Looking for Amala Says?
Visit http://butyoucancallmeabbiedahl.blogspot.com/
Same great posts, different blog name! Stop by and say hello!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Is This a Mid-Life Crisis?
I don’t agree with whoever said “you are never too old to start over”.
As my 35th birthday approaches I feel like there are many things I will never be able to accomplish. Never go to law school. Never work at a foreign embassy. Never live in Bali. Never be a runway model. (okay, maybe that one wasn’t going to happen anyway) Never be a travel writer or a restaurant critic. I no longer feel like all my dreams are possible and the whole world is open to me.
But, I don’t exactly feel like the best of life is behind me either.
I’m in this limbo stage, I guess. Where my dreams meet my realty. True, most of the limitations are self-imposed – sort of. I would love to go to law school, but don’t want to be a part-time mom for the next 3 years or spend $40K. And moving to Bali… how would I support myself and my family? Realizing these things just aren’t going to happen makes me feel old and regret that I didn’t think about this sooner. Soon enough to do something about it. At least make a few of these dreams happen.
I guess the next phase is compromise. If I can’t go to law school, what can I do? If I will never live in Bali, where can I live? These are unanswered questions for me right now. When I finished mourning my dreams, I hope to start looking for answers.
As my 35th birthday approaches I feel like there are many things I will never be able to accomplish. Never go to law school. Never work at a foreign embassy. Never live in Bali. Never be a runway model. (okay, maybe that one wasn’t going to happen anyway) Never be a travel writer or a restaurant critic. I no longer feel like all my dreams are possible and the whole world is open to me.
But, I don’t exactly feel like the best of life is behind me either.
I’m in this limbo stage, I guess. Where my dreams meet my realty. True, most of the limitations are self-imposed – sort of. I would love to go to law school, but don’t want to be a part-time mom for the next 3 years or spend $40K. And moving to Bali… how would I support myself and my family? Realizing these things just aren’t going to happen makes me feel old and regret that I didn’t think about this sooner. Soon enough to do something about it. At least make a few of these dreams happen.
I guess the next phase is compromise. If I can’t go to law school, what can I do? If I will never live in Bali, where can I live? These are unanswered questions for me right now. When I finished mourning my dreams, I hope to start looking for answers.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Family Photo Ideas
Until recently the expression on The Babe’s face in most pictures was either a blank stare or crying. This doesn’t exactly make for great family photos … at least not the ones I want to spend money on. But, now that she is six months old and super smiley we have hired a photographer for our first ever photo shoot.
After a few quick emails with the photographer, we agreed the best location for the photo shoot would be our house. It’s where we are already making family memories. We did not discuss the use of costumes, poses or props. I'm no fancy photographer, but I have a few ideas of my own. What do you think?
Good, right?
After a few quick emails with the photographer, we agreed the best location for the photo shoot would be our house. It’s where we are already making family memories. We did not discuss the use of costumes, poses or props. I'm no fancy photographer, but I have a few ideas of my own. What do you think?
Good, right?
Monday, July 6, 2009
4th of July Bombshell
The Psychologist’s Big Employer could not have planned it more perfectly. It certainly must have seemed like a good idea to deliver bad news with a theme. Just like a cool fireworks show, Big Employer dropped an explosive bombshell on their staff just as the 3-day 4th of July weekend was beginning. At 4:00 pm. On Thursday. Fun!
The Psychologist’s job is being eliminated. Actually, the entire program is being cut due to The Budget. Good news! He gets his old job back. Yea! And he gets to have his old shitty schedule back, too. Only, now it’s worse. 6:30 pm – 5:00 am Saturday through Tuesday.
So what was supposed to be a fun, festive weekend was actually a major suck-fest filled with moping, anxiety and too much beer drinking. Couldn’t wait til Monday huh, Big Employer?
On the bright side (really!) at least it was not the “L-Word”. He does still have a job. Many people don’t right now.
The Psychologist’s job is being eliminated. Actually, the entire program is being cut due to The Budget. Good news! He gets his old job back. Yea! And he gets to have his old shitty schedule back, too. Only, now it’s worse. 6:30 pm – 5:00 am Saturday through Tuesday.
