I don't really know what i have planned here but I'm home alone on an evening when it's not too late and I'm not quite at the point of passing out, all things that are unusual and therefore make me feel all weird and thinky.
I guess I thought I'd check in and let you know how my life is going even though I never do that, and I don't know who would want to know that.
These days, life is good. Someone once said that when you have a kid, the highs are higher and the lows are lower. The other day I took ye olde Julian to the playground and pushed him on the swings which he loves from the bottom of his little heart, and we laaaughed and had our jokes and the sun was shining and the breeze was breezing and I stood to the side as I pushed him (pushing him from the front, as i used to do, now gets me a kick in the face, and pushing him from behind is boresville) and looked up at nothing and in that moment thought the words, "I've never been so happy!" and then I literally laughed out loud because I was struck at the familiar echo of having said those exact same words before, except for a slight difference, like "I have never been so miserable" or "exhausted" or "out of my freakin' mind" or whatever. It's madness, i tell you. Utter madness. I'm amused yet, again, it's maddening. It took me a long time to get used to the fact that there were just going to be ups and downs and ups and downs at more frequent and uber-intense, concentrated intervals and that was how it was going to be. All I really wanted in life, after birthing him, was just some regularity (<-- could be misinterpreted. But maybe not? I could mean that in several ways, you don't know!), some consistency. Some feeling like "I've got this. I've made it. I have a clue. I can guess what tomorrow might bring." And I feel that i have been able to achieve a bit of it. But it's not that I believe that I've made it or that i have, actually, got this, but that I have slowly come to accept that I may never totally get there, and it's just ok. Why? Because i have this kid who talks to me, who tells jokes, who shouts to the heavens, "I love you, Mom!" Someone with whom i can share a piece of 85% chocolate and who eats it and whew, let me just say, that's some bitter chocolate. 85 is right on the edge, man. But anyway, I'm seeing now what everyone sees in having kids. Of course when i look back it's not all bad--of course not. But it just took me a while to get here, to where I'm loving the highs, and keeping my eye on the lows, but ignoring them until they show their ugly face, and then dealing with them then.
Julian is 2.75 yrs old right now, if my math is right, and my math is never right. I didn't start keeping a baby journal until he was 1, which is pretty lame. My sister gave me one for his birthday and said "get on it." I kept a journal of him, for him, when he was in utero--week-by-week, to give to him when he has his first child. It was an attempt to come to terms (<--pregnancy pun?) or grips of what was actually happening to me. But i skipped that first year of life for no real reason. Not in my own journal, but in his. So when i began writing in his book, I had to write a lot of "let's see, your first worrrd...hmmm.. could have been ____? I have a pretty decent memory for things and could remember the first moment he found his own voice, etc, and I described it. So i did record some of his firsts.
I love the journal-keep because I love the idea of leaving myself behind for people to
I wrote this April 1, 2012 in Julian's book
Dear Julian,
I just read on a friend's blog about her best friend who just died from cancer. Her words about her friend and feelings were touching and I was fairly heartbroken, but what really got me was seeing a picture of this friend posing with her husband and two young children, maybe 2 & 4 yrs old, who are smiling brightly. My friend described this as being their farewell before her friend was admitted into the ICU and seeing those smiling little kids and picturing what that final goodbye must have been like and imagining me and you doing that made me sob and sob into the sink while I washed my face before bed.
This may be a little depressing, and your dad always hates when I bring up "in case I die" conversations, but Julian... just in case something ever happens to me, you have to know how much I love you. We're best friends, you and I. You are my treasure. We are connected in so many ways, I sometimes feel these days that I'm finally understanding the insanely powerful bond between mother and kid, maybe mother and son. And i know with everything of my being, with all of my guts, from the very depths of my soul that you are special. I prayed for you. I dreamed of you. You are my miracle boy, and not just because I had you, but because of who you are. These days I look at you and I feel like I can see beyond your two-year-old'ness. I marvel at you. You are meant for amazing and important things. I don't know what they all are but I do think I know one. It's becoming clearer to me every day, and it is this: you have saved me. I know it in my heart. How I love you, Julian. Should anything ever happen to me one day, know this.
Wow, that is ridiculously personal and if I were you, I'd make fun of me for putting something so personal on my blog. p.s. if anyone reads this who i might see in person, feel free to make fun of me to my face about it instead of awkwardly knowing you read something so personal about me but having to pretend you didn't. (or wishing you hadn't. Trust me: i understand.) I talked to Sean about it and again, he sees it as a bit of a downer but having written this gives me immense relief and peace of mind. I mean, i'm not saying it's great writing, but wouldn't you want a letter like this from your mom?? I mean, come on.
I guess my point (and i'm not sure at all) is that, sure these are stupid blogs, but they are a footprint, and though I typically keep my journaling and blogging completely separate, with separate and differing purposes and content, I'm just going to call it OK to get all serious and sentimental once in a while, and perhaps stir a question in the minds of anyone out there: what would you want to have said to someone, just in case? And to plead with you to write it down somewhere. And if some things are so important, you'd write it down twice, then that is ok. Like if some things are so important that they might be worth sharing with the world in hopes that, should something happen to his baby book, someone, somewhere out there (<-- American Tail) will know what I have said, and can make sure it gets back to him one day, then I say that is ok.
6 comments:
I just wanted to let you know that this made me cry. And I mean that in a good way. I actually haven't cried nearly as much about Carla's death as I feel I ought to (I mean-- really??? I cry over fireworks but not over actual tragedies????? what is wrong with me to make that be the case?), so any time something makes me work up some tears over real things, I feel like it's a good thing and making me a little more human and in touch with actual emotions.
What I'm trying to say is, Thank you for writing this and for sharing it. I really appreciated it.
Thanks, Alanna. Was tempted to take this baby down many times.
I feel the same about the crying. Sometimes I think some emotions are just way beyond crying, such as intense love for someone. Not all the time, but sometimes, some things.
I think you're right, it is a foot print. Everything we keep is a footprint. These blogs, our journals, our calenders, photos.
Sometimes I worry it's all too much, how could anyone want that much documentation about their childhood, but, the better question is, how could anyone have enough. When I look back at photos or a childhood journal or craft, it's like a time machine. I keep my blog/journals/photo files for myself, but I can't help but think that Edie will, herself, find value in them. That maybe, later, much later, she'll understand me more completely because of the things I've found time to write, but never say.
This is marvelous. I'm glad you left it up.
A tear for this sweet note you posted for all of us to see. That was brave and it really touched me. I feel like I am an inevitable addict and Silas is my drug of choice. This motherhood thing is the most amazing, craziest whirlwind experience I have ever had in my entire life and I feel like you summed up so much that I've felt for the last eight months (and hope to feel and find out in the future) in this post. Thank you, dear Jen.
Thanks for this post. I do not keep my journal-ing and blogging separate as you do... as you well know. This post made we want to write in my boys' journals about my good friend whose son fell out of their second story window to concrete below last Sunday. I need to share the feelings I had with my boys. Thanks for giving me the kick to record for my kids (in their journals and not my blog) how I feel about them. Have a nice weekend. Hope you had a great Mother's Day last week.
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