I didn’t find myself to be as hungry as I imagined. But I’m not doing a dry fast.  I’m still ingesting fruits and veggies.  I saw a video series of a woman who did a 60 day water fast *faints*.  That’s seems like doing the MOST.  The results were pretty impressive.  In 60 days she lost about 50 lbs.    No word on whether she kept it off.  But you can see for yourself:

yeah… she smacks her ass a lot… dunno…

I drank lots of water.  Took all my supplements.  Suppressed the wishing it was day 14 already (not for any one particular reason – because I’ll still be fasting.

Tomorrow, I will join the gym downstairs from my job and get this POPPIN’ for REAL.

Okay.  Sleep time.

*

Well, last year definitely was one for the books.  So much goodness came out of that year.  So many realizations.  So much growing into my own skin.  Of course the highlight is the birth of my sweet baby daughter.  My first born.  The miracle I’d almost given up on.  She has come to life and transformed me.  This entire post … nay the entire blog can be about the ways she’s saved me.  And it will be.  But today’s blog will be about this new year right here.  There’s much to be accomplished and so little time (well… that’s not fair – we get a whole extra day this year LEAP!)

I want to focus on some keys here:

1)  LOSE AT LEAST 60 LBS – yeah.  60.  it’s gotten that bad.  They weighed me at the doctor and I was mortified.  I really let it all go after the baby.  I actually looked GREAT after I had her – for those first 2 months… i was moreso slender than I’d been prior to the pregnancy.  Then I went back to work… and it all went down hill.   Wendy, Ronald, Popeye, Papa John and the Colonel to name a few became regular household visitors… and the weight just piled and piled and piled.  That’s enough now.  With folks around me dying at 42… at 32…  at 27….   I have more reason than ever to try to extend this life for this little girl.  A 65 yr old endpoint isn’t an option AT. ALL.

2)  SET DOWN THE CAREER PATH – there’s some stuff taking place that lets me know that this is the last (or may be the 2nd to last) place I ever work “for”.  The path needs to be laid out that i will work for myself and benefit MY family.  I’ve been saying it for a while, but I’m moreso ready than ever.  I gotta make it happen for me.

3) WORK ON THE SON – while there are many smaller steps to this one, I need to get my mind and body ready to birth my 2nd child.  I am putting it into the universe to give me a son.  Because if I can have my boy and my girl, I will quietly go to Dr. Kofinas and tell him to pull the whole system OUT.   I’ll be done for real.

4) HOME – there will be somewhere I can call “HOME” … a house of our own… no one living above or below.   Us as owners and to follow our own thoughts and rules. PERIOD.  This is a ONE YEAR PLAN… and needs to be.

Those are the pivotals.  And I’ll figure out the sub to-dos in the coming weeks, while I’m pining away for some meat or fish LOL  But if I can make it through this 30 day fast…. I believe that this year will be all I can make it and more.  I just have to show myself that I have the will, courage and steadfast ability to get it done.

Day one of the fast … well… yeah.  This morning, I “cheated” – not really a cheat cause I hadn’t started the fast yet.  Wanted to end it with a good remembrance.  So we went to the diner and had one last hurrah.  That was holding me over pretty good.  So the thoughts of the fast didn’t phase me.  “I can do this.”  “All I have to do is have alternatives to the crap I’d eat ready to go and I won’t stray.”  This evening around 9PM with a fridge full of bananas, pears, apples, V8 and water i craved HARD for some buttered popcorn.  Doesn’t seem so bad.  But this fast calls for raw veggies and fruits for 14 days at least.  The thought of just one kernel of popcorn melting in my mouth overtook me.  I used all of my innate lawyer skills to lobby FOR the idea of making the bag of popcorn to my husband who stood firm against the crashing waves of my desire.  (Thank GOD for him)  I resigned myself to drinking the whey protein drink that goes with this fast and that held me over.  And then I had a pear and made it my bitch and ate the hell out of it.  Now I sit here assessing how I feel and wonder if I’ll ever stop being hungry.   I didn’t realize it was this bad.  But I can’t go back to the way I was eating before.   I literally FELT my system being gummed up.  As I was telling my Icy this morning – I feel stuffed like a doll.  That has to change… post haste.  So… I’ll have to get used to this hunger feeling.  And maybe as a result… also get used to the feeling of really LIKING what and who I see in the mirror.  My mother-in-law did everything short of raising her hands up in a hallelujah when I announced that my fasting started today.  Man.  *smh*

So Day 1… more like day .75 down.  29.25 days to go.

