Baby Book is Complete

     How did this happen? When did my first baby become a child? I have reached the end of her baby book. There are no more pages to fill out. No more infant-firsts, no more baby experiences to be had by my oldest. 

    She is in school. I know she will have many more firsts, but the infant time, the baby time, the toddler time... are all memories. I wouldn't say the time flew by. But it passed with an aching speed that I fought and held on to, cursed and blessed, railed against and reveled in. I cannot believe her baby book is full.

     Her legs are so long now. I can still carry her. She still wants endless snuggles and asks if she can sleep with mommy and daddy. I still catch her sneaking into my bed in the early hours of the morning. She's brimming with bat facts, obsessed with "Teeniepings", and resolutely dedicated to the color purple. She's a picky eater, and a warrior for animals, insisting all things should be taken care of, even sharks. But not ants. She hates ants. There's no page in her baby book for that though. 

   How can it be full? How is there not a page for her 10th birthday? Her first day of high school? Her wedding day? How can the first day of Kindergarten mark the last day of having her be my baby? I can't wrap my head around it. I have so much babying left to do. 

   Will she let me grab her and snuggle her like this in a year? What will her first day of 1st grade look like? Will we live here? My husband Petal has already applied to move overseas. What if we're somewhere in Europe? Or in the tropics? How come there's no page in the baby book for moving? 

   Will we remember everything about these years living at home? What if she forgets because there's nothing to hold on to? I remember everything about my childhood because I lived in my childhood home until I was an adult. What if she doesn't have that? She already doesn't remember where she was born. She was only 2 when we moved here. How can we move again? 

    Are we making the right choices for her, or is this selfish? I wish I knew what to do. I wish I knew what to look out for... what was important to remember... but there are no more pages in her baby book. No more memories to fill in. No more predetermined questions for me to discover the answers to. I just have to... figure it out, I guess. 

To-Do List Undone

Its never enough even when its too much

The smell of your head, hair soft to the touch. 

I’ve forgotten the screaming from when you were awake. 

I’ve forgotten the chores you made me forsake. 

All I see is an angel where my opponent once stood, 

The light of my life, all gentle and good. 

Did I really sigh in frustration when I heard you cry?

Did I prioritize tasks when you were nearby? 

Who was the person who dared put you down

For the sake of the laundry, that stupid old clown?

It couldn’t have been me when I love you so

That I sit right here even when I could go. 

To-do lists still waiting; interrupted, half-done

But all I can do is sit and watch my dear one.

Watch you snore in your bed, mouth slightly a-gape

Making no use of the time I have tried to escape. 

I want to bottle each moment and save them for later,

When I’m less stressed, but time is a traitor. 

It never sits still, much like these children of mine

Who keep on growing and changing with time. 

I wouldn’t change it, each stage is a gift, 

But wouldn’t it be nice if I wasn’t on shift?

No more working, just games to be played 

With these wonderful children, the people I’ve made. 

Don’t give up on me when I’ve had a bad day,

I’m sorry. And thank you. Its all I can say. 

I love you, Tallulah, Evie and Finn. 

You make this a life I’m thrilled  to be in. 

Tired like a Mother

 I feel so used up by the end of each day. I have no more patience, no more energy, no more brain power. My body has been a playground all day, pulled on, poked, scratched, pushed against, fed on. My skin is sore from constant touches, but so is my soul, my emotional capacity, even my aura feels totally and completely touched out. Overstimulated, overwhelmed, overworked, over everything. The noise has been too loud, too constant, too worrying. Who hit who? What show can we all agree on? Is that the baby in the bedroom, waking up from a nap? Let's play the song one more time and then be done. Is there any chance anyone wants to go outside and be loud out there so mommy can have five minutes of silence? My brain is full of lists, groceries that need to be purchased, chores that need to be done. We just had a four day weekend, did he really not get to the lawn? When is the package with summer clothes arriving? Do we already need more diapers? I really need to go through everyone's drawers and pull out the things that don't fit... I'm always playing catch up. I'm so tired. I'm so drained. I'm so empty.

But also full. I am full of love. I'm full of kisses, and answers to questions, and songs. I'm full to overflowing for these tiny amazing crazy-makers. I have time for one more book, one more song, one more kiss, one more prayer over the heads of my sleepy-eyed babies. I could get up one more time for one more last minute need. Because there always is. One more request for water. One more precious snuggle. One more question about the mysteries of the universe.

