hushed tones
when i picked up our romantic, valentine’s day manufactured holiday dinner from a favorite local bistro last night, i struck up a conversation with a fellow pregnant woman. she was dining alone and a piece of me envied her quiet solitude. like me, she had roughly 9 weeks left in this pregnancy. also, like me, she has another child at home, and therefore had forgotten about the fact that the last 2 months of pregnancy suck your will to live. we chuckled together and then she was seated at her table.
we wished each other luck and went our separate ways.
a longtime friend and confidant texted me a couple of weeks ago to tell me that she is taking the time to read my blog in its entirety. she most recently finished reading through 2009, which only solidified the decision i made back then to not share the video footage we had taken of our then infant son’s wretched feedings on this blog.
(this knowledge of her reading my archives also confirms my decision to not read through my own archives. ever.)
another trusted friend was emailing back and forth with me just yesterday and mentioned how quiet my blog has been lately. she’s correct (as she usually is). i have been quiet here… not for any particular reason. certainly not for lack of content. i shrugged when i read her astute observation. she was spot-on, and i had no insightful response to return. just a shrug. an acknowledgement.
perhaps i’m hibernating. “nesting” in a way. quieting down. preparing myself for change. big change. taking inventory. reading. observing.
perhaps i’m wigging out. burying my crazy and stuffing it down deeper and deeper into the crevices from which it eventually seeps out of. people can suffer in silence. not that i’m suffering. i’m pregnant with a preschool age son and a husband shortly deploying. some people have it worse. others have it better.
perhaps i’m just listening… which is not something i am particularly strong suited to do, and certainly not something i practice often. (i think this makes people nervous. when i am quiet, others around me aren’t sure what to do with themselves. are you ok? are you upset? is something going on? is there anything you need to talk about?)
life is noisy. the abundance of sound, words, opinion, vitriol, speculation. it’s exhausting.
i am someone who loves words. LOVES. one of the things i truly enjoy the most about life is discussion. just simple discussion with people. agreeing. disagreeing. problem solving. expressing oneself with words. to me, it’s intoxicating. it’s powerful.
it’s meaningful. it CAN BE meaningful.
but it doesn’t feel that way to me right now. words aren’t feeling productive and insightful. drafts are being written without edits. submissions and speculations are being made without confirmation. words are being shared without a true sense of the message being put out in the universe. people are writing and speaking for the sake of writing and speaking. for a deadline. for cash. to be heard. to say SOMETHING. anything.
but what is truly being said?
when i find myself at a place where i am questioning words like this, i tend to quiet down.
someone needs to listen.
all bag
my brother is a terrific golfer, and my dad… is a terrific sport. he may not be the greatest at the game, but he is the greatest at genuinely enjoying playing with his son who is great at the game. the two of them have been walking 18 together for years, taking in different courses, swinging clubs in the fresh air. it’s a sport that bonds the two of them.
years back, the guys came home from a day of golfing and taught me a term that i have yet to forget. and these days, i am finding that term to be an accurate description of myself.
i remember dad and b coming home, setting their clubs in the garage alongside their shoes, smelling of sunshine and sweat, laughing about nothing and everything. they updated mom and i about their day, how they each played… a bogey here. a birdie there. and then my dad said something about one of the gentlemen he happened to notice while on the course. this man was not playing in their foursome, but he was certainly someone who captured the attention of my dad.
and in the words of my dad, this man was “all bag.”
my brother laughed as my dad described in detail the amount of gear this particular golfer had. from head to toe, he was decked out as though he were a walking sponsorship. the golf bag itself was pristine, clubs were not only top-notch, but immaculate as well. dad even described the golf towels this gentleman used. ball markers and golf tees that cost more than your average pair of sneakers.
but this guy’s golf game? SUCKED. he had all of the equipment he could possibly need to look like a pro/semi-pro athlete. unfortunately for him, he lacked all skill and natural ability to hit the ball.
he was “all bag.”
as the years have come and gone, i’ve listened to my dad and brother occasionally use this term to describe various people in different circumstances, not all sports-related. i’ve come to use the term myself, and eventually taught paul its meaning. everyone in my family gets a small chuckle out of referring to someone as being “all bag.”