*

“Just a trace of your existence to grasp” – Mariah Carey Vanishing

I’m making this list so that I can be fully reminded how I got here and why.

You used to BRING me flowers.  You thought sending them was so impersonal.
You used to invite me to events to be with you / to be seen with you.
You used to see me several times a week because you wanted to.
You used to invite me to stay the night.
You used to marvel at the new things that you’d learn about me after knowing me so long.
You used to LOVE when I laid my head on your shoulder when we would drive – you decided to marry me one day while I did that.
You used to get goosebumps from my touch / kiss because it was special.  Now it happens because it’s rare.
You used to wear that rare cologne for me because you knew it would drive me crazy.
You used to ask me to dance in our living room.
You used to make a huge deal out of my birthday because you knew that my birthday was a huge deal for me.
You used to have stars in your eyes when you’d see me.
You used to wrap your hands around my waist and pull me close and kiss me and make me feel like a little girl in love
You used to light candles and put on music before we made love.
You used to make love to me.
You used to ask me what I liked and disliked.
You used to share decisions with me instead of making coming to a consensus so hard that I would just acquiesce.
You used to hold my hand walking down the street.
You used to hold my hand driving in the car.
You used to sneak peeks at my blog and my facebook to know what I was thinking and call me on it cause you cared.
You used to encourage my poetry and my singing.
You used to care profoundly when I cried.
You used to offer to pick me up / drop me off from or to anywhere.
You used to want to impress me.
You used to wake me with kisses.
You used to wake me with music.
You used to fear losing me.
You used to fight for us.
I used to have your name in a separate folder on my IM list called “My Love”
I used to melt when you’d say my name.
I used to feel extra giddy coming down Midwood to your house, knowing I’d be in your arms.
I used to get all turned on from the sight of those arms and chest and neck and back and legs…
I used to feel so good about how smooth your skin is and how privileged I was to touch it.
I used to feel that extra grace was shared with me to find a love this strong because I’d messed up so many other times that I’d be forsaken.
I used to be able to talk to you about anything.
I used to be amazed at your math skill.  I told you it was what turned me on about you from the beginning.
I used to feel that I was really a catch for you.
I used to think of you first for all the things I wanted to go out and do and see and experience.
I used to consider you before we even dated… just regarded you from afar and wondered if we could work.
I used to stare at you and it made you uncomfortable.  But you were just that beautiful to me… and I couldn’t believe you were mine.
We used to be the couple that everyone envied and I didn’t question their judgement.
We used to make plans together of the fun things we would do
We used to explore the world together and discover new things.
We used to have genuine fun together.
We used to make each other laugh hearty belly laughs.
We used to like being together and looking forward to it.
We used to fall asleep together on the couch and enjoy cuddling.
We used to dream about the family we’d make.
We used to want to grow old together.
*

Sometimes… it is all about me.

In my own head, it used to be.  I used to know that if I didn’t think of me, that no one else really would.  So I had to MAKE SURE that at the very least?  I thought about me.  It’s the libra in me.  I’m constantly caring about other… sometimes I’d love for someone else to know how I’m feeling.  How life is treating me.  What I want out of this life.  What are the things that make me happy.  What are the things that make me sad… you know… stuff like that.

But what I find is happening increasingly is this… general lack of concern about how I feel.  About where I fit in.  About my general place in the world.

I am very  much feeling myself disappear a la Back to the Future.   I am feeling myself really being defined as an ancillary character in someone else’s main plot when I most CERTAINLY was the main character in my own life.