And when the new baby, baby number three, daughter number two, my sweet and precious angel, needs to be snuggled and fed at some ungodly hour of the night, I will have more milk, more snuggles, I will lean in to smell that little head, even though I've sniffed it a thousand times today. And when the older two come in at the crack of dawn, while my husband gets up to get ready for his day at work, I will have arms enough for all three of them, one more hour of sleepy snuggles until they begin their day of making requests and demands. 

I will survive this part of life. And I know I will look back on it with fondness and longing and exhaustion and gratitude. I will mourn the loss of the littlest phase, missing the babies and toddlers who have sprouted to children and teens and adults. There will never be enough. And yet it is exactly enough. And too much. The universe is packed into a marble. And I keep finding it in the pockets of my kids' clothing before processing a thousand loads of laundry. 

Stickers and Rainbows

I have always been a maximalist

Covering my walls in the art that I love

Piling mismatched pillows high

Shelves of collections, 

Tiny treasures, stunning sparkles, and nifty knick-knacks

Each a tiny part of my personality

Each a little spark of joy. 

I fell in love with bursts of color young 

And I never let go.

Did I pick orange, or did orange pick me?

I was always going to be myself

100% original, the good and the bad, the flaws and flairs 

Of a girl who mostly knew her mind.

I'm still that way.

Each wall a different color.

Each room a testimony to my love of rainbows.

Art heavy. Candle rich. Figures for the eye to see. 

I make no apologies for my decorative taste. 

Its not everyone's cup of tea, 

But that has never bothered me.

So why do I struggle so with everything else?

I want to be thin, and quiet and digestible

I want to be easy and agreeable and suggestible.

I want no one to have a problem with who I am

I want to be everyone else's biggest fan.

I don't know how to just be me 

and let go of everyone else's negativity.

Dependapotamus

 Dependapotamus. I heard the term pretty early in in my marriage to my military husband. Stuck in Guam with very little contact home, completely dependent on a man I had only known for a year and a half over Skype, never having lived on my own before… hearing a term that completely encapsulated who I was and what I did was horrifying. I didn’t work. I had no car, developed a crippling case of social anxiety, and no desire to leave the house without this stranger I married. I had no kids, which made my status even lower in the eyes of every responsible human on the planet. I literally stayed home all day everyday with nothing to do but eat, tidy, process the occasional basket of laundry… eventually we got a dog and I worked on training him but there were still many hours in the day lost to binging tv shows and worrying.

   My husband said it with such ease… casually mocking this hypothetical Hippopotamus-sized leech on society with his buddy, never once stopping to consider that I, his wife, the woman he promised to honor and cherish forever… not only fit the criteria perfectly, but couldn’t escape the weight of guilt the label carried with it. I was this person. I still am. I didn’t want to be someone worthy of being mocked. I didn’t want to be a fat, selfish, lazy blight on society. When I tried to bring my insecurity, my fear, my disgust that this is how the world must see me… when I tried to say all this to my husband, he half-heartedly tried to reassure me that I was most certainly NOT a dependapotamus. But still… the guilt remained.  

   It wasn’t until a few weeks ago, when I was visiting my sister for my birthday, that I finally felt free from the burden of this rank. I casually dropped the term in front of my sisters, self-mocking, but drenched with insecurity, they were both horrified. My younger sister said, “What a horrible word! You are NOT a dependapotamus. But you know what? No one ever called that is.” This struck me cold. I realized that she was right. No woman married to a military man, stuck at home in some foreign place, far from family and friends, possibly raising children, DESERVED to be called that horrible name. Here I was, terrified of being lumped in with some disgusting hippo-like creature, mooching of the hard-working, upstanding military men… when they probably all felt the exact same way. Normal women. Married and struggling to feel worthy. Riddled with insecurities. I am not better than them. I am not different. Because we are all supporting our men. Cleaning houses. Raising children. Doing the invisible work of stay-at-home mothers and homemakers. 

  I am not a dependapotamus. But I identify with every other woman who has ever worried that she was one. And if I am a dependapotamus, than my husband is too because he depends on me just as much as I depend on him. 

A Small Update

 I haven't written much lately. I have been trying to keep up in my journal and reading and taking care of my babies and home while being pregnant. I guess the blog has just sort of taking the back of my priorities list. I don't really have much to say, but I wanted to update this for the first time in a while. 2021 hasn't been depressing for me... I have enjoyed many of the changes that it's brought. 