So what was supposed to be a fun, festive weekend was actually a major suck-fest filled with moping, anxiety and too much beer drinking. Couldn’t wait til Monday huh, Big Employer?
On the bright side (really!) at least it was not the “L-Word”. He does still have a job. Many people don’t right now.
No Progress Yet...
It's still sitting on my nightstand. Exactly where I left it two - no three - weeks ago. Only now it's covered with a fine layer of dust. Sigh.
6 Months
This blog post describes my feelings perfectly right now. No further comments needed. Just think she/her instead of he/ him.
I am overwhelmed, today – and was overwhelmed yesterday, and the day before that, and am certain that I will be similarly overwhelmed tomorrow – with this singular thought: I do not want my boy to grow up.
I don’t. I just don’t. I know that his future is bright and amazing and that the him that he will be in that bright and amazing future is a him that I will adore with every ounce of the intensity that I adore him now, and then some, but.
But.
At this precise moment in time I am so love with Baby Him, with his soft, pale curls and his baby-tooth grin and his chubby baby bum and his tiny, grabby fists that clutch and hold and cling and the fact that I can press him to me and just hold, just hold on and breathe him in and pretend that we are still two pieces of one body, that I could, if I wanted to, press him back into my chest to beat as my own heart. This him, this incarnation of the human being that he is, this small, precious, sweet-smelling clutchable form of him – this I want to keep. This I want not to lose.
I know that this is impossible; wrong, even. I know that I should rejoice in the fact that he grows, he thrives, he marches – he leaps! he runs! he tumbles! – steadfastly forward into his own future. And I do, I do rejoice in this, just as I have rejoiced in the transformation of his sister from baby into girl. But I also mourn.
This is a truth about being a parent that nothing and no-one can prepare you for: that it is a continual experience of loss, a never-ending stream of moments of goodbye. That from the moment your children come into your life you are losing them. That the person your child is today is a person you will never meet again, a person that you will, in some ways, forget, as he or she is replaced by new people, bigger people, faster people, people with more words, people with more independence, people whose primary purpose is to move continually away from you.
She is growing up too fast, and I wish I could keep a version of her at each stage in her life. Being her mother is my greatest joy and my greatest heartache.
I am overwhelmed, today – and was overwhelmed yesterday, and the day before that, and am certain that I will be similarly overwhelmed tomorrow – with this singular thought: I do not want my boy to grow up.
I don’t. I just don’t. I know that his future is bright and amazing and that the him that he will be in that bright and amazing future is a him that I will adore with every ounce of the intensity that I adore him now, and then some, but.
But.
At this precise moment in time I am so love with Baby Him, with his soft, pale curls and his baby-tooth grin and his chubby baby bum and his tiny, grabby fists that clutch and hold and cling and the fact that I can press him to me and just hold, just hold on and breathe him in and pretend that we are still two pieces of one body, that I could, if I wanted to, press him back into my chest to beat as my own heart. This him, this incarnation of the human being that he is, this small, precious, sweet-smelling clutchable form of him – this I want to keep. This I want not to lose.
I know that this is impossible; wrong, even. I know that I should rejoice in the fact that he grows, he thrives, he marches – he leaps! he runs! he tumbles! – steadfastly forward into his own future. And I do, I do rejoice in this, just as I have rejoiced in the transformation of his sister from baby into girl. But I also mourn.
This is a truth about being a parent that nothing and no-one can prepare you for: that it is a continual experience of loss, a never-ending stream of moments of goodbye. That from the moment your children come into your life you are losing them. That the person your child is today is a person you will never meet again, a person that you will, in some ways, forget, as he or she is replaced by new people, bigger people, faster people, people with more words, people with more independence, people whose primary purpose is to move continually away from you.
She is growing up too fast, and I wish I could keep a version of her at each stage in her life. Being her mother is my greatest joy and my greatest heartache.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Yes, We Have No Bananas!
After 5 months of drinking only milk for 8 meals a day, I was sure The Babe would be enthusiastic about trying real food. Pureed real food, but still real food. After all, she is my daughter and I love food.Both The Psychologist and I are adventurous eaters - willing to try anything at least once (and usually more than once!) France was the BEST culinary vacation for us. Snails? You bet. Goose liver? Bring it on. Rabbit with rosemary? Yum! Foul smelling cheese? Yes, please.