I make it a habit to ask the people around me if they are happy…. and if there is anything I can do to be making them happier.  What shocks me most is the lack of reciprocation in said question.  On some “thanks for asking” and keep it moving.  Well… what ABOUT me??  who besides me will ever care about ME and what I’d like?

Me, I guess.

So I’ll list a few things here that I feel, care about, wish for, miss, hate, like very much and that pertain to me wholly.  Whether anyone else gives a shit or not at this point is beyond me.  I give a shit.

I adore my daughter.
No, it does NOT bring me joy to see thousands of pictures of her playing with other people while I work extremely hard to make sure that she wants for nothing.
Yes, I want DESPERATELY to be “brought home” so that I can be her MOTHER and everyone else a bit part player.  I AM NOT LOVING being a supporting role in her life.  A walk on.  An extra.
I hate the confusion at my job right now. It is upsetting me.  I don’t like uncertainty and I’m tired of going through these processes at the places I work.  I would like some stability please.  For at LEAST 3 years before boats go a-rocking
I don’t like the family car.  Having my own car gave me a sense of individuality. I was able to tailor it to what I wanted it to be.  With me being solely responsible for it, it felt like there was something in this world that was truly mine.  This family car sucks… the horn works intermittently and it’s always dusty.  I haven’t melded with it the way I did with Deez.  I miss her.  I miss the “road trip” feeling I got when I got into that car.  I fear it’ll never come back.
I miss being desired.  I miss feeling like the most wanted and beautiful person in SOMEONE’s life.  I miss being chased after.  I miss being caught.  I miss making LOVE.  I miss being fucked.  I miss feeling like a WOMAN.
I hate thinking I have to hate the way I look.  I like my body.  I understand that this world is built for skinny people.  But I love my fullness.  I don’t like that it means that I may potentially die before everyone else.  But I think I’m fierce when I see myself in the mirror in the mornings.  I wish other people felt that way instead of looking at me like they want to offer me some advice.
I miss my mom.  I miss my grandma.  I miss my dad. I miss that undeniable sense of family that I used to have all the time.  The knowing that there were some folks in this world that UNCONDITIONALLY were loving me back.  I miss there feeling like there is a forcefield of protection around me fostered by my family.  I hate that the family is so segmented.  I hate that they all want to blame me for why we don’t speak anymore.  Phones work two ways.  I can’t ALWAYS be the one reaching out.   I hate that in my mind I have to kill those people off so the thought of how they’re treating me without ever interacting with me won’t keep hurting me.
I miss the fun that used to be associated with my sorority.  I miss the TRUE fellowship.  I miss that deep sisterhood.  I hate that I pay them to stress me out yearly.  I hate that they act like they give me a paycheck for the things I do.  I hate that they’ve taken away the little silly stuff that meant a LOT.  I’m really glad that I milked my experience for all that I could while I could and have great memories because I don’t believe I’ll make anymore like that to keep me going for much longer.
I hate feeling like I am disappearing.  It is the feeling that makes me feel MOST like my mom.  I know she hated her life if it weren’t for a few things.  I LOVE LIFE… I have to get back to that everyday.
I miss discovering new music that made me wonder what else there was out in the world beyond what I know.  That made me want to travel and meet new people and explore new experiences.  Everything sounds the same these days
I hate feeling put upon.  Everyone WANTS something.  No one cares what I want.
I hate that I need to drink to feel high these days.  I used to get that feeling just by living my life. (and drinking LOL)
I never felt more beautiful than when I was pregnant with Athena.  It was the very first time in my life I didn’t have to worry about my tummy poking out of my clothes.  It was actually welcome.  It was a serious denoument after her birth to go back to being criticized instead of celebrated.
I hate that I think my baby doesn’t know me.  She takes time to recognize me still sometimes.  (mostly when she’s tired).  But still… I want to feel like… her MOTHER… no higher title. the word for God on the her lips until she can learn other wise.  Not because i want to control her or dominate her… but because I remember the comfort of having someone like that on earth with me.