and now it’s hit me that over the past 2 weeks particularly, i am the one who is “all bag.”
i am prepping for this baby’s arrival with gusto, purchasing what items we need, storing away things we don’t need, ridding our home of clutter. i have scheduled and started swim lessons for jackson to keep him busy during paul’s deployment, kept our lovely babysitter/nanny no further away than an arms length just in case. paul and i are laminating a world map for jackson to have in his room with a family picture over the state of florida and then a picture of his dad where he will be deployed to. the two of us are indulging in a weekend away soon, with mom watching jackson, so that we can have time alone.
i am doing all of the things i am “supposed to be” doing in preparation for my husband’s deployment and the arrival of our second child. there is no part of this preparation that has not already been considered. no rock will go unturned.
and with all of this effort, all of this STUFF, i am turning more and more into a basket case with each passing day. i’m keeping my emotions at bay as i continue to prep and make lists. some days i can distract myself easily, stay busy, get out of my house and engage. and other days, even when i do those things, i find myself needed an extra few minutes hiding in a public restroom while i fight off one of multiple panic attacks.
the tears are always RIGHT THERE, with their release being caused by the simplest of things… a smile from jackson, a kiss on the forehead from paul, a stranger holding a door open for me.
it doesn’t matter how many times before i have said goodbye to paul and watched him go. this time, i’m saying goodbye to him with children… one holding my hand and the other kicking my insides.
HOW DO THESE MEN AND WOMEN IN UNIFORM DO IT?
all the logic in the world that we are using to keep ourselves grounded can’t seem to fight off my current emotional state. all the preparation, planning, and check lists can’t get me truly ready for this spring.
i am all bag. putting on a good show for most, and being true to a select few and trusted folks… paul… my parents… my brother… and now, the internet.
it’s funny, some people can’t seem to understand WHY people blog. what would possess someone to share, at times, some very intimate details of their lives with a bunch of strangers? and i don’t know how to answer those questions. i don’t know the correct way to respond to that. all i know is that it feels right for me, and in times of desperation and heartache, sometimes i need to reach out and simply trust that someone, anyone, will be on the receiving end and hold my hand for a while. and then i promise to return the favor.
**********
as always, a continued THANK YOU to those of you sending your love and support during this time. also, a note about my anxiety for those concerned… my OBGYN is aware of our unique situation with this baby being born while her daddy is deployed and what that does to my brain. i am being well taken care of.
savoring the sweet
for some reason, it seems to be universally understood that when a ‘goodbye’ is approaching, people start to cling to what’s familiar and to one another. we should do that more. regardless of whether or not we’re preparing to say goodbye to someone, we should do that more. more family walks by the river. more snuggles and snacks. more making time for each other. for what’s important.
because when it comes time to say those goodbyes, the time you had is never enough.
we are heading to my gramma’s house at the beach this weekend for our last getaway as a family of three. our last getaway as a family before paul leaves. driving a few hours south to rest and relax oceanside is just what we need right now. sand and surf await us. and naps. plenty of naps.
amidst the urine leakage there is denial
no one told me that subsequent pregnancies meant an increase of urine in your pants. which, when you’re pregnant, can be kinda freaky because it causes you to be all “OMG IS THAT AMNIOTIC FLUID IN MY PANTS?” and then you’re supposed to smell it to make sure it’s not amniotic fluid, but no one is entirely clear about what you should be smelling for… rancidness? sweet smelling flowers? the odor of piss?
WHO KNOWS? just know that you need to smell your pants. for something.
operation baby prep/deployment planning/support system establishment is going surprisingly well. part of me can’t help but feel a bit guilty about the prep, since most of it consists of phone conversations and skype chats about spring time plans. can i count on you for this, that, or the other diaper changing duties, make sure i have food in my house that has not passed its expiration date, possibly coming over to do a load of baby burp cloth laundry? type of stuff.
there’s not a lot of shopping and oogling over ruffles and lace. no registries to sign up for. no shower will be had (THANK GOD). there’s no nursery that we’re in the throes of painting. no crib we are beating each other over the head with the legs of. we’ll just pull a drawer out of our dresser for pickle to sleep in and hold off on cribbing and decorating until we’re in the other house. we have every bottle system under the sun thanks to jackson’s allergy issues to my boob juice, so we’re in good shape there too. basically pickle could arrive tomorrow and we’d find a way to make it work.
