Archive | December, 2007

Incoming Messages

12 Dec

In a newsletter on scrapbooking—a craft I do not do, but watch from afar; all crafting is porn for me, as I am completely unmotivated by the possibility it will come out imperfect…more on that later—I stumble on this beautiful commentary on creation and fear:

Thinking this is the one and only chance to tell this story so it simply must be perfect. Oh man, what a way to stop you in your tracks. What does perfect mean to you? And who is the judge? Perfect is so very relative. What is perfect to me in this moment may be entirely imperfect to you. To me, perfect is actually taking time to tell your stories. Risking that bit of yourself to document your experience. Perfect is carving out a bit of time to be creative. Perfect is embracing the imperfection inherent in creating something that comes from your heart, and your head, and your hands. Let it go. Simply begin writing. Tell the story in simple, plain sentences one word at a time. Keep writing until all the words have spilled onto the page and then go back and edit. Perfect is actually telling the story rather than letting fear keep you from sharing the lives and lessons of your family.

I sit down across from my therapist and she has me shuffle a deck of Wisdom Cards. The card I pull out reads:

I do not have to become perfect, I am perfect just as I am.

If I wait to become who I want to be when I am perfect, I will be waiting all my life.

I read this article in the New York Times. Two days later a loved one forwards the link to me.


Lyra: Five Months

11 Dec

merry christmas lyraLyra’s month five photos are up. You will notice a definite holiday theme as many of these were taken in search of that delightful enigma known as a The Perfect Christmas Card Photo. I took many more, but I have only posted my twenty-five favorites.

I’m really in love with my camera, but that is only because it makes me look like a much better photographer than I am.

Five Seven Things: Month Five

11 Dec

This month I have really begun to feel the tug and pull that so many mothers have described, but that I could only understand in that abstract, slight nod of the head, sort of way. Anyone who sees you, will easily identify you as a baby. Your small, human stature gives the clue. I, however, have been completely bowled over by all of the new skills you have been gaining. Each day I see little pieces of the infant I have come to know being replaced by this other person. I am so delighted to watch you grow and learn things, but already I feel myself wanting to hold on to what you were yesterday, instead of reveling in who you are today.

You have changed so much this month, and I have been so busy with a blogging challenge, work challenges, and my emotional challenges, that I am amazed I have had time to take notice. But that is what this monthly post is all about. It’s a time capsule. A way for me summarize the moments we’ve had this month, the milestones you’ve reached, the surprising ways you’ve changed. I write them down and then I let them go. Next month there will be five more moments, probably more, to take their place. And for each new moment we get to share with each other, I shall never feel ungrateful.

These are five seven things I wish to hold on to this month:

  1. You have just turned four-months-old and are on the floor pulling on the toys in your play gym. As you have done for many weeks, you are lying on your side and flailing your top leg back and forth in an effort to roll. I move the play gym a little and for the first time you roll from back to tummy and then immediately roll back. I think it is a fluke until. You have been able to roll from your back to your side since you were two weeks old, but you have never been able to get on your tummy. But you do it again two minutes later. In the blink of an eye you have gone from immobile to mobile. You’re able to control your view of the world and there is nothing I can do want to do to stop you.
  2. Somewhere between four and six weeks you began to burble and gurgle and make the most fantastic sounding ooos. Shortly after this month began, the oos were rapidly replaced with enthusiastic phhbbtttthhh. Lt me tell you, you mouth fart with the best of them. Yet, no sooner did I manage to stop crying with laughter every time you made that sound, it disappeared. What has replaced it is grunting-squeal that makes you turn red and cough every time you make it. I’m pretty sure you have a future career in an 80’s tribute band. That is, if you do not become a great orator. As I am typing this, you are making the new sound that you adopted just three days, ago: dadadadadada. It is hard to type, because I laugh and smile every time.
  3. A few days in a row you cry every time your bottle runs empty. You wake up in the middle of the night for the first time in a few months, because you are hungry and need to feed. Grandma Precious says you need real food. My research tells me that you are too young. I research some more. You look at me with rage when I remove the bottle or the breast. I decide to test you. I make a little bit of rice cereal. It’s your very first feeding and you reach for the spoon, mouth agape, eager to eat. I have no idea how you know this is food, but you do, and you love it.
  4. We are lying in bed next to each other in the morning, our typical post-diaper-change, post-feeding routine. As usual, I am trying to get more sleep. You reach out and pull my hair, yanking it with your finger. I laugh, even though your pulling hurts far more than it tickles. I am amazed at how strong you have already become.
  5. During a feeding I notice your hand are tightly grasping mine as I feed you your bottle. I move my hand and let you hold it. You now hold it during most feedings and this has made the juggle of your huger versus your wet diaper at 6 AM, much easier.
  6. You now suck your thumb.
  7. You have outgrown your infant car seat and we had to buy a new one last weekend. That means you are already 30 inches long. Another gene you have inherited from your father.