Well… that’s it for now.  I think I’ve made space in my head for some new thoughts.  I would normally insert the promise here to blog more.  But I just don’t care right now.

And that’s real.

</RANT>

*

When I was growing up, through the majority of the child hood I could remember, my mother held two jobs to make the ends meet (daddy worked one job himself).  In the daytime – a nurse’s aide at a private hospital in Jackson Heights.  At night, a cleaning lady for an office building in the city (round abouts 48th street and Madison or so).  So her schedule from what I could tell and what I remember was as follows:

6:00AM – wake up / get dressed / eat / get mind right
6:45AM – get out the house to walk or take the bus or occasionally get a ride from dad to work
7:15AM – report to ICU for work
12:00PM – Lunch time / call kids / get food / rest feet
3:00PM – quitting time / walk home / catch bus / get a cab
3:30PM – eat / nap / watch General Hospital
4:30PM – get up / shower / change
5:00PM – get out the door / train to the city
5:30PM – report to office building and begin cleaning
12:00AM – quitting time / train home / get ride home from husband (sometimes with / sometimes without kids)
12:45AM – get home / eat / sleep

The only time I was home and sentinent was uring that 3:30 – 5:00 period.  I was home from elementary school so I got to see her for a few moments while she was awake; had to be quiet when she watched her stories; watched her sleep and followed her around the house while she prepared for the next job, catching whiffs of Yves Saint Laurent or L’Air Du Temps wafting in her wake as I did what I did best then – worshiped her and being in her presence.  Then 5:00PM would come and I’d do everything in my power to try  to convince her to stay home.  I wanted her to think that being home with me was the best thing she could possibly choose at that time.  Could I pretend to be sick?  Could I tell her we had really fun stuff lined up if she decided to stay home?  When all else failed I’d resort to crying.  Painful, terrible sobs.  The “i will literally die if you leave” style crying.  And when she walked out the door, I would crawl under a table so I didn’t have to see her go and finish my crying there.   Strange that as I type this, I tear up.  You’d think 30 years later – this would be a non issue.  I HATED to see her leave.  I always did.  But somehow – in those 2 1/2 hours per weekday and random weekends she had free – she was MOM.  No one could take her place.  She was my primary caregiver and my idol.  Stars in my eyes for her.  Even to this day at her memory.  Grandma pitched in 100% to raise us and she held an extremely high place in my heart.  2nd mother.  She was there when we got home from school – meals prepared – occupied house so we wouldn’t have to latchkey. She couldn’t help us with homework really because she spoke MUCH more French and Kreyol than she did English.  And I have extremely fond memories of her.  She was Granny.  My favorite girl.  But Mom? was MOMMY.  Period.

So why can’t this translate for me with my little girl?  I’m reading a book about sleep training that recommends that she gets 14 – 15 hours of sleep a day.  a 1 hour nap in the morning; a  2hour nap early afternoon and then putting her down for the night from 7P – 7A (or 8P – 8A / 9P – 9A).  And I stopped reading right then.   Most nights? I don’t get home till 7P on a good day from work.  If I put her down at 8… i get one hour of her?  In the morning it’s all hustle and bustle to get to work.  So would I only get the 1 – 2 hours to actually get to interact with her per weekday that my mom did?  The whole day she will be with Grandma.  And let me disclaim:  I know I am EXTREMELY LUCKY that E’s mom is retired and extremely spry for 72 years old – PLUS? has an insatiable love for her only grandchild as it stands.  So much so that she’s willing to watch her every day while we are at work for as long as we’ll let her.  I realize there are new moms out there SCRAMBLING to find daycare and hating it and in that aspect I am sincerely blessed.  I had that growing up – a Grandmother whenever I needed her.  I feel poorly that my dearest only has on grandparent that she’ll ever actually have met (at least I had 3 and met all of them).  But as the fates show it – this Grandmother will be her everything if she lets her.  I know I will work in tandem with Ma Cora to get Theeny to where she needs to be – developmentally, spiritually, emotionally.   I just hate that I feel like I’m doing it remotely.   I hate that it’s kind of a toss of the coin whether she’ll be happy to see me at the end of the day or if I’ll be left asking myself “does she even recognize me?”  I feel so distant from her that the bonding hours we do currently have are the ones where she is the most cranky and fussy.  I get a tiny glimpse of my sweet happy little girl in the morning before I have to rush off to work.  I just don’t know what to do.  This is normal, I suppose…  every mom goes through this – right?

