Moving out of your comfort zone.

After years of being the exception I thought I knew how to survive in the dark dangerous zone of unfamiliarity.  I was part of the brave new world where women were equal to men. I had obtained an honours mathematics and computer science degree from the prestigious University of Waterloo.  I had obtained a master's degree in engineering and was pursuing a doctorate degree in the same subject area.

The first inkling of a flaw in my internal logic with respect to gender came while I was pregnant for the second time (I miscarried my first).  I vividly remember being in the women's bathroom of my engineering graduate school department and looking myself in the mirror and saying to myself:  "Wow, being a woman sucks."

The precipitous 'event' which was less an event but more of an all encompassing new way of life for me at that time was being nauseous 24/7. It was horrible. Horrible enough to wish I wasn't a woman. It seemed grossly unfair to me that biology had dictated not only labour (of which I was mortally afraid and as it turned out, with good reason) but also this feeling of wanting to throw up, constantly.  Morning sickness became a cruel euphemism ridiculing my constant state of gagging. I wonder if Princess Kate had this same realization.

Upon reflection I see that this nausea was perhaps a biological reminder that by becoming a parent, you move so far out of your comfort zone that a warm up sure doesn't hurt. Science doesn't seem to support this idea but how could it?  How could this idea even be tested?

Yet, if you ask any parent if they believe having children moved them out of their comfort zone I believe you would get 100% concurrence on this sentiment as well as an addendum:  "Most rewarding thing I've ever done."

So, forgetting the science, ask yourself what is making you uncomfortable, right now?  Could it be something that if you persevere it will end up rewarding you?

I'm grappling with these questions even as I type these words.  Some of the reading I've been doing about the art and practice of writing suggests that if you are painfully extracting words from deep within, you have found your voice. I am all too familiar with this notion yet constantly reject practicing (i.e. like maintaining this blog). 

And now, she can vote.

In a curious alignment of the stars in the universe (and on this planet) today's date in 1994 had Johnny Depp on the cover of People magazine.  I missed that cover.  I was busily delivering what was going to be my own personal star that day. That morning, to be more precise.

My daughter was delivered at 11:50 a.m. on October 3.  Eighteen years ago today.

My daughter. My only. My star.

On that date those magical two words rolled off my tongue like the most exquisitely composed orchestral score for the very first time. My daughter.

We didn't know her gender and I had determined, through anything but scientific means, that I was carrying a boy. I can be stubborn like that, even still.  So when her little wee clearly female crotch came out of me and I saw it in the mirror they thoughtfully had placed in order to see the results of my 39 hours and 20 minutes of labour (yes, it was vaginal and yes I begged to be cut open but my family doctor thoughtfully refused even though I really really begged).  I almost didn't get to see that little crotch hanging half out of me and half still inside since I wasn't exactly in the mood for pensive mirror reflections (refer to previously detailed length of labour as to the explanation for the mood I was in).  It was my family doctor who was also my delivering physician, who demanded me to look. Again, I thank her for that thoughtful command.

The miracle of birth and the astonishment about my daughter's crotch simultaneously collided in my head and I was literally transformed from awkward pregnant blob into a full blown mother of a daughter in that instant. It was likely also the instant that the post-birth hormones were released since I've never felt that sort of high before or since. And the high sustained itself for days despite my exhaustion.  I can feel an echo of it even today by concentrating on that instant.

I've rattled and prattled about Daughter here before. Yes, she is in university now. Yes I've had a few struggles as a single mom and all that.

But there are a few things I've neglected to mention and on the occasion of her 18th birthday I think it's about time I came out with a few things about her.  First of all, she is awesome (and smart and funny and all those things you expect a mother to say about her child but in this case it's 100% true).  And second of all, she seems to have a fan girl crush on Johnny Depp. And since I just found out that he was on the cover of the world's most respected gossip rag (arguably) the day she was born I guess I'm gonna have to excuse her nearly lifelong attraction to this actor despite my (often stated) misgivings about the age difference. So I'll just come right out and say it directly to her:  "You can have him sweetie...I'll move out the way now....consider it your first birthday present as an adult :)"

"Next":  Command performance of 1st year birthday cake eating complete.
No more disgusting chocolate frosted cake. Where's the vanilla ice cream?

Brand Spankin'

Marleeville November 15, 2011

I've seen both of them, but rarely together. Actually I've seen the three of them but only once altogether. I've seen them many times in the last few weeks. They are always walking down the middle or on the side of my uptown suburbanish wide street. They never walk down the sidewalk.  I've seen them in the sun, wind and rain. And at all times of the day.

The thing about not keeping a regular schedule is that it is a little like stepping up onto the desk à la Dead Poet's Society: You get to see the world and it's happenings through a sort of prism rather than just a plain clear glass. A neighbourhood is a dynamic place and not just full of people getting up and regularly stuffing themselves into a cubicle. And my neighbourhood is no exception but due to the inflation of housing prices in this city there are fewer and fewer young families about. The last baby born on my street was whisked away to a bigger house this past summer. It seems that the post war bungalows on this street no longer suit the families of today. It is troubling that these same bungalows were entirely suitable for the large contingent of italian and portugese immigrant families in the 1950s thru 1970s.  Many of the dwindling stock of bungalows (developers are slowly gentrifying my 'hood), have aging matriarchs and patriarchs still canning tomatoes and making wine every fall.  Most of the remaining non-gentrified bungalows have single or coupled folk living with no children.  Infants are few and far to be seen in this area.

