Little Mirror

Life has suddenly moved from leisurely and pleasant to crazed and crammed. As the holidays descend upon us and as we prepare for an international trip and a massive house project, I find myself feeling a bit more frazzled these days than I’d like. I’m managing to keep my cool for the most part because, after all, I feel so privileged to be able to do all this right now. But my mind is often racing and distracted. I am, however, focused enough to recognize that I have a wee audience through all this. Stella is the most powerful reminder of how crazy and silly I can become when dealing with outside stress.

As I was busy packing up dishes this morning, I noticed Stella babbling into her fake cell phone. She was walking around the circular floor plan, gabbing away, saying “Hi there” and “Bye Bye.” I had to grab my camera. After enjoying the moment, it hit me for the umpteenth time how impressionable my peanut is right now. Everything I do, from talking on the phone to brushing my teeth to greeting friends with warm hugs, is an example for her. How I behave is how she will behave. Of course, she’s her own person – hallelujah – but she is also the most absorbent sponge in the world right now. This ain’t groundbreaking news, and it ain’t rocket science, but it’s a valuable realization nonetheless.

And so I guess I’ve used the phone once or twice in Stella’s presence. Hmmm. Anyone who knows me will understand that I immediately started overanalyzing the potential dangers of Stella mimicking my phone use. Am I talking with friends too much? Am I not spending enough time with my daughter? Should I throw away the phone entirely? Do we really need electricity?

I realize the phone isn’t a problem. I really don’t use it much at all. Stella just thinks it’s fun to play with her phone just like Mama sometimes plays with her phone. So that’s not the issue. I think what is the issue is that I’m feeling totally maxed out lately as far as energy and time. There simply aren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish everything. And of course, what I fear the most is that I’ll focus too much on getting things done and neglect my primary and most important job – just being with Stella.

Just mulling this stuff over in my head makes me realize that I’m still doing a pretty darn good job of creating a balance in our house. I think it’s tough to recognize that life ebbs and flows, and Stella is a part of that ebb and flow. There are times when our schedules are packed, and there are times when we are free to move slowly and leisurely. As long as the latter is the more normal and natural routine, I think our family will be okay. And so far, that has thankfully been the case. In fact, I actually wonder if living amongst the balance of these two modes is healthy for Stella. Life isn’t always calm and peaceful. Chaos hits sometimes. I want Stella to grow knowing that it’s normal to feel a bit rushed sometimes. As long as your goals of balance and health remain steadfast, life will indeed resume to a more ideal pace.

That said, I’m going to take a few weeks off of writing. We’re off to enjoy our first international trip with a child, so send us some love, my peeps. We’ll be sending you a ton.

Public Notice

The moment Stella emerged from my womb - and all mamas will agree this is a ridiculously genteel version of birth - folks were asking me if we wanted another child. Seriously.

Well, sort of. I suppose folks waited a few hours. It seems like once you share a pregnant belly with the world, your life -and by life I mean career plans and sex life - are up for public discussion.

If only they'd wanted to touch my belly. I could handle that. I was prepared for that. I wasn't prepared for coworkers asking me about my ovaries.

My favorite example of this was when Stella was nearly a year old. I took her to the Papa's company barbecue where there were as many new babies as there were hot dogs. One of the Papa's coworker's husbands - catch that: coworker's husbands, not exactly a close confidant of mine - shouted across the picnic blankets, “Hey, Katherine, are you pregnant again? What's taking you so long?"

This is literally what ran through my head: A) What a dork. B) I finally understand what the word guffaw means.

I really did feel like yelling back, "No, but I'll have my ovulation flow chart on your desk tomorrow morning. ASAP."

What a dorky dork dorkus.

I know this is an extreme case. Most people know it's not exactly polite to loudly shout about someone else's reproductive plans. But I have noticed a strange trend in our culture where the more polite versions of this inquiry are acceptable.