The Babe was off to a great start with the rice cereal. Opening her mouth eagerly for each bite and slapping the tray of her highchair for More! More! More! Hey, this is going really well! Let’s try sweet potatoes.
And that is where it all started to go downhill.
The Pursed Lips. The Head Shaking. The Spitting. After a few weeks of “eating” real food, here is what she will tolerate: sweet potatoes, pears, carrots and applesauce. Here is what she will not tolerate: Bananas. But, aren’t bananas a super food? Yes, but that doesn’t matter. The sight, smell or taste of bananas makes her very angry. She actually cried every time I tried to feed them to her. So, I gave up for now. Oh, and don’t even try to give her any formula. Uh unh.
I will love her anyway. My little picky eater.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Dear Boobs
Dear Boobs,
We’re friends, right? Over the years I have tried to treat you kindly. Always wearing a good supportive bra when I exercised. Dressing you up in a black lace push up number to celebrate special occasions. Popping Motrin when you are uncomfortably sore from water retention once a month. Checking you for odd lumps and bumps. Allowing a good share of men to fondle you.
So, why are you letting me down when I need you the most?
If I’m correct, your primary purpose is not to be the best accessory to my outfits or get me free drinks at a bar. Although you are very good at both these things! Your purpose is to provide milk to The Babe, and lately you have not been producing. You were doing such a great job until last week. I know, I know, you hate the breast milk pump. Me, too! I agree it’s impersonal, uncomfortable, loud and plastic. But, it’s the only way. Sorry. The Babe needs milk, and don’t think you can get off the hook by suggesting she drink formula. We both know that is not going to happen. Remember all the puke when we tried that last time?
Be a friend, suck it up (pun intended) and start producing more milk. I promise to take you on shopping spree at Victoria’s Secret after The Babe’s first birthday.
Xoxo,
Amy
We’re friends, right? Over the years I have tried to treat you kindly. Always wearing a good supportive bra when I exercised. Dressing you up in a black lace push up number to celebrate special occasions. Popping Motrin when you are uncomfortably sore from water retention once a month. Checking you for odd lumps and bumps. Allowing a good share of men to fondle you.
So, why are you letting me down when I need you the most?
If I’m correct, your primary purpose is not to be the best accessory to my outfits or get me free drinks at a bar. Although you are very good at both these things! Your purpose is to provide milk to The Babe, and lately you have not been producing. You were doing such a great job until last week. I know, I know, you hate the breast milk pump. Me, too! I agree it’s impersonal, uncomfortable, loud and plastic. But, it’s the only way. Sorry. The Babe needs milk, and don’t think you can get off the hook by suggesting she drink formula. We both know that is not going to happen. Remember all the puke when we tried that last time?
Be a friend, suck it up (pun intended) and start producing more milk. I promise to take you on shopping spree at Victoria’s Secret after The Babe’s first birthday.
Xoxo,
Amy
I'm usually on the phone when I pump.
Test Anxiety Revisited
Confession: This is actually not my first blog. I started a blog at the beginning of 2008, but gave it up after only a few posts. At the time I thought it would be fun to blog about trying to get pregnant. A record of my crazy hi-jinks as I attempted to invent a new role for myself – mommy. But it was actually kind of boring, and I just couldn’t get into it. At all. Then I considered starting it up again after I did get pregnant. But I could never find the time between the 2 hour naps every day after work, the constant visits to the bathroom to pee, the monthly (then weekly) doctor appointments and reading every book I could get my hands on about pregnancy.
So this is the only post that is worth repeating in this new blog. It has special meaning to me because a few days after writing this, I found out I was pregnant.
*******************************************
Test Anxiety
From April 15, 2008
So after 12 years of wedded bliss, The Psychologist and I decided it was about time to reproduce. After all, there is no better way to stroke your own ego than to create little mini versions of yourself. “Just look how adorable they are.” “Don’t we make the cutest kids?” “And so smart!” So that is exactly what we are trying to do… since January. Sort of a New Year’s Resolution. Lose 10 lbs. Eat healthier. Watch less TV. Procreate.