How do I get THROUGH – because I am really stuck on this and I’m not sure where the light will come from.  Maybe after this move, things will even out for me and I’ll feel better but as for right now?  I am pretty much all the way miserable.  Miserable at work because I miss her so much.  Miserable when I come home because she doesn’t seem to want to be bothered with me and I get to watch her have a better conversation with the ceiling fan than she would like to have with me.

I wish my mom was here so I could ask her how she did it.

I wish i didn’t have to figure that out.

*

Just nothing nothing nothing compares to being at home with my sweet shnooklie pie.  I miss watching her grow through out the day.  While the look of happiness and excitement on her face to see me come home is something brings me indescribable joy – I’d much rather revel in the varied expressions she’d share with me through out the day.  I find myself trying to cram a days worth of loving and caring for her into the 5 final hours of the day and the first 2 hours of the morning that I get with her.  Pretty much if I’m not breathing her … it seems pretty pointless.

I’m not to the point of melting down at my desk into tears.  It’s more… annoyance.  All things are hurdles that I need to fly over to get back to her and whatever she wants to do with me and for me.  Whether it’s to pitch a fit with me for cleaning her nose or if it’s actually turning towards me to nestle in close and go to sleep – which might seem like nothing but these little moments define me now.    I really LIVE for them.  Other things are just … in the way.

I’m sure I need a few more weeks to just even out.  But I LIKE being all about my baby.  She’s pretty effin fantastic to me and I am fiendish for the experience of her.

Mommy stuff.  3 more hours till I can go to her…

Blech.

*

It was nice having someone to download to every day.

I find myself holding it all in even more because there’s that constant reminder that your baby can feel your mood.  So I try to always be as genuinely happy around my little one as I can – even if it’s her I’m worrying about.  And I do.  A lot.  As a mother should, I suppose.  But it’s more suppression.  And why not talk to the Mr, you say?  Well… he tries.  Honest.  But he’s a man like all men and sometimes the sound of something besides my voice is more attractive.  And I get it.  Plus lately – there’s been a gap in the comm.  I say something, he hears something else and acts on what he heard – not necessarily what I said.  It’s a little frightening.  I don’t want to get to the point where I have to say “Could you repeat back what I said please?” cause that feels a lot like holding his hand like a little kid.  But there are some things I’ll have to do that with because I can’t risk him executing his interpretation. So to that point if I was to unload, I’d want some constructive feed back.  Not just him nodding his head hearing what’s on TV or him hearing something altogether different.

I’ve been chatting to my co-worker about networking more – for work purposes – but maybe this could be two fold.  Network just to increase the base of people that I know and open up my life to new and different voices.  I think I’ll try to start doing that right away.  Wish I had something to go to tonight along those lines.  Hubs is taking the cherub to his e-board meeting.  No real need to rush home.  It’ll just be empty.

Empty and cluttered with the makings of this move.  UGH.  More to think about.  Going back in.