I'm fully aware that I may be sounding a bit prudish on this one. And I assure you I'm the first to celebrate bellies and babies. I also think it's really up to the individual mama and papa to figure out what's comfortable for them as far as spilling the baby beans. I hold absolutely nothing against those who want to share early and openly. But I think my personal discomfort with all this is many layered. Firstly, I think it's only fair to let a woman focus on healing her woo woo before you start asking her when she's ready for another round. I also think it's quite presumptuous to assume that everyone wants more than one child. The list goes on.

Mostly, I think I'm just super protective of my own little family unit.

I recently took this photo of Stella at the park. In it, she's wearing a hat the Papa and I bought in Peru before we became pregnant. We walked into a restaurant in Cuzco not really sure if we wanted children at all, and we walked out knowing that we would soon try to get pregnant. This sounds so rash, but it wasn't. After ten years of being together, we'd slowly been dancing toward this point. We'd had many years where we felt completely satisfied with the notion of being just the two of us. It felt good and right. We'd also had many years where we felt totally sure that kids were in our future. It shifted as we shifted, and we really felt no hurry about it all. We were (and are) young and had plenty of time to do our thing.

A year passed, we got pregnant, and Stella arrived with great celebration. Life is grand. I look back at this progression and these stories and am touched by what they signify for me, the Papa and Stella: the warm intimacy of a new family.

But back to strangers asking me about my uterus...

We're not the kind of couple who publicly discussed getting pregnant in the first place. It's not like we're super private. We'd talked about it casually with some folks, but we really didn't feel the need to bring everyone in on the adventure. Once we were pregnant, I actually didn't want to tell anyone for a really long time. I knew that once we told people, it wouldn't be just ours anymore. And for a brief period of time, as I fought off comically disgusting bouts of morning sickness, it was ours. Stella was just ours, and we could laugh and smile and cry and freak out all on our own. Just the two (three) of us. Selfish? I guess. Amazing? Absolutely.

Of course, I openly talk with my mama friends and family about the prospect of having another child, and we're no longer coy about wanting another. We do and we will (if we're so blessed). But I must admit that when it comes down to the brass tacks of it all, I'll most likely want to do it the same way again. We'll quietly get to work, the Papa and me, and we'll tell our beloveds when we're ready. It's something I look forward to with great affection. We'll revel in our expanding brood, all four of us, and soak up that special quiet time before the happy hullabaloo hits.

Until then, I think I'll keep my calendar to myself, thank you very much. After all, there’s so much joy and hilarity to be had with surprises, right? Trust me, world. You'll know when a baby is a'comin'. My belly and my smile will tell all.

My First Babies

My Cats were my babies until I had a baby.

Now before you run screaming from a post about cats, I assure you this has to do with more than just cats. It's about the deep and meaningful shifts of family life, the monumental realizations of conscious mothering, the metaphoric journey of.... okay, it's about cats. But I promise, there's a point.

Here's my first babe Cooper. While Coop and I have a complicated relationship – she frankly annoys the hell out of me at times – I hold her dear to my heart because she was the first critter I took on as my own as an adult. Despite how annoyingly needy (and drooly!) she can be, she is quite possibly the most beautiful cat I’ve ever laid eyes on. Cleopatra ain't got nothing on Coop's smoky eyes. And when I feel myself losing patience with our beautiful Tabby girl, I realize she is truly the Papa’s cat. The two of them have a love thing going on, and I’m happy to step aside and watch from afar.


As for Vinnie? Well, what can I say? He’s my man. Well, he’s my other man. I know I’ll elicit some raised eyebrows when I say this, but before Stella was born Vinnie and I shared an intimacy only akin to lovers. Now I know I’m probably not supposed to admit this, but I sort of felt like Vinnie, Brian and I were involved in some strange love triangle. (I mean, look at that face.... that come hither look... how could a girl resist such smoldering passion?) My little orange guy was the buddy I’d always wanted in a pet, and our immediate bond shocked even me. The Papa tolerated our kinship, but I could tell Vinnie was simply peeved that he had to share me with another being. He would join me for lunch, cuddle on my lap as I graded papers and nuzzled into my belly every night in bed. In fact, I swear he knew I was pregnant before the Papa. He wouldn’t leave my side, constantly laying across my belly in a new and fierce protective stance.