Trying to make a baby is actually really stressful. I naively thought it would just be all about sex. Whoo hoo! More sex and I would get knocked up. But this is not so. There is counting involved. Yes, that’s right… math. A subject that I was not so good at in high school is coming back to haunt me. Calculating my “optimal fertilization time” each month takes some of the fun out of sex. The Psychologist and I have always had a decent sex life, but all this math makes it seem like an assignment. A+ means you’re pregnant, F means you’re not. So far we are not passing this class! Since January I have taken 4 pregnancy tests. (See, it’s even called a test!) Each time I got a big fat F on the test. After my initial disappointment, I do consider the upside… I can continue to drink wine and fit into all (ok, most of) my pants. I’m 3 days past due my monthly bloodletting, so who knows, maybe I’ll ace the next test. I’m afraid to take it. I don’t want another F.
I suppose this is what I can expect for waiting until I was 33 to start this process. It really sucks that the most fertile time for a woman is age 17 – 25. Who is really ready to have kids at that age? I know I was way too immature. By the time I decided I was actually ready for this – stable marriage, stable job, stable life – my body may not be willing to cooperate.
So this is the only post that is worth repeating in this new blog. It has special meaning to me because a few days after writing this, I found out I was pregnant.
*******************************************
Test Anxiety
From April 15, 2008
So after 12 years of wedded bliss, The Psychologist and I decided it was about time to reproduce. After all, there is no better way to stroke your own ego than to create little mini versions of yourself. “Just look how adorable they are.” “Don’t we make the cutest kids?” “And so smart!” So that is exactly what we are trying to do… since January. Sort of a New Year’s Resolution. Lose 10 lbs. Eat healthier. Watch less TV. Procreate.
Trying to make a baby is actually really stressful. I naively thought it would just be all about sex. Whoo hoo! More sex and I would get knocked up. But this is not so. There is counting involved. Yes, that’s right… math. A subject that I was not so good at in high school is coming back to haunt me. Calculating my “optimal fertilization time” each month takes some of the fun out of sex. The Psychologist and I have always had a decent sex life, but all this math makes it seem like an assignment. A+ means you’re pregnant, F means you’re not. So far we are not passing this class! Since January I have taken 4 pregnancy tests. (See, it’s even called a test!) Each time I got a big fat F on the test. After my initial disappointment, I do consider the upside… I can continue to drink wine and fit into all (ok, most of) my pants. I’m 3 days past due my monthly bloodletting, so who knows, maybe I’ll ace the next test. I’m afraid to take it. I don’t want another F.
I suppose this is what I can expect for waiting until I was 33 to start this process. It really sucks that the most fertile time for a woman is age 17 – 25. Who is really ready to have kids at that age? I know I was way too immature. By the time I decided I was actually ready for this – stable marriage, stable job, stable life – my body may not be willing to cooperate.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Olive Branch
When someone finds out I don’t speak to several members of my family, the conversation usually goes something like this…
Me: Um. Yeah. I don’t know how my grandma and aunt are doing. We haven’t talked in 8 years.
(uncomfortable silence)
Person: Oh. Wow. That is a long time. (pause) So, did you see American Idol last night?
They don’t always ask about American Idol, of course. Sometimes it’s 24 or The Office. Or “have any fun plans this weekend!?” Back to any neutral topic, please. I can’t say I blame them. While I’m sure they are curious about why, family “issues” are very personal. Like sex or politics.
Me: It’s not really my fault. Both of them just said very hurtful things about me, my husband, and my mother. But it’s fine now. Really. I’m over it. We don’t speak. I just can’t forgive them and have a relationship with either of them when they refuse to acknowledge they even did anything. Do you know what I mean? But, it’s no big deal. I’m fine. It’s been 8 years. Really!
(More uncomfortable silence)
Me, again: So, did you see American Idol last night?
Thankfully this conversation rarely happens in my life. Most days I don’t think about my grandma and my aunt at all. I really don’t. Except when I’m forced to because someone who doesn’t know me very well brings it up. Like the gal who cuts my hair. She also happens to cut my aunt’s hair. A fact I just learned over the weekend.
