Practice: Three
I've had some really great days lately. I think writing helps. I've come to realize I am a better mother when I write. And because of that, it's sorta imperative I do it as regularly as I can.
I'm trying to "live in the present" which I think means I actually listen when my kids are talking to me. And it's working I'd say. But every so often I think about being 3 months postpartum--the part where my hair starts to fall out and people start wondering if I'm expecting again because my belly hasn't deflated AT ALL--and it makes me panic. A little bit! Not a full fledged panic! Just a little because really, that's when you are no longer freshly postpartum and life is supposed to be carrying on only that you still feel like you're recovering from a shipwreck. AND NO ONE IS BRINGING YOU MEALS ANYMORE.
This is my plan:
When I am 3 months postpartum I'm going to make a hair appointment with my guru Erica at Shep Salon and let her cut magic into my disappearing tresses. And I'm only going to wash my hair once a week because washing hair that falls out in clumps is a bit depressing. A little bit! I realize cancer survivors have it worse! PERSPECTIVE.
When I am 3 months postpartum I'm going to start making monthly appointments to get a massage. You can get really great cheap massages around here and that's because there are a lot of massage therapy schools. And hair schools, incidentally, but I've already taken care of that problem (see above). I can't really get a massage right now because (I'm chest leaky) and because being away from my baby for more than twenty minutes makes me feel like I've lost my wallet and I can't find it anywhere. And how will I pay for this massage IF I CAN'T FIND MY WALLET?
When I am 3 months postpartum I'm going to get back to regular date nights OUT OF OUR HOUSE with CK. Chup. Christopher. (Can I just call him Christopher now?) Because the thought of a restaurant and a newborn is the most unappetizing idea I can conjure right now. You sit down to sushi and that baby will start screaming, on cue, every time. I know. This isn't my first rodeo. Sushi with a side of screaming baby will ruin a meal faster than just about anything.
When I am 3 months postpartum I'm going to buy a new hue of lipstick. A good lipstick, a great pair of shoes and something to eat can pretty much make me a happy woman. Don't judge, I am my mother's daughter. We have Southern California in our blood.
When I am 3 months postpartum, I'm going to be ok with feeling sad and maybe bluesy and I'm going to accept help when it is offered and I'm going to let the village raise my children. A little bit! Not like I won't ever see my children--just maybe after they've been fed by a neighbor. Also, a bowl of Goldfish is an acceptable dinner.
When I am 3 months postpartum I'm going to look back on this day when I wrote this blog post and I'm going to whisper THANK YOU to myself and then go back to nursing this gorgeous, bright-eyed baby and listening to my Anson talk about computerized laser booby traps with cross bows you engage with your cell phone.
Booby traps. INDEED.
I'm trying to "live in the present" which I think means I actually listen when my kids are talking to me. And it's working I'd say. But every so often I think about being 3 months postpartum--the part where my hair starts to fall out and people start wondering if I'm expecting again because my belly hasn't deflated AT ALL--and it makes me panic. A little bit! Not a full fledged panic! Just a little because really, that's when you are no longer freshly postpartum and life is supposed to be carrying on only that you still feel like you're recovering from a shipwreck. AND NO ONE IS BRINGING YOU MEALS ANYMORE.
This is my plan:
When I am 3 months postpartum I'm going to make a hair appointment with my guru Erica at Shep Salon and let her cut magic into my disappearing tresses. And I'm only going to wash my hair once a week because washing hair that falls out in clumps is a bit depressing. A little bit! I realize cancer survivors have it worse! PERSPECTIVE.
When I am 3 months postpartum I'm going to start making monthly appointments to get a massage. You can get really great cheap massages around here and that's because there are a lot of massage therapy schools. And hair schools, incidentally, but I've already taken care of that problem (see above). I can't really get a massage right now because (I'm chest leaky) and because being away from my baby for more than twenty minutes makes me feel like I've lost my wallet and I can't find it anywhere. And how will I pay for this massage IF I CAN'T FIND MY WALLET?
When I am 3 months postpartum I'm going to get back to regular date nights OUT OF OUR HOUSE with CK. Chup. Christopher. (Can I just call him Christopher now?) Because the thought of a restaurant and a newborn is the most unappetizing idea I can conjure right now. You sit down to sushi and that baby will start screaming, on cue, every time. I know. This isn't my first rodeo. Sushi with a side of screaming baby will ruin a meal faster than just about anything.
When I am 3 months postpartum I'm going to buy a new hue of lipstick. A good lipstick, a great pair of shoes and something to eat can pretty much make me a happy woman. Don't judge, I am my mother's daughter. We have Southern California in our blood.
When I am 3 months postpartum, I'm going to be ok with feeling sad and maybe bluesy and I'm going to accept help when it is offered and I'm going to let the village raise my children. A little bit! Not like I won't ever see my children--just maybe after they've been fed by a neighbor. Also, a bowl of Goldfish is an acceptable dinner.
When I am 3 months postpartum I'm going to look back on this day when I wrote this blog post and I'm going to whisper THANK YOU to myself and then go back to nursing this gorgeous, bright-eyed baby and listening to my Anson talk about computerized laser booby traps with cross bows you engage with your cell phone.
Booby traps. INDEED.