    I feel for my sister, though. 2021 has not been kind. I worry about her and her family a lot. I'm so glad I live close to them. I think I would be freaking out a lot more if I didn't get to see her all the time. Somehow, being close... even though I'm powerless and pretty useless to help... I feel like being close is enough. She supports me through so much, I feel guilty that I don't know how to do more for her. But she never makes me feel like I fall short. And I hope she knows how much I love her. 

    I was working for a small elementary school teaching drama, but I'm not really doing that now. I just sub when they ask me to. I wish I could do more for that school. It's been such a lifeline for my family.

    We have had a lot of drama in my family over my dad's needs and failures. He is a good person whom I love very much, but the man is full of human fault. There's only so much that people can put up with before boundaries must be drawn and if there's one thing my dad doesn't know how to handle, it's feeling rejected by other's boundaries. I appreciate his ability to PRETEND like he gets it, or like it doesn't get to him. But I know how vulnerable he is. I hope his therapist helps him deal with some of his narcissistic tendencies.

    Once again, I am trying to "read" the whole Bible this year. I did it last year (took me a liiiittle longer than a year). I'm really listening to the Bible app read it to me. But I don't know that I have opened my heart any more than it was open the last time I tried to do this. I feel like I need something... more educational. Its one thing to listen to a book read outloud. Its another thing to learn to understand it. I don't have the peace that passes understanding. My life is too filled with chaos. 

    Here I am, a few weeks away from Thanksgiving. This year really flew by. Covid has limited a lot of our ability to fill our time with all the things we thought we would get to do moving back back... but I thank God every day that we are here with family and not across the country suffering through the pandemic alone. 

    Next weekend, I think my husband is going to take the kiddos to his folks. I'm looking forward to it, I haven't had a break like that for a long time. I'm hopeful that I get the vacation I hope it will be and I can rest. It will be my own private "babymoon" before baby number three joins us next February. I will miss out on visiting with my extended family, but I'm willing to make the sacrifice! 

Ruin His Life

 I met Das the month after my baby sister died and we became fast friends. Growing up in the mountains, being homeschooled, and having the unique parents I did, his friendship was a welcome reprieve to my loneliness. He was an odd boy and we had a lot of ups and downs in our friendship. But knowing someone that well for that long, it wasn't impossible to pretend we were family. His parents were weirder and poorer than mine. He envied my many siblings. But his weird streak drove wedges and the longer I knew him, the less we had in common. We drifted apart in our high school years, but he still came to visit me a few times while I was at boarding school. It was through those visits he eventually met my soon-to-be best friend and his soon-to-be wife. 

My best friend moved in with me the year after we graduated. It was New Years Eve when she got kicked out of the house she had been living in with an old lady from Das's church. I offered my parents home to her and she accepted. 

She grew up in less than ideal circumstances, I won't go into the details, but suffice to say she became the amazing, motivated, loving, compassionate, headstrong person she is today despite her childhood, not because of it. I think Das, despite his parents and his poverty was a saving grace for her. I think my slightly less weird parents and slightly less impoverished poverty was another. 

She was on the top bunk in our shared room when she got a call at the crack of dawn. It was the police station. Das had been picked up for breaking into a car and stealing an ipod. She scrounged up bail from one of her family members and we picked him up that evening in her boat-of-a-first car. He was rather quiet on the way home. But the story changed the more people he told. He never quite saw it as his fault that he had been arrested. I don't know that his parents ever heard the truth. No charges were pressed. It was his first infraction and they didn't want to ruin his life.

He was caught stealing from his job shortly after and was quietly let go. He never owned up to it, never admitted it to anyone. But my grandfather golfed with Das's boss. I knew the whole story. But... No charges were pressed. He was such a nice guy, he made one mistake. They didn't want to ruin his life.

He broke up with my best friend for a while. It seemed like he wanted to work on himself. I don't know what he was actually doing, but we took him at his word and let him grow as a person. I admit, I was glad he was out of our lives for a little while so my best friend and I could date boys together, build our friendship, and become closer than ever. It was a nice time. Eventually they got back together and I felt like he had matured in their time apart. He was calmer. He had a steady job. He was going to church. It felt like they were on the right path.

