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Broken Thought Process Thursday: On being a mom, seeing Mraz, and feeling like a sleepy cow

Thought I’d jump on the bandwagon with Jenn, Ginger, Bree, & whomever else that’s a sucker for trend…

I’ve been away from writing for too long. I have a dozen or so poems rattling around in my head, but I don’t know where to start. They’re tangled like last year’s strands of Christmas lights. And somewhere, a bulb is out. Or more. Probably more.

Life as a mom of 3 boys is off to a good start. For those who haven’t heard through other channels, I gave birth to our third little boy over a month ago. He was 5 1/2 weeks early and had to hang out at the hospital for a couple weeks, but really, overall, everything went well. And even given the fact that it was a preterm delivery, I have to say that it was the best labor experience I’ve had. Though there was some concern because he was early, I was not overcome by it like I was when our second made a surprise arrival (also at 34 1/2 weeks). We knew what to expect: he’d be swept away quickly because his lungs would likely be underdeveloped, he’d likely be jaundiced, he would be slow to learn to nurse, and he’d stay at the hospital for about two weeks. All were true in this case as they had been with our #2.

With the birth of a baby comes the hormonal roller coaster (just ask my husband, sister & mom). Call it “Baby Blues” if you want, but really, that sounds cuter than it is. Sometimes it hits like a blow to the gut and knocks the wind out of a girl. It’s as overwhelming as the factors it exaggerates. Does that make any sense? Let me try again: the physical reaction a “Blues Flash” can cause is as stressful in itself as are the stressful factors (from maintaining a household to reworking career plans to finances) that can trigger the “episode” itself.

I feel like my hours and energy are constantly being sucked away from me. The only time I feel like I have time is when I’m at work. That’s right, my baby is under 6 weeks old and I’ve been back to work for 2 weeks now. Granted it’s part-time, but still. But I knew that going into this. It’s a small company (that isn’t ruled by FMLA) and they don’t offer short term disability or maternity leave. I’m not holding that against them — I like the company, the people I work with, and the job I do — but when I’ve been there these past 2 weeks, I SO don’t want to be there. Time drags. I can’t help but think of the gazillion things I have to do here at home.

Since our little angel was born, it’s been busy here. The first 2 weeks involved visiting the hospital multiple times a day. The good thing is that we’re less than 10 minutes from the hospital. The bad thing is that being so close, a parent feels like s/he should commit to being there at every chance. That’s unreasonable. Especially when there are 2 other kids at home who aren’t allowed into the NICU. So it was good to get the little guy home. Of course, while he was at the hospital, we were guaranteed uninterrupted sleep at night!

Still, sleep hasn’t been so bad. Right around 5 weeks the little man started (sporadically) sleeping through the night. That coincided with him rolling over. That’s right, folks. This 1-month-old preemie has rolled over! Granted it was from belly to back (easier than the other) and in a fit of frustration, but he did it. He constantly scoots around if he’s on his tummy. We’ve got to watch out for this one! He’s determined to catch up to his big brothers!

Even with all the craziness that comes with a new baby, I managed to go to see Jason Mraz at the end of July.  That was funny.  So, the show was scheduled for an outdoor venue in Charlotte.  The short of it is, it POURED.  I’m talking, this storm was the lovechild of a Katrina & Hugo.  Or not quite, but that’s how it seemed.  The tickets stated “rain or shine” no one wanted to leave even though the weather was miserable.

But about 2 hours after the show was to have started, they officially gave up on the original plans.  And lucky for us — all the soaking wet concert goers — because the storm knocked out the soundstage system, they offered a do-over.  Not rainchecks, mind you, because they wouldn’t refund on behalf of the rain.  We were given the option that night to (A) Leave & get a refund, (B) stick around and TRY to get into the limited audience show in the indoor venue they moved to (try fitting something like 8K into 1.5K space), or (C) use your ticket at a rescheduled show at a later date at the original outdoor venue.  Because I was there alone (another story), and I couldn’t be sure if I’d be able to swing the “later date”, and I sure wasn’t going to give up on seeing Mraz, I stuck around.

The show was great, but by the time it was over after 1 am, my feet were really killing me (as were my engorged boobs).  But I was glad I stayed.  I was even more happy with my decision when musictoday decided to invite those of us who went to the soaking wet show back to the rescheduled show!  So my ticket has turned out to be a 2 for 1 afterall!  And I didn’t even have to have a baby at the show! 😉

I’ve been trying to nurse (see previously mentioned engorged boobs). Well, no, I’ve been nursing, but the little guy is an inefficient participant. He likes the snuggling aspect of it, but he doesn’t eat enough that way. He prefers the “big gulp” of a bottle. So I’ve been expressing milk. I feel like a cow. Moo. I’ve had to ask a friend to loan me some freezer space for the excess milk.