The reason why I don’t speak to them in simple: they both said terribly hurtful statements about me, my husband and my mother. To anyone who would listen. For many years. And neither of them have ever acknowledged or apologized for what they said. But this is not the sole reason I chose to cut them out of my life. Going long stretches of time ignoring family members is kind of a tradition in my family. As a kid I missed weddings, graduations, and lots of holidays because [insert family member here] was not speaking to [insert family member here]. Now that I’m an adult, I don’t have to put up with that bullshit. I also don’t have the time for it. I would rather focus my energy on building the relationships in my life that provide me joy. The relationships that are filled with love, laughter, and friendship. Period. Sure, I could have a superficial relationship with them. The kind of relationship usually reserved for co-workers, your manicurist and friends of friends you don’t very well. But why? Why should I invest in a relationship that will only last until the next big family argument?
Since I’ve had my baby, my grandma has been sending messages to me through other family members. “Please tell Amy I want to see her and the baby.” Oh really. That’s nice, but no. Why didn’t you call me 1 year ago when I was pregnant? Or 5 years ago when I bought my first house? Or 8 years when we stopped speaking? My baby is not the olive branch.
One could argue that I’m carrying on the family tradition by not speaking to them. And they would be right.
Me: Um. Yeah. I don’t know how my grandma and aunt are doing. We haven’t talked in 8 years.
(uncomfortable silence)
Person: Oh. Wow. That is a long time. (pause) So, did you see American Idol last night?
They don’t always ask about American Idol, of course. Sometimes it’s 24 or The Office. Or “have any fun plans this weekend!?” Back to any neutral topic, please. I can’t say I blame them. While I’m sure they are curious about why, family “issues” are very personal. Like sex or politics.
Me: It’s not really my fault. Both of them just said very hurtful things about me, my husband, and my mother. But it’s fine now. Really. I’m over it. We don’t speak. I just can’t forgive them and have a relationship with either of them when they refuse to acknowledge they even did anything. Do you know what I mean? But, it’s no big deal. I’m fine. It’s been 8 years. Really!
(More uncomfortable silence)
Me, again: So, did you see American Idol last night?
Thankfully this conversation rarely happens in my life. Most days I don’t think about my grandma and my aunt at all. I really don’t. Except when I’m forced to because someone who doesn’t know me very well brings it up. Like the gal who cuts my hair. She also happens to cut my aunt’s hair. A fact I just learned over the weekend.
The reason why I don’t speak to them in simple: they both said terribly hurtful statements about me, my husband and my mother. To anyone who would listen. For many years. And neither of them have ever acknowledged or apologized for what they said. But this is not the sole reason I chose to cut them out of my life. Going long stretches of time ignoring family members is kind of a tradition in my family. As a kid I missed weddings, graduations, and lots of holidays because [insert family member here] was not speaking to [insert family member here]. Now that I’m an adult, I don’t have to put up with that bullshit. I also don’t have the time for it. I would rather focus my energy on building the relationships in my life that provide me joy. The relationships that are filled with love, laughter, and friendship. Period. Sure, I could have a superficial relationship with them. The kind of relationship usually reserved for co-workers, your manicurist and friends of friends you don’t very well. But why? Why should I invest in a relationship that will only last until the next big family argument?
Since I’ve had my baby, my grandma has been sending messages to me through other family members. “Please tell Amy I want to see her and the baby.” Oh really. That’s nice, but no. Why didn’t you call me 1 year ago when I was pregnant? Or 5 years ago when I bought my first house? Or 8 years when we stopped speaking? My baby is not the olive branch.
One could argue that I’m carrying on the family tradition by not speaking to them. And they would be right.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Now What?
About once a year I feel really anxious about my life. You know, asking myself the BIG questions. "What is my purpose?" "Am I happy?" The inspirational poster question "what would I do if I knew I would not fail?" I'm not a very introspective person by nature. I spend most of my energy focusing on the present and future, largely ignoring how what happened yesterday may affect me. So, my anxious feelings usually don't last long. They blow over in a few days. I move on and forget I ever felt that way. Until the next time.