The thing is, I really felt a profound love for my cats before Stella was born. I still do. It’s just different now. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s changed, and it’s been tough to articulate. Sure, I’m now responsible for a whole other human who is pretty much entirely dependent on me for her survival. And yes, the cats need us to feed them and scoop their poop. But I really do suspect they’d survive just fine without me. Or, at least they want me to think that. My attention is definitely split, and the Papa and I have worked hard to make sure the furry family members feel loved and adored in light of the new biped in town. But again, it’s just not the same anymore.

I felt bad about this for the entire first year of Stella’s life. It deeply troubled me that these critters who didn’t ask for a new baby had to adjust so abruptly to life in the second string. It’s just been recently that I’ve wrapped my head around the fact that they’re doing just fine. In fact, I think Stella has ultimately been good for both of them. (Cooper, a previously psychopathically shy cat, has become strangely emboldened, and Vinnie now has a partner in crime in Stella.)


I know this might seem morbid, but I think the biggest difference is that I can actually rationalize Vinnie and Cooper’s ultimate demise. I mean, I know that they’re going to eventually die. It’s what you sign on for when you take on a pet. Your job is to love them as long as they’re with you and give them the best possible life. And they give a whole lot in return. But you know they’re going to kick it before you do, and it’s just part of the whole deal.

With Stella, I just assume that I won’t see the day that she dies.

God willing. God willing. God willing.

It’s a simple but momentous pact – the promise that I will outlive my children – and it keeps me going as a mother.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s going to be gut wrenchingly awful to let go of these dear family members. Just thinking about it makes me teary. But the thought of saying goodbye to Stella makes me more than teary. It literally causes me to lose my breath in the most immediate and instinctual sob I’ve ever known. It makes me queasy and blind and angry and desperate. It’s just not something I care to bear and hopefully, please please please, won’t have to.

It feels wrong to admit all this, but I can’t tell you how many new mamas I’ve talked to over the last year and a half who have expressed total frustration that they have to care for animals on top of their newborns and toddlers. What feels overwhelming becomes unbearable in those first few months. Fortunately, I feel like we’ve hit upon some balance in our home, and the cats are now back in the groove of our family circle. They seem happier, we feel happier and Stella enjoys the craziness of living with the furry ones. Despite our inevitable future farewells, I’m starting to revel again in the warm, cuddly, soft goodness of these kooky critters who, despite their ridiculously uncanny ability to puke at the worst moment possible, bring joy and humor to our lives with impressive flair.

Plus...


How can I deny the amazing, er, learning opportunities Stella experiences with cats in the house?

A Girl and Her Papa

The other night reminded me of how grateful I am to have both Stella and the Papa in my life. More specifically, I swell with love whenever I see them together. Sure, the Papa rocks my socks most of the time. And Stella makes my heart swell just by breathing. But seeing the two of them together, loving on one another with such glee, literally makes me stand back in awe. They take my breath away.

As we were all hanging out in the kitchen preparing dinner, this is what I overheard…

The Papa: Whatch’ya up to, Stella?

Stella: Baroom barroom barroom. Dot gabba gabba doo.

The Papa: Really?

Stella: No.

The Papa: Hmmm. So whatch’ya doing now?

Stella: Babba doo sha dot shee.

The Papa: Well, thank you. Thanks so much. I like that.

This is when I turn around, already pretty amused, to find Stella putting bits of crunched up crackers into the hole in the Papa’s sock.

Enough said.

After dinner, the Papa and Stella headed outside for a quick moon walk. They do this often when it’s a clear night. I love seeing Stella grow more and more excited as she and Papa bundle up together. It’s like she’s totally shocked that she gets to go out one more time before bed.