So when I first saw the woman walking down the middle of my road pushing a covered stroller I recognized immediately the confluence of spring in her step and weariness on her brow. Such a dichotomy can only make an appearance during a unique phase in one's life. The Brand Spanking New Parent phase. This phase is so brief and so infectious that I swear just a small vicarious dose of it during one's reproductive years instills the desire, nay carnal urge, to reproduce and live through this phase first hand. And having lived it myself I have to confess that seeing it again, albeit quite vicariously as a voyeur neighbour, gives me a sense of communion with this world that I don't know if I could also feel if I had not.

Before the biological clock turned off for me, a mere few years ago, I might have viewed this quite differently. My womb would feel barren and I would intellectualize the impracticality of more children. Now my heart sings with delight. The difference is marvelous and like all new experiences I am nearly raw with emotion after seeing Brand Spanking New Dad walking down my street today.

It seems that this Brand New Child is rather difficult. I suspected this right from my first sighting of Brand New Mom going down my street on an early fall evening.  I noticed immediately that she was gingerly directing the stroller away from any noise making opportunities (crunchy leaves). I was walking my dog and she gave me a winning smile (Brand New Mom hormones emanating!). I wouldn't have dreamed to talk to her after seeing the way she was avoiding the leaves. I had a Brand New Child like that. A child that didn't sleep and then once asleep was easily woken. So the Brand New Mom and I have merely exchanged smiles when I see her out on the street.  I see Brand New Dad less frequently and he also emanates a winning smile.  I think I've them together only once. I try to force as much empathy into my smile as possible because I remember the desperation that comes with all the other wonderful new experiences as a Brand New Parent. The desperation for sleep. A solid night. Oh jaysus what I wouldn't have done for a solid 6 hour night in that first year.

And this morning, from my front window, I see Brand New Dad go down the mostly leafless side (on the road, not the sidewalk) of my recently paved and beautifully smooth street. There is a very slight downward grade on my street. Both Brand New Parents walk the length of this downward grade and turn around rather than pushing the baby carriage up the steeper incline that follows. So I watch and wait for him to turn around (I'm near the end of this sloping grade). I have not seen Brand New Dad as often as Brand New Mom so I was watching openly from my front window. He was distracted by trying to sneak a peak at Brand New Child while still pushing at the same fairly brisk pace that some Brand New Children demand. My own Brand New Child liked to be rocked at a definite upbeat tempo and this rocking had to be done with an upright adult, in their arms, in a particular position. This became more and more difficult for me as the desperation for a decent nights sleep kicked into high gear about 2 months into Brand New Parenting.

The penny dropped as I was musing about my own experiences while watching Brand New Dad this morning from my front window. Brand New Mom has probably hit that desperation for sleep point so on a Tuesday morning Brand New Dad possibly took a morning off work in order to get Brand New Baby to sleep after a very difficult night.  Lately I have been having difficulty sleeping and the gratitude that I no longer face Brand New Child sleep deprived insanity overwhelmed me.

And oh yes, the above picture is Brand New Dad at the end of my street.  The Brand New Parents don't live on my street but since my street is the widest and smoothest one in the area I suspect it's worth travelling to.  I wonder what other adventures Brand New Child will introduce to Brand New Parents during his/her lifetime.  I hope they are joyous and more restful than this first one!

You are my fate.

Daughter turns 17 today.  This means that I got to say "my daughter" for the first time 17 years ago.

Language is so powerful.  These two words melted my heart for days, if not weeks after uttering them for the first time.  Even today I can tap into the wonder and marvel of those words and feel my heart melt a little.

There are so many hormones involved in this thing called mothering.

When I went on that farm trip a couple of weeks ago I felt like I was going to 'let down' when they started milking the cow.  It blew my mind that all these years later I could still empathetically release oxytocin by merely watching a cow getting milked (by machine even!).

I was a staunch La Leche League (LLL) member.  Attachment parenting, etc.  My daughter's crib turned out to be a great clothes hamper - i.e. she rarely slept in it..maybe twice - and since she grew by leaps and bounds in that first year a good clothes sorting basket was a handy thing to have (albeit a bit pricy).  Once I start earning a living wage again I intend to put LLL to the top of my donation list.  They are an amazing organization for new parents to turn to for support in all aspects of parenting.

I remember being amazed learning through LLL that some women who adopted could train their breasts/bodies to lactate. With the cooperation of the new born infant.  The miracle of birth is one thing but learning about this marvel of the female body completely gobsmacked me.  Hormones.

Daughter was a real snuggler, well after being weaned,  and really only stopped snuggling with me when she started snuggling with her teenage friends.  They regularly lie all over each other in the school hallways with heads on laps, feet on arms, etc.  There is nothing sexual about it (not overtly) and they are all platonically affectionate with each other.

I find this amazing.  At 17 I was not lying around on anyone's lap that I also wasn't furtively groping on Friday/Saturday nights.  Affection was always regarded as a prelude to something sexual.  And frankly I'm not sure if that was a nature or nurture thing.  I think catholicism and a general prudity of culture lingering in my 1980s suburb world had a lot more to do with it than I would have thought even 10 years ago.

My child, now a young woman, has been raised with the assurance that she is loved.  I know that she is nearly finished putting on her wings and will soon fly away.  That breaks my heart in some ways but I also know that this attachment parenting thing goes well beyond the nursing stage.  Hormonal human bonds transcend biology, as evidenced by the adoptive mothers that trick their bodies.  As daughter herself put it best in one of her notes to me long ago:  "You are my fate".