They got married Dec. of 2013. She got pregnant on the honeymoon. At 7 months pregnant, trapped at home in the mountains of my youth with no car to go anywhere, alone most of the time... (I had moved to Guam) She discovered he was cheating on her through texts on his phone. He never owned up to all of it, only the pieces he couldn't deny because she had seen it with her own eyes. But she stuck by him. He was a nice guy. She didn't want to ruin his life. She told no one... Not even me. 

I came home for my sister's wedding. My best friend's daughter was just over 1 year old. We went swimming in the hot, late-summer evening after working all day to prepare for the ceremony hosted on my family's farm. My best friend and I swam out in the lake to a small island, lovingly named "Duck Poop Island". We strolled around looking for nests even though they had long been abandoned. I don't remember how she said it, but I remember when she finally did. I cried. She cried. I was shaken. This shouldn't have happened to my beautiful best friend. I couldn't believe how bravely she had borne it alone. For how long she had kept her hurt hidden. 

She came to visit me in SD with her daughter and it felt like the final nail in the coffin of her marriage. She was done. She was ready to ruin his life. She wanted to be out of an unhappy marriage. Her daughter had just turned 2. I think it was the bravest, best thing she could have done. It took a full year for her divorce to go through, but the following Christmas, she got the best present she could have ever given herself. 

Shortly after she divorced her husband, my cousin came sniffing around. He had kind of always been there in a strange background way. We used to run to the windows and peek out at him, giggling like little girls when he would come to visit my grandmother next door. He had this effortless charm about him. He didn't try to impress anybody, always spoke the truth, and never cared if he seemed cool. A total opposite of Das. He had once made a joke after spending some time with Das, my best friend, and their daughter that he was ready to find a wife, but only one like my best friend. And he hoped he would have a kid like their's. So it might come as no surprise that two years after her divorce, my best friend celebrated her second wedding... to my cousin. We were finally family. 

Its hard to put into words the type of person Das is. If you know anything about narcissistic personality disorder... it sums him up nicely. If you understand emotional abuse, you'll know what life was like for my best friend being married to him. She shrunk to a size 6 being married to him and he still berated her to lose weight. He made her delete facebook, wouldn't let her share photos of her daughter to family over text or email (the government is watching), refused to have anything in the house that wasn't organic and "chemical-free", even clothing. She once brought home an organic cheese that had a fancy word for "salt" in the ingredients and he made her throw it away unopened. Anything that threatened his intelligence was forbidden from their house. I once got into a debate with him about something and every time she opened her mouth, whether to agree or disagree with him, he snapped at her to shut up and let him speak. You could catch him in a lie with undeniable proof in your hands and he would still weasel his way out of it and try to make YOU feel like the crazy one. Gaslighting. Put-downs. Manipulations. 

Das lingers. Co-parenting with a narcissist might be a little better than being married to one... but not by much. He fought her every step of the way. He wanted everything 50-50 on paper, but wanted her to take 90% of the responsibilities in real life. It was all about looking good in court and nothing about actually being a good father. He stuck his daughter in a pantry big enough for a twin mattress and called it a bedroom. Their daughter would come home exhausted, rashy, filthy and hungry because he couldn't be bothered with things like bed time, wiping her after she used the toilet, baths, and feeding her a solid meal. But he "took parenting classes online" so the courts granted 50-50 custody. 

When my best friend discovered he stole her mail and used money from a refund she was expecting from her cable company and used it to buy a gun for his friend, she called the cops. Nothing happened. She called again. She went down there. Over and over, they fumbled it but she persisted until a real cop who cared took the case on. He got the DA involved. It took a year for anything to happen with it, but finally, they began the process to charge him with two felonies and two lesser charges. The felonies were stealing mail and using stolen money to buy a gun. He threatened her. He said he would kidnap their daughter and run and she would never be able to find them if she moved forward with the case. She got a restraining order. He fought to overturn it and won, but he's no longer allowed to come to her property and they meet at the police station every day to pick up and drop off their daughter. 

She has suffered through so many court hearings. She has paid so much money to a lawyer. She has fought for her rights tooth and nail. Covid hit and court moved to phone calls. And now... finally... a verdict. He was told to pay back the money he stole... and they dropped everything. She protested. She fought for more. But they said, "This is his first infraction. He's such a nice guy. We don't want to ruin his life."