most certainly not his fault. I can be frustrated and tired, but certainly not angry with him. It’s critical for parents to remind themselves of this.

    Lovely little guy that he is, Brock did make us laugh a couple of times. Once when he made his dad get off the rocking chair in his room: We thought he was going to show Tony something, but instead, he’d pulled Tony off so he could climb up – and back down, and up, and down, and up again. (Brock was obsessed with the rocking chair this weekend.) And second, when he stood up in his bed after much crying, pacing, and yammering, to stare directly into the camera perched over his bed. I’m not sure if he was glaring at us or just trying to get our attention, but it was pretty amusing and I was a tad surprised he didn’t actually try to tell us how mad he was that we were trying to get him to sleep. I’m sure that will happen as more words evolve in the coming months.

    Now, Brock is at daycare – hopefully not being too much of a wreck. And I’m off to complete my busy day. Which I hope will include a good, long shower.

  • Taking a breath…

    I’m going to be honest. I’ve been out of my mind the past few months. Seriously, feeling like my brain is completely out of control… A week ago, I found myself crying – and shouting in the mirror, “Who am I? How did I become this person?! HOW IS THIS MY LIFE?” And here’s the thing: Everybody has issues, but my life is pretty freaking awesome when I take time to recognize it. This thinking I was having was NOT logical, and I knew it.

    My level of fear, anxiety, moodswinginess, and so on – it wasn’t fair. To my kid, my husband, or myself. But at the moment, I’m starting to wrap my arms around it all and reign it in, so that control is within my grasp.

    The (at least partial) fix to the crazy appears, for now, to be progesterone.

    I’ve been having issues ever since my son was born (19 months ago). As a mom, I’m more anxious than I’ve ever been, watching out for every possible way my perfectly created son could get injured on a daily basis. I definitely had postpartum depression in the early months. I took progesterone for a while, then stopped when it seemed like I was doing better.

    Enter the car accident that was, as I call it, the exclamation point at the end of two years of continual stress – and the thing that finally pushed me over the edge into sheer panic. It happened 10 days after my son’s first birthday, five days after my husband started a new job, and four days before Christmas. After that, I couldn’t drive without bursting into tears, even on some of our local, rural roads. I wouldn’t go more than a couple miles away or so if it snowed, and certainly wouldn’t get on the highway.

    Chiropractic helped my back a bit – at least knocking out the acute symptoms of not being able to lift my leg into a pair of jeans, or not being able to turn my head. After a schedule that kept me from more treatments for a while – and after finding myself pulling off the road to cry a few times – I turned to psychological counseling. The diagnosis: PTSD and generalized anxiety.

    Counseling helped quite a bit, but there was still something more coming up. I couldn’t block out loud noises; I was convinced utter devastation would occur if I forgot something from my son’s diaper bag for two hours out of the house. I was going farther and farther down a deep hole – and often finding it very hard to breathe down there. After spending about two solid days living at absolute panic level, demonstrated by hyperventilating and crying, I dug up my bottle of progesterone again.

    I woke up the next morning feeling like a different person: mellow, totally relaxed, not worried about much of anything. And this was on a day that we took the kid out for a whole day, hours from home.

    It’s been a week, and thankfully I’m breathing more… breathing easier… breathing more correctly. I’m still working on a lot of things, and this isn’t over, I’m certain. But for now, I’m so grateful to simply be less anxious than I was a week ago.

  • A work in progress

    A work in progress

    Since Brock was born, I’ve read lots of beautiful quotes about motherhood. Mostly in a quest to see if anyone else has struggled so deeply with what I see as a great paradox – of feeling tied down, yet freer than ever; terrified but thrilled; desperate for a break, yet tearful any time I’m away from my kiddo; overwhelmed yet grateful for (almost) every moment.

    For me, no quote has resonated as much as this one:

    “Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” Elizabeth Stone

    See that? There goes my heart...
    See that? There goes my heart…

    Why? Because for me, this is what it is, to be a mom. I had no idea of the depth of love, pain, joy, and sorrow I could feel. Or that, when my son cries, it would somehow physically hurt me. My own heart, walking around outside my body – that’s exactly what it feels like. It’s scary and overwhelming, and kindof fascinating, but I’m trying to get a grip on it.

    I’m 19 months in, and it’s still a challenge. Sadly, my state of being overwhelmed often comes out in ways I certainly am not proud of: yelling at my husband, yelling at the world, generally freaking out. I’ve found that when I sound angry, I’m mostly just scared or hurt, and my brain doesn’t seem to want to communicate it in a more simplistic way.

    It’s a pathetic state of affairs – perhaps compounded by multiple issues that I’ll get into another time. But for now, it’s something I’m working on. There are many days that I’m fine – and some days that I’m just not, and it’s not fair to anyone.

    I’m a work in progress, I guess, like everyone else. And there’s much more to say on this topic.

  • The 2nd 4th of July

    Dear Brock,

    Ok, I was a little worried about this one. The long day required…. from parade to car show, to late-night fireworks. It had all the makings of a giant mess.

    But wow, you were awesome! Your dad and I had a rough start because of my paranoia about the day (and I’ve been fighting panic attacks all the time, it seems – I think this is partly due to fatigue). So that sucked. But I improved once we got out and you were doing great.

