Tuesday, February 15, 2011


I have been chuckling to myself all day... "ha, ha hacker, you cannot steal the identity of someone in an active identity crisis!"

But you can. And they did.

Both of my emails are out of commission. One frozen pending investigation. The other wiped clean. No emails, no contacts. As if I just started it yesterday.

The first email I sent my husband, after that fateful meeting in the bookstore.


The story ideas that I emailed myself.


The latest copy of my resume, the correspondence with important and famous people, the first picture of my nephew that my sister emailed me.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Remember how in that post a few days ago, I said the only way through this was one baby step at a time... well, now it's really true.

I cannot be deterred. I can only rebuild. One email at a time.

Now, this blog is linked to those emails that are now tainted, defiled, corrupted. The future of us here as we know it is uncertain.

Stay tuned.

And do me a favor, if you really love this blog... leave a message in the comments, or friend me on Facebook. I have no other way to get in touch with you if we have to go to another venue.

Thursday, February 10, 2011


Well, today it happened.

I was loaded up with laundry, about to walk out the door while Charles watched the baby.

She looked at me, looked at him, got a bit panicked and said "Mama!"

Charles said later that I looked like I was about to drop everything and go to her. He is right, I almost did. But instead I said, "be right back!"

I must admit that I loaded the laundry at top speed, trying to get back to my little talker. She said it again later, holding on tight to me while we walked down the hallway, patting my chest saying "ma-ma, ma-ma, ma-ma"

Also of note today, she was standing by the bookcase, I told her to pick the bedtime book she wanted to read, she picked up "We're Going on a Bear Hunt" bobbed up and down like she does while we're reading it and said "Bea..."

Who knew that 9-almost-10 month olds understood so much? Remembered so much? Had such complex emotions?

Not this Mama.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

The Dark Side.

Part of what I now use this blog for is to document the parts of this journey of motherhood that I want to remember. I want to focus on the positive things, I want to tell the funny stories to all of you - my beloveds. I want to have things to go back and read myself when I need reminding of the beauty that is this time in my life.

But I know there are people that read this blog because they appreciate my honesty about this process. So this will be one of those posts.

Recently in the news, starlet upon starlet has come out to say they have suffered from and overcome postpartum depression, but rarely does anyone come out to talk about the dark side of being a new mother. And there is a very dark side, completely autonomous from depression.

It's not about projectile bodily functions - although those are bad. It's not about illness or tantrums - although those are bad too. For me at least, the dark side of motherhood is a combination of emotional factors that are very difficult to transverse.

I am an older mother - they checked the box on my OB form "of advanced maternal age" more times than I care to remember. So I had a well-established life of things that brought me joy and comfort. These things included: long, solitary walks on Saturday afternoons which I termed "wandering the planet", lectures at local universities on diverse and interesting topics - maybe one week city planning and environmentalism, maybe another week creating educational infrastructure in developing countries. Also, going out with my young single friends to do a little booty-shaking and youth-reliving, or enjoying a nice brunch with them after their over-indulgences.

Other wonderful things I did included: working out and working at a very fulfilling job that I loved and that happened to include some wonderful friends.

And that has all evaporated.

It's not that I don't love the baby. It's just that sometimes you feel like you've woken up to someone else's life. And for gosh sakes, someone else's body.

I mean, I didn't really realize it would be so hard to get my body back. That my waist would disappear and that my stretch marks wouldn't.

And there is this crushing responsibility to create the perfect child. To be the perfect parent. To try to be perfect in a pursuit where there is no real measure of success for 20 or 30 years - if ever. If it's even allowable to want to achieve some measure of success.

And - that you have "wanted" this for your whole life. That right now, there are people that want this more than they have ever wanted anything in their whole life - that are undergoing hell to get it. And I want this for them, but I hope they have enough support to get through the dark side, because if not, there is this insidious insecurity that threatens. Like an acid, slowly eating the soft parts. Your confidence wains, your image is altered, your ego is compromised.

This is the part where I usually try to reassure you that there is a positive outcome. Some silver lining. Some reason you should not fret. But this post is about the fret. It is about the times when your insecurities threaten your happiness, when your new identity threatens your vision.

The only place to go from here is along a new path.

One baby step at a time.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