Ok, TMI alert. Now I know this one is weird, and some might be grossed out by this: on occasion I’ve instinctively licked a stray drop or two of my milk off of my hand. This has led me to a surprise realization: my milk tastes a lot like Silk original flavor soy milk. Ok. Like I said, TMI, I’m sure, but it’s not like I’m asking anyone to do a taste test. Note, the consistencies are way different.

Also note, not that I’ve tried or ever wanted to, but apparently it’s not possible to make cheese out of breastmilk. Just sayin.

Considering that I really should accomplish something before the boys wake from their naps, I’m wrapping this up now before my lack of filter loses me another reader.

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"Do you sing?"


A few nights ago — or mornings, rather — Jason Mraz met me in my subconscious again. Even as my husband spooned me in the stolen moments before the alarm went off, I couldn’t help but savor the interactive screenplay in my head.

In my dream, I was at an outdoor concert, one where the parking lot was a field constrained by woods. It was nearing the end of a clear summer day. Near the woodline, I could feel the cool breath of evening, but still, the air was heavy with the heat and humidity of late July in Pennsylvania.

The concert was nearing an end, and Jason had just “disappeared” from the stage though the show continued; most of the crowd was still at the stage. I, however, was in the parking lot. I had missed the very end of Jason’s set in hopes of catching up with him at the bus. Sure enough, as he sprinted to the bus, somehow without an entourage or gaggle of starstruck fans, I was able to catch him. He had a huge, black afro wig in hand, presumably to disguise himself as he made his great escape. (At this point, we could hear that the crowds were on their way.) I asked if he had a minute before he got on the bus. He obliged, stressing though, that it needed to be quick. I introduced myself as being a huge fan, and thanked him for his influence and inspiration.

He was sweet and thanked me. And then he asked:

“Do you sing?”

I started babbling, “No, I mean, I was in chorus in high school, but not because I was any good, just because they needed people for the ensemble.”

As I did what I do in real life, talking myself in circles, he slipped the hilariously conspicuous “disguise” head piece onto his head.


And right about then, my alarm went off.

I hit snooze and tried to go back to dreamland. Alas, it was gone. All but that line:

“Do you sing?”

That’s really stuck with me. Even as I babbled in my dream, I knew I wasn’t answering the question my subconscious-posing-as-mraz asked.

***

As a kid at Sts. Peter & Paul Catholic school, Mrs. Zana, our music teacher once told the class, “When you sing, it’s like praying twice.” I didn’t know then that she was paraphrasing, St. Augustine: “Qui cantat, bis orat” or”To sing once is to pray twice.” Years and years later, Mraz raised the point again in his “1000 Mother******s.”

The sentiment has stuck with me along with Psalm 100:1: “Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all ye lands.” Take those along with the image of God as Loving Father, braid those three thoughts, and you have one of one of my deepest “faith roots.” It makes me smile to hear someone at church singing loudly off-key. (Often I’m just hearing myself.) It makes me think of how much I love to hear my children (neither of whom could be mistaken for members of the Von Trapp family) sing with abandon. I think their songs are something like what we give to God, when we sing with our hearts.

But I noticed that I haven’t really been singing lately. I mean, yes, I sing at church, along with the radio, and every word of “We Sing We Dance We Steal Things.” But I haven’t really been singing with intent, with my voice or otherwise. Really, my life has been a lot of humming lately.

I want to change that. I’m just not sure what song to sing.

So now, I ask you:

“Do you sing?”
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Only human. (expect me to err)

So, I’m aware I’ve broken my initial promise about this blog. Though I’d resolved to write at least once a week, it’s been a few minutes short of 10 days. And still, I don’t know what to write — but not for lack of content.

Where do I start?

Ok, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to post the condensed version first. Then hopefully tomorrow, or Saturday at least, I’ll bury it with something happier, though some of the following is wonderfully happy. But most is less than cheerful.

So, here’s what the last week has entailed:

  • Thurs. 4/17
    • 8:30 am – Mom calls to say Grandpap had been moved the day before from the hospital (where he’d been for over 2 weeks) to an assisted living facility for further recovery. Unfortunately, they didn’t “assist his living” so well and allowed his bloodsugar to drop dangerously low, resulting in him being taken by paramedics to the ICU. His heart was only functioning at 15%
    • 9 am – 5:45 pm – work at the office. Of course, I was planning on leaving at 5 on the dot, but the projects had been piled on that day, so I had to stay late instead of leaving early.
    • 5:50 pm – After a speedy change of clothes, I dashed to the car to drive to the concert, still hoping to get there about 6:45. Instead, I hit traffic, followed bad directions, followed more bad directions, drove around way more than necessary because of bad stupid google directions to BFE, not the concert venue. Called my husband no less than 6 times trying to get to where I needed to be. Screamed out of frustration while driving. Oh, and somewhere in there I hit a chick-fil-a drive-thru for dinner.
    • 7:28 pm – I finally arrive & jump out of the car, dash to pick up my ticket and get my butt inside. I saw Jason heading in (grey stocking cap and all) from the bus right before I did, so I figured I couldn’t be too late. (The show was to start at 7:30.)
    • 7:30-11-ish pm – I did my crazy geeky white-girl-with-no-rhythm “dance” and totally was that girl that Jason talks about on the Schubas “Did You Get My Message” audience participation track — that girl who just would not shut up! And I had no shame. (Apologies to anyone around me, really… sorta.)
    • 11 – 11:45 pm – Got a hug & a photo op from Billy, and he signed his cd for me as well as the Fire Relief cd. (He seemed happy to see I’d gotten that one.) Also bought the Makepeace Brother’s cd & got them to sign that. I headed down toward my car and the bus, and got to steal a hug from Toca & talked with him a little. They all seemed tired after the show. Then Jason peeked his head out of the bus & offered to take pictures as long as they were group shots. Not being part of a group, and not wanting to be just another picture to endure, I left a copy of SMR #2 with Toca, who agreed to give it to Jason, and I headed home.
    • 11:45-12:30 – The drive home was easier, but not without missed turns. I’ll admit, though, that I was talking with my mom, catching up on Grandpap’s condition and other things.
    • When I got home, DH was waiting up for me, though I told him he didn’t have to. It took me a while to unwind before bed, something like 2 am I think.
  • Friday 4/18 – The bigger munchkin (almost 4 now) came down with Chicken Pox. Nuff said.
  • Saturday 4/19 – My brother had his Eagle Scout Ceremony in PA. I had been holding out hope until the last minute that I might be able to work out coming up for it. The chicken pox thing dashed the last of that. I hear it went really well.
  • Sunday 4/20 – We went to church separately, due to the poxed child. That, and the 3 mystery shops I did, broke up the day a lot.
  • Monday 4/21 – I determined that chicken pox are a headache. I went into work for 2 hours before resuming watch of the diseased one.
  • Tuesday 4/22 – Ditto previous. But thank goodness for small gifts: wonderful, lovely “Details in the Fabric” single release… something to listen to while feeling sorry for myself. ha.
  • Wednesday 4/23 – Kiddo went back to school. The little one has not caught the itchies this time around, though there’s still a few more days before that’s definite.
  • Thursday 4/24 – Mom called to say Grandpap’s taken a bad turn. His heart still is only functioning at 15%, his kidneys are failing, his bloodsugar won’t stay up, and he has some kind of infection – probably pneumonia. It’s a matter of hours, days at best — or worst, depending.

So now, I’m trying to figure out how & when to go up to PA. Should I plan on getting an overpriced plane ticket? Or drive 1000 miles round trip? should I go now? or wait until he dies?

Really, that’s where I’m at right now.

I want last Thursday night back.

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I must say…

I am so happy to hear Mr. Mraz changed the lyrics for “I’m yours” in the “We Sing” EP: they now say “God-intended right” instead of “God forsaken.”

🙂

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it takes some good to make it hurt

I swear, my head is about to explode. Or something. The past few days have been a constant emotional roller coaster.

Starting with Saturday, I actually got some work done in my (lame excuse for a) garden. Mostly I just weeded, but I also spread out some plants and generally just felt good about accomplishing that much. It’s hard to garden with two small “helpers” who would prefer a construction zone for toy trucks over a garden any day.

Also on Saturday and early Sunday, I got a lot of work done on laying out SMR #3. I’m feeling good about how that’s shaping up, but I’m still lacking in the cover department, so I’m starting to stress over my creative block in that arena.

Sunday night, I have learned that a close friend has cancer. Today I was told another close friend’s father has it too. I don’t know how threatening either one’s condition is, which leaves plenty of room to speculate and worry. I’ve felt like crying since, but haven’t.

On Monday, I was offered a notable job opportunity. It would mean big changes from finances to responsibilities to habits. But it’s not clear cut if it would be the best move for me, mostly since it’s still not quite what I want to be doing.

Also on Monday, I made some good progress on a pet web/poetry progress, which I’m sure to blog about in the near future.

Last night I went to a good business class & felt empowered.

Today I finished a big project at work which felt like I’d been working on forever, so that was a relief. Then before leaving I spoke with HR candidly about the job opportunity I’d received. Basically, that was left with me needing to decide what I want. They might match the pay. If I ask for it.

Today, thank God for easy, happy decisions to make: I got the email announcing Jason Mraz’ US
tour info — and he’s stopping within an hour of here! So I’m pre-ordering my ticket(s) tomorrow. Oh, happy day — April 17th!! I so need that! Of course, DH isn’t interested in going. I think if I’d press, he’d come. Or if the tickets were free. But he says he really has no interest. And I’d hate to push him to come, because then I’d feel responsible for him enjoying himself, and I wouldn’t really enjoy it. So, I’m going to try to find a “date,” but I might just “go stag”… it could be fun to be “single” for the night.

Life is crazy, huh?

(I am so freaking exhausted.)