Well, it's that time again and for some reason I can't shake it off like I used to. Maybe it's because I just had my first baby. Blame the hormones. Perhaps my new role in life as mommy is forcing me to look at my life differently. I'm not sure. But since I'm having a hard time ignoring these feelings, I think I should do something about it.
In past years my usual reaction has been to think about moving. Not just to a new neighborhood either. Nope. I'm talking about a major out-of-state-starting-over move. The Psychologist hates moving so this drives him crazy (and makes him nervous). On the list this year:
1. Europe - Italy, France, Spain. It doesn't matter. As long as I can ride my bike home from the market on quaint cobblestone streets with my basket full of cheese, wine, olives and bread.
2. Southern California - for the sun, of course
3. Washington DC - 800 non-profits are headquartered here. If I ever wanted to get back to working in this field, this would be the place to be
4. New York City - I've just always wanted to live there
5. Gig Harbor, WA - my hometown. Good schools for The Babe
Adding to my angst this year is another stress worthy topic. My Career. Again, the BIG questions. "Am I in the right job for me?" "Does my career really fit my passions and skills?" The truth is, I don't think it does. I have not purposely chosen my career. I just sort of "fell into" marketing because I'm good at it (most of the time) the same way I just sort "fell into" working in the non-profit world because I have a degree in sociology. But I have honestly never thought about if these careers were right for me. To complicate things further, I'm not sure what IS right for me. I really don't know myself that well. I know what I'm good at doing, but that is where my introspection stops. This fact is best demonstrated by the diverse careers I have been considering lately: attorney, esthetician, photographer, book store owner. I'm all over the map.
The good news is I'm not alone. The self-help section of amazon is filled with books on this exact dilemma. From the classic What Color is Your Parachute? to more contemporary titles from motivational "life coaches". So, I bought one. Now What? 90 Days to a New Life Direction. 90 days, huh? New life direction? Okay. Sounds good to me. I've had the book for two weeks and have only read the table of contents so far. Maybe I'm waiting for my anxious feelings about my life to blow over again. Sigh. This is going to be hard work.
Well, it's that time again and for some reason I can't shake it off like I used to. Maybe it's because I just had my first baby. Blame the hormones. Perhaps my new role in life as mommy is forcing me to look at my life differently. I'm not sure. But since I'm having a hard time ignoring these feelings, I think I should do something about it.
In past years my usual reaction has been to think about moving. Not just to a new neighborhood either. Nope. I'm talking about a major out-of-state-starting-over move. The Psychologist hates moving so this drives him crazy (and makes him nervous). On the list this year:
1. Europe - Italy, France, Spain. It doesn't matter. As long as I can ride my bike home from the market on quaint cobblestone streets with my basket full of cheese, wine, olives and bread.
2. Southern California - for the sun, of course
3. Washington DC - 800 non-profits are headquartered here. If I ever wanted to get back to working in this field, this would be the place to be
4. New York City - I've just always wanted to live there
5. Gig Harbor, WA - my hometown. Good schools for The Babe
Adding to my angst this year is another stress worthy topic. My Career. Again, the BIG questions. "Am I in the right job for me?" "Does my career really fit my passions and skills?" The truth is, I don't think it does. I have not purposely chosen my career. I just sort of "fell into" marketing because I'm good at it (most of the time) the same way I just sort "fell into" working in the non-profit world because I have a degree in sociology. But I have honestly never thought about if these careers were right for me. To complicate things further, I'm not sure what IS right for me. I really don't know myself that well. I know what I'm good at doing, but that is where my introspection stops. This fact is best demonstrated by the diverse careers I have been considering lately: attorney, esthetician, photographer, book store owner. I'm all over the map.
The good news is I'm not alone. The self-help section of amazon is filled with books on this exact dilemma. From the classic What Color is Your Parachute? to more contemporary titles from motivational "life coaches". So, I bought one. Now What? 90 Days to a New Life Direction. 90 days, huh? New life direction? Okay. Sounds good to me. I've had the book for two weeks and have only read the table of contents so far. Maybe I'm waiting for my anxious feelings about my life to blow over again. Sigh. This is going to be hard work.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