The Papa decided to bring along his headlamp and camera to document their walk. These are what I found on the camera the next morning.

These photos make me giggle and fill me with intense gratitude. I have often said I really don’t know how single parents make it in this world. Not only must they carry the financial responsibility of their families, but they must foster and nurture the emotional well being of each and every family member (among countless other things). When I see and hear the Papa with Stella, I’m reminded of how deeply fortunate I am in life. And I’m also reminded of how lucky Stella is to have the first man in her life be a man with integrity, compassion and a precocious spirit. And oh how she deserves it all.

Happy Thanksgiving All. May your holiday be ripe with laughter and love amongst all your beloveds.

A Growing Girl

Stella got her first haircut last week. Since she was born with a healthy head full of spiky black hair – where did that come from? – she’s grown quite the do over the last sixteen months. It’s been fascinating watching her hair change over time, shifting from jet black to almost whitish blonde. (When she was about five months old, someone earnestly asked me if I had frosted her hair. What an interesting question. Let’s pose that to CPS, shall we?)

But all good things come to a shaggy, rat’s nest of an end. We looked at Stella on Sunday morning and realized she looked like a cross between this and this. Not exactly perty. Plus, she is currently participating in the Feisty Pacific Northwest Toddlers Brigade (FPNTB) boycott of all pony tails and barrettes. So in favor of a smoother life all around, we decided to head down to the local salon for a trim.

Stella handled it all beautifully, smiling coyly at all the hairdressers. She may have even winked at the lady next to her getting her hair foiled. What a little flirt. We walked out with an adorable little bob and a few baby curls for her keepsake box.

I am so grateful for this whole experience – a seemingly silly little milestone in our lives – because it’s made me realize a few things as Stella's Mama.

Oh, that neck. Don’t you just want to serve it up with butter and tea? Oh.

I’ve been looking at this neck for the last few days with a new perspective. Sure, it’s gorgeous and fine. But it’s also the neck that carries my baby’s head and that actually means something.

Er, what? Did she just say she didn’t know what a neck was? Who is this nut and how was she allowed to bear a child?

Seriously, hang in there with me. I know that this is a strange realization. I guess the core of it is that seeing Stella’s neck look so accomplished and beautiful already, at only sixteen months, forces me to realize she will become so much more than my little girl.

She will shake her head with that neck. She will utter laughter and cries from within that neck. She will nuzzle into a love with that neck. She will possibly cradle a child up to that neck. And she will hold her head high – with confidence and bravado – with that neck.

So you see, this gorgeous and creamy neck carries more than just her growing, precocious mind right now. It carries the wonderfully rich weight of possibility.

And I am beyond grateful to stand witness to all her possibility. Thank you, wee one. Thank you.

The Wee Reader

In light of Thanksgiving, I find myself thinking a lot about the gifts and blessings in my life and how grateful I am to be walking in my shoes. And in light of my last post, I'd like to brag a bit more about all the good stuff going on in my little corner. So here's my first toast to the gratitude gods.

The other day, I stepped away from Stella to make a cup of tea. When I returned, I found this.

Yup, that's my girl sitting in her block basket reading her books. Oh, how she makes me smile.

As an English teacher and lifelong reader, seeing Stella dive into books with such curiosity and passion warms my overly-weary-of-cheesy-sentimentality heart. Growing up, reading was my comfort and my passion. It's not like I was one of those tender hearted kids who only had books as friends, but I was known to stroll home as slowly as possible so I could walk and read another chapter of Anne of Green Gables.

Who knows if Stella's passion for all things bookish will continue. (I have a hunch it will since she's been on this kick since she was about three months old. As soon as she could hold her little bobble head up on her own, she wanted books propped everywhere.) All I know is I secretly dance a embarrassingly joyous jig inside every time I see her initiate anything to do with reading. On those days when I start to look for the escape hatch, if Stella comes to me with a book in her hands, I regain my mama cool, prop her on my lap and read until her heart is content.