(this could also be my next stage of denial typing to you.)
both paul and i were saying this afternoon that while we feel like we’re in a great place in terms of our planning, the reality of the calendar is a constant in our minds. jackson’s clinging to paul for dear life, which is both endearing and heartbreaking. the kid can’t seem to get his days of the week to go in consecutive order, but he fools me with his little almost-4-year-old sense of time. with the holidays over, he has moved on to talking about his birthday. his birthday which will be mere days apart from his baby sister’s. he has no concept of time and yet he tells me that he should’ve been at school today, “because it’s monday, mom.”
time makes absolutely no sense to me these days. one of my best friend’s came by last week with her brand new bundle. i say ‘brand new’ but she’s actually not. she’s 10 weeks. a full 2 and a half months old. she’s basically ready for prom. when i held her, she told me that lea michele’s golden globe dress would be a monstrosity. she knew! because babies are made of magic and the ability to tell the future. i could swear that my friend just told me that she was pregnant yesterday, but no, she has a 10 week old baby. no more newborn even. full on baby.
jackson is going to be 4 in a couple of months. i am going to have a 4 year old. WHAT?!?! we’re registering him for school for NEXT year. because it’s january, and apparently at the start of a new year you are supposed to plan and prep for the following fall. he’s fighting a cold right now, and so last night, when paul checked on him before we turned in for the night, we decided to change his jammies to something cooler. our weather is so bizarre here, which is probably why all of us are fighting the snots, but we changed his jammies while he was half asleep. i took it upon myself to then stay a few extra minutes and rock him. with his sweaty head against my chest, we rocked and for a split second, jackson went from being almost 4 years old to almost 4 months old. i felt like i had my wee little magoo in my arms again. exhausted. sweaty. helpless.
and right now, jackson is rocking his baby doll in what was once his swing. he’s also telling me that it’s time for dinner, because apparently time makes more sense to him than it does me. i guess he is prepping for this baby too, in his own way, and thankfully not wetting his pants. unlike his mother. at least i’ve done something right with this parenting gig.
side by side
paul got jackson ready for school this morning and later told me what a lazybones our son had been. he had to wake jackson, hold him over his shoulder while finding some clothes, dress him on the floor, and basically shake the limp noodle out of his noodleness this morning.
jackson is finicky. he likes things to be done a certain way. and he likes to know what to expect next. he’s not napping right now because our landlords are showing the upstairs apartment while wearing cowboy boots. it doesn’t matter that jackson’s sound machine is on full blast, he is covering his ears with his blanket and not sleeping.
because something is slightly off. something is different. there are people where there weren’t people yesterday. there are noises where there shouldn’t be noises.
and so habits are disrupted. routines are thrown off a bit. we roll with what we can and we dig our feet in when we want our “normal” back. jackson dug in his feet this morning. he still went to school, but not without a literal, physical ache to go back to bed.
the baby stuff around the house is new for him. books about becoming a big brother. swings. a bassinet. some baby girl clothing. it’s slowly coming out, making itself known.
and jackson has not left his dad’s side. not for a minute.
can’t say i blame him. paul is my protector too, always has been. next month will mark 13 years that we have been together. 13 years that he has been protecting me, sheltering me, guarding me. it’s one of the things that i love most about him. he is my comfort, my deep breath, my human xanax. i’m seeing that he is that for our son too. paul stabilizes us. he is what we cling to when life gets messy.
right now, we’re holding on to him for dear life… sneaking in extra snuggles, extra time, extra hugs. for as long as we can. i don’t know if he has been able to piece all of the latest happenings together yet, or realized that HE is how we are coping with these transitions. you never see these kinds of things until you are no longer in it, ya know?
but i know this is what we are doing. i can feel it. this is what we know how to do. we’re leaning and holding on tight. and when he goes, we’ll lean on each other. it won’t be the same, but it’ll do. it’ll have to, for a while. until paul is done protecting other people, and returns to protect us once again.
Have a Sip