    It was a hot day, but not as hot as most of our 4th of Julys –
    I was grateful for some clouds. Your Grandma Kathy brought a friend
    who lives in her aIMG_20140704_100414partment building, for the whole day. You had fun watching the parade and weren’t at all freaked out by the sirens and horns …
    I’d guess that the tractors were your favorite.
    After the car show and a pretty good long nap from you, we had a few hours to keep you occupied. Grandma, Larry, and your dad did great at entertaining you while I started getting burgers ready in the evening. At one point your dad took you out for a walk, after the neighbors started shooting off fireworks. You were thrilled to come into the house to tell me about the boat you saw parked down the street… “boat! boat!” and about the fireworks you were starting to hear and see… “pop, pop, pop!” Pop was definitely the word of the night.
    In the end, it was a good time – and you were falling asleep while we changed your clothes for bed. So cute! You rock, little man.
    I love you.
    Mom

  • My favorite kids’ book

    There’s something about words spoken in a certain cadence… something that comes only from a memorized book or poem. The words have the ability to instantly conjure a particular mood or tone that needs to be invoked. Which is really what they’re for, but it’s always fascinating to see it in action.

    When Brock was a tiny baby, pouting or yelling from his car seat behind me, I found that I could immediately settle him by reciting Dr. Seuss’s alphabet book (nevermind some of the issues I’ve now realized I have with Dr. Seuss).

    Now, as a toddler, Brock is instantly soothed and ready for bed when he hears these few words come from my mouth: “In the great green room, there was a telephone and red balloon…” He lies down on the floor, ready to be changed… “…and a picture of – a cow, jumping over the moon.” He grabs the book, seeks out every detail in the drawings. “And there were three little bears, sitting on chairs…”

    By the time we reach, “Goodnight noises everywhere,” his diaper is changed, a clean shirt on, and he’s ready to be set down in his crib. (Lately, in the middle of the book, he’s taken to pointing to the mommy bunny in the rocking chair and saying along with her, “husshhh,” which is unspeakably precious.)

    Goodnight Moon was always one of my favorites when I was little. That fireplace in the bedroom, the bunnies, the cozy socks and mittens drying by the flames. (A dangerous room for a child, no? I still LOVE it.) The pictures were so simple, but transported me quickly to a mindspace where I could relax. In fact, it works for me now, as I recite the book to Brock. Sometimes those night-time changes (handled primarily by my husband) are rough – we’re all wound up because Brock doesn’t want to let go of the day. It can be rough. But the intro text, when recited gently, calms everyone down.

    A nice way to put my son down for sleep – with my own favorite book. I love the tradition of that, and it’s one of my great joys, even if the rest of the day has been hard.

    Photo from http://100bookseverychildshouldreadbeforegrowingup.files.wordpress.com/

  • Toddler chit chat

    Dear Brock –
    Your Grandma Miller arrived a little over a week ago, and you’ve been having lots of fun with her. She is so good at keeping you busy and getting you outside (when it’s not raining or too windy) – and you keep her hopping! Into the wagon, out of the wagon, pushing the wagon… into the stroller, out of the stroller, drawing with chalk on the driveway… and so on. You’re definitely happiest when you’re outside.
    You name everything you see and hear… car, truck, flower, train, sun, dog (Maggie!), kitty, airplane, bike, and more. Three days ago, you heard an airplane from inside the front window, but we couldn’t see it because of clouds. You still go to that window and ask, “airplane? airplane?”
    You think of daddy a lot, and ask about him when he’s working. “Daddy? Car?” Answer: Daddy went bye-bye in the car to go to work. You’ll get to see him again in a little while. I always feel a little sad about that one; I wish your dad could be here with us. We’ve been debating for months whether or not to move closer to his work, but haven’t found the right place to make us really, really want to do it for sure.

    But it helps that he does get to work from home a couple of days a week. And I can’t tell you how grateful I am to him, that he works so hard and commutes so far, so that you and I can be together much of the time. I hope when you grow up, you appreciate that effort.

    You also point to Grandma’s phone, and say “pa-pa,” asking her to call Grandpa Miller. It’s super-cute to watch your face light up when he gets on the phone.
    You keep getting more fun all the time! Always so busy, and always thinking.
    Grandma has you napping now, for the second time. You had a big morning with her – going out to the park while I went to a mom’s group in town. Hoping you’ll rest long enough to be in a great mood for your dad when he gets home.

    More soon.
    Love,
    Mommy

  • Words, words, words

    This month, Brock has had a major “word explosion” as they say. He’s 15 months, and at this stage (or probably a little before), started adding several words a day to his vocabulary. Being (easily?) impressed, I figured I ought to document the things he could say at this point. I stopped counting mid-month because it was way too hard to keep track of. Of course, not every word was perfectly spoken; some had their own little variations – but people who were around him much knew what each one was, and he used them ALL in appropriate context.

    Here’s how Brock’s language progressed during 2 1/2 short weeks… which is probably of no interest to anyone but me. I just didn’t want to forget.

    Words he could say as of 3/9/14
    Uh oh
    Ohhhh
    Ow
    Wow
    Hot
    Cold
    Hat
    Go/I go
    Do/I do
    Got
    That
    Done
    Down
    Eight (while pointing to the number)
    Moo
    Ice
    Cat
    Dog
    Door
    Girl
    Car (one of his first words)
    No
    Bye bye
    Night nigh/goodnight
    Hi
    Star (another of his very first words, due to the large star in our living room)
    Clock
    Mama
    Daddy
    Da (for his panda lovey)
    Kitty
    Out
    Meow
    Balloon
    Bot (bottle)
    Gone

    Added on 3/10
    Angie
    Scooter
    Phone
    Rock

    3/11
    Lid
    Room

    3/12
    Round and round (for the Wheels on the Bus book)
    Light
    Gramma
    Grampa
    Cool! (he thought this was hilarious and laughed while saying it repeatedly)

    3/14
    See
    Look

    3/17
    Dart
    Dino
    Hi, dad
    Thank you

    within a few more days…
    Cheese
    Baby
    Eyes
    Nose
    Bean
    Up
    More
    Sandwich
    Bounce