If her interest dwindles, so be it. We'll find other ways of fostering her imagination. But for now, the dorky reader in me is jiggin' her little heart out.

A New Game

Earlier this week, I encountered a mama who told me her daughter was “the easiest baby in the world.” She said she was a “delight.”

This comment made me pause. I smiled and thanked her for saying that. She looked at me curiously. I explained that up until that point, I'd really only heard other mamas focus on how tough their kids were or how tired they were as new mothers. I say all of this fully acknowledging that I've done this several times. Actually, my line is usually, "Stella is super great but busy busy busy." And I say it with a thoroughly exasperated look on my face.

It's made me wonder why so many of us mamas partake in this strange but pervasive contest. It seems like there's a game in our society of "Who's Got It Worse?" I see it everywhere, and I'm curious as to why I've participated. It's not like I want to live my life as a Pollyanna, ignoring the junk and pretending everything is peachy. I don't think I could pull that off even if I tried. But I do think there is some wisdom in living á la Doris Day. Life is hard. No string of pearls can mask the fact that this mothering gig is the hardest thing I've ever taken on in my life. But it seems like there's got to be happy medium between obnoxiously bragging about all your gifts in life and solely focusing on the crap. In fact, I know this happy medium exists. What I'd like to do is share the crummy moments with openness but focus on the rockin' moments with humility.

Yup, I'm calling for a revolution here. Why can't Mamas start braggin' a little about how amazing their kids are? We all know these kids are amazing, and it’s not obnoxious to think your kid is the smartest, sweetest, bestest kid in the world. It seems like we should admit this more often. Let’s ditch “Who’s Got It Worse?” and play “Who’s Rockin’ Out?”

So in the spirit of giving thanks, I plan on spending next week focusing on why my babe and my life rocks. Because I can’t resist drafting a list on the spot, here’s a short list for today.

(I highly recommend doing this, especially when you think you made a mistake in not naming your child Damien. Today was a particularly trying day since Stella has enough snot running out of her nose to quell a forest fire. She is fussy, exhausted and totally whooped. Jotting down this list - or at least thinking about it - saved my tired Mama butt from losing my cool (and mind) as she thrashed about in Fussville.)

Stella took another marathon nap today. Life is good. (Stella is an incredible sleeper. I list this first, because I'm told by perfect strangers I'm beyond lucky on this one. I agree. But it really has nothing to do with me. She came in this way, and I'm soaking it up happily. Sleep on, wee one. Sleep on.)

The Papa called me today just to tell me he missed me. It totally made my day.

Stella is so smart, precocious and creative. She laughed hysterically last night as Vinnie, one of our beloved cats, tried to nab some of the pasta off her high chair tray. The Papa and I are so pleased to have such a natural goofball in the house.

Stella now climbs the rocking chair from the side. She hoists herself up by the side arms, swings her little legs over and hops into the seat. It’s precarious and nerve-wracking, yes. But it tickles me to no end to know I’ve got a Can Do Girl on my hands.

I'm able to stay at home right now with Stella, and the Papa has a good job. I can't tell you how blessed I feel right now to have this privilege.

I have an awesome family. My parents are two of my best friends, my siblings are some of the coolest people I know and my extended family is beyond supportive.

I took a long walk with a dear friend today. We gabbed about the kids, swapped ideas about mothering and giggled over everything and nothing. My friends are true.

Despite having spent the last two years in a soggy drizzle-fest, this fall has been utterly spectacular in the Pacific Northwest. Hallelujah and thank you.

I'm healthy. My husband is healthy. My child is healthy. Enough said.

My list actually goes on. Seriously, I could continue for about an hour on this one. But I fear my head may inflate to dangerous proportions. Actually, it's my heart that feels pumped at the moment, and that is never a bad thing. I look at this list and think “Ya done good, Katherine.”

Not bad. Not bad at all.