*

Reality -
The most shocking thing to me this whole time is that what they show us on television and what you actually go through being a new mom are so disparate, I understand why mom’s have the baby blues now.  I had them.  And it’s because you think you’re going to pop this little baby out of your belly and she’s going to fall into your arms and stare up into your eyes and love you immediately and unconditionally.  NOT.  TRUE.  Not even close.  Yes – there is the familiarity she/he has because they’ve been stuck in your belly for 9 months and so they only really readily recognize your voice and heartbeat – but that’s where the mush ends.  Bottom line – the little one is on survival mode – so who ever helps her/him to do that? is tops in their book.  They haven’t begun the differentiation on who is their fave or not.  And I acquiesce that this may solely be MY experience but I spent the first month and a half of this baby’s life thinking she plum doesn’t like me.  She would avoid eye contact with me at all costs (when they show you mothers breastfeeding on tv, the babies are always deadlocked into their mother’s eyes); she would cry whenever we tried to provide her basic care – changing diapers, changing clothing, bathing her – she only didn’t cry to eat – from a bottle – she’d cry when I’d give her the breast (and that’s a special kind of “rejection” I was NEVER ready for).  It took a lot of asking experienced moms and reading a lot of articles on babycenter.com to realize that I wasn’t in the minority and that NO, my baby doesn’t hate me (although I did quite revel in the look on her face after she’d cry that conveyed “why did they assign me to THIS family??? What were they thinking? I have to talk to someone about this in the morning… maybe I can still be reassigned…” until she drifted off to sleep exhausted by the thought of our incompetence).  She’s just as traumatized by all of this change as we are and was getting used to it. us. life.   So of course – now as my maternity leave comes to a close, I see glimpses of this wonderment everyone keeps talking about.  The smiling at the sight of me.  The laughing when I smile back.  The cooing when I sing to her.  The gazing deeply into my eyes as if to say “who is this person?  I think I like her…”   It makes me think that the initial was necessary.  She had to break down what our conceptions of care were… that even when she protested – we had to do for her anyway.  She had to strip away these technicolor dreams that had been weaved into our minds since we were kids and teach us to open up to this real, truly unconditional, I-would-give-up-anything-and-everything-for-you love.  When she doesn’t cry now when I change her or bathe her – or just in general when I’m holding her – i feel great.  And I’m out of this world when she smiles or nuzzles with me or when she lets out that contented sigh as she sleeps on my chest.  Would I have appreciated it as much if it came ready to serve when she was born?  Probably not.  But I do worry that if it took this long for her to get to this point – how quickly might she forget me now that I’ll be back in the workplace for the majority of the day and only get to enjoy her fully on the weekends?  I comfort myself with the thought that my mother did it with me with LESS time between her 2 jobs.  But the alternate thought creeps in – maybe I idolized her because she was completely unavailable….  I gotta marinate on that for a while longer.

Momentum -
If nothing else, this has lit a fire under my butt that I can no longer wait for someone to “bring me home” or for anyone to show up on my door step with the opportunity of a life time.  I need to get back into roll-up-my-sleeves mode and bring myself home.  Make me the first millionaire in my family… make sure that my child(ren) want for nothing in this world.  And the only REAL way of doing that is to make sure that I am working for myself in all these hours I put in under the guise of “work”.  It’s great to have a steady job with a regular paycheck and benefits.  Without all of that, there’s no way that this little one would be here today.  I needed insurance to cover ALL that surgery and even to try the IVF (although, God had a different plan on how the conception was going to go down).  So I’m not hating on my job(s) at all.  I just know and have always known that was solidifying someone ELSE’s future.  Not mine and not my family.  So I need to get on my marketing grind.  There is something about me… something about what I can do… or what I can produce (without losing any of my dignity LOL) that SOMEONE is willing to pay for.  Pay handsomely for.  My goal is to find it and exploit it.  SOON.  It may be a complete debunking of what I know to be my “talents” because whatever it is, I’ll have to be so passionate about it that I’d be willing to do it and make NO money if necessary (and sometimes, that won’t be an option).  So some serious exploration needs to begin and come to fruition soon.

Transparency -
I’ve been blogging for a long time now.  I think it’s safe to say that even with my month long (some times year long) stints of not writing on this blog – I started journaling in the 6th grade and I’ve always tried to write down what was happening in my life ever since.  When I become an amazing mogul at whatever it is that I love doing (see previous paragraph) and am a millionairess / billionairess who can afford someone to transcribe my MANY hand written accounts – I will get that done.  Digitally I’ve been blogging since 2000.  That’s 11 years of memories and stories and accounts that I swear if I didn’t write them down, would have been lost to my horrible memory.  This blog has acted as my sounding board… my dumping ground – clearing my head out and getting the images and thoughts out somewhere where I could read and review what I’m thinking… how I feel… see if it makes any real sense.  It just gave me more of an opportunity to explore myself.  Somewhere down the line I started over editing.  I think when I realized that a lot of people were reading what I write (cause I never really expected that)…  I changed what I was writing for the public.  I began to write in a code that as I read back in my own entries – I encrypted so well that I don’t know what I’m talking about.  All that? has to stop.  I need this space to do what it has always done for me – provide clarity.  Document my life experiences.  Keep me honest, sane and lucid.  I’ve been tip toeing around feelings and sensitivities that I just no longer feel the need to do.  I know that the world is now logging all these things in your digital life record and all it takes is googling someone to find out all their sordid details.  I’m not hiding this part of me.  When the progeny looks back (namely my own) they’ll be able to find a real account of their mom having been a real 26 year old having real experiences and growing into whoever she is when they come to know her.  Unlike me who wonders infinitely about who the woman who became my mother was – cause she wasn’t always my mom.  Who did she love before my dad?  What was her relationship like with her parents?  What kinds of relationships did she have with friends and enemies and the nuances therein?  Life stories that might have weighed very heavily for me as life lessons that I missed out on because all I knew was the “perfection” that was my mother.  So.  No more pussyfooting.  Back to being 100% me.  It’s the thing I know how to do best.  I owe it to myself and my family.

It’s GO time…

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Of course the motherhood thing takes precedence.  What an abrupt change!  It really is literally overnight that your whole world changes.  And there’s NOTHING in the 9 – 10 months of gestation that prepares you for the rigors of the actual care and maintenance of the little one.  Actually, if you play your cards right the 9 – 10 months is probably the last bits of really restful sleep / “alone” time you’ll get before it all gets started and stabilized.  But it doesn’t matter.  It’s not like you can save up sleep from those days to carry you through the next few weeks / months that it takes to get a “schedule” going.  Thank God for maternity leave.  I was talking to a woman at work who back in the day had no maternity leave and she had her baby on a Tuesday and was back to work the following Monday.  I think my brain would have exploded if I had to do that.  It’s extremely good that you get those weeks to kind of ease into it all – so if the baby kept you up all night – you can manage to sleep it off the next day and not have to worry about deadlines and things needed from the thousand points of light that normally are always asking something of you.  I have about 5 more weeks to go of this “quiet” in the rest of my life.  But this part of my life is so noisy – I’m not sure it makes a difference.

We’re moving.  E’s mom has a rental property on the top floor of her brownstone and it’s twice the space that we currently have which would give the baby a room of her own and afford us a dining room in addition to the rooms we currently have.   Originally the set up was that she would charge us a discounted rate for the next year so that we could bank about 200 – 300 dollars so that the dream / aspiration of getting our own home could be closer in reach.  But after all the renovations, she is charging us so that we’ll only be able to bank 100 bucks.  So basically paying the same thing we pay now for twice the space.  There are several pros and cons to this whole situation.  The biggest con is that we’ll be living above his mother.  I can’t say I’ve ever seen ONE situation where this ends up with the mother and daughter in law being best of friends upon parting.  I thought it could be different with us.  But as the days pass… I see all the things creeping in that are going to make us fast enemies and put E in compromising situations.   Increasingly more comments about my parenting style… her deciding she wants to care for my daughter the way she wants to and not the way I asked her to…  constant referral to the property upstairs as “hers” (I mean… it is… and we know that… but our current landlady doesn’t show up every few times a week just to remind us that we live on HER property).  We asked her if we could paint the walls to which she responded “Yeah, you can – just don’t mess up my floors.”  Okay.  So I tarped the floors really good and we started getting busy – but E got wrapped up in being picasso for the baby’s room.  So i ended up painting a whole room by myself.  On one of my breaks downstairs to check on the baby and get a little air conditioning she asked me if I thought I was “overdoing it”….  No. I don’t.  When we moved into the current apartment we just started getting things into the house we never thought to paint it with all the furniture coming in.  The walls were and have been eggshell and white.  For four years.  I didn’t want to take the chance that should we be there for longer than 1 year that I’d be living in “heaven” again with all the white walls and ceilings.  But I’m taking it as her asking me if perhaps I can see that SHE perceives me to be going overboard with the painting by her standards.  I wonder if she would have asked a tenant off the street the same question.  This is just one example of MANY quick commentaries I’ve been fielding from her in the last few days that we’ve been at the house painting and preparing for the move.  There’s only so much button-lipdedness I can exercise before I say something……

Then there’s the family dynamic.  When you boil it all the way down and take the frills off of it and cut away the fluff?  I’m the only “stranger” moving into that complex when it goes down.  EVERYONE else in that building is family by blood.  Mother, Aunt, Brothers, Cousins.  I’m the only non-blood relation.  Even my daughter is their blood.  And boy – I’m really feeling it.  I understand that my family is really no where to be found because since I committed the cardinal sin of moving to brooklyn after getting married and away from my Queens based family that I no longer deserve their time / attention / travel to be around me and my family.  And there’s only so much reaching out in their direction I can do without any get back from them.  So decidedly, my little girl will know her father’s family better.  I guess it’s always one side more than the other.  Or at least in my experience.  My brother and I definitely knew my mother’s side of the family waaaay better than my dad’s side.  And that was for whatever reasons – they hadn’t traveled up to America – they didn’t really call a lot or make efforts to visit or ask for us to visit… so  Mom’s side DID – to the point where they lived with us for varied spans of time (which was good and bad) but we knew them.  I do truly feel that I’m all alone there.  I’m the only one not raised in THEIR way.  And so if I say something off color or kilter… I’m the one who’ll get the side eye like “who’s this bitch?”  I’ve never felt like more of an island.  I think that I won’t be able to be myself.  Sing loudly.  Have company.  Play my music on a Sunday morning.  Walk heavy – all for the fear of being reprimanded for… well… being myself.  Meanwhile – everyone else will be just fine.

The family dynamic brings another dimension – PRIVACY.  I believe that for the benefit of saving a whole $100 a month and for essentially living above Mommy-Day-Care for the baby, I am giving up every shred of my personal privacy and freedom.  I think that our apartment will be a veritable Grand Central Station for their family to just run up and down as they see fit.  I may never have time for me and my nuclear family alone.   I’m afraid to come out of the bathroom after a shower (bathroom is in the main hallway 2 doors down from what would be our bedroom) and find a family member of his wandering about.  And I think that enough of that? will be enough to destroy us.  We’re fighting as it is to make sure that we work every day – and that’s been in the vacuum of privacy that is our little apartment where it’s just us.   I am scared that moving in under the bright light of his family’s observance may break us.  I don’t want it to.  I just need to put it in writing to get it out of my head.

On top of ALL of that?  I’m having so much trouble bonding with my little one.  There were umpteen roadblocks stopping us from garnering this natural, ethereal connection that was supposed to be present at birth for her and I.  I couldn’t give birth vaginally.  I didn’t get to hold her in my arms for 6 hours.  I didn’t get to properly begin breastfeeding until 10 days later.   No one would believe that real bonafide side eye action that I get from this girl.  And I know it takes time for some folks.  I’m just worried that all this added “outside” interaction will water it down and I’ll ultimately become just a character in the background for her when she retells her life story.  Not that I wanted top billing?  But as this move draws nigh, I feel less like her mom and more like a glorified nanny who only gets occasional use.  Maybe a little more alone, quiet time together and that might change.  All the mothers I know assure me that this is 100% temporary and that I won’t feel this way for long.  All the articles I read told me that I really shouldn’t have taken on this many life changes post-partum.

I suppose it will all come out in the wash sooner or later.

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I’ll just teach you to validate yourself.  And let that be the priority to you always.  No one else’s say so … should say so.

that alone will free you from many of the shackles I’ve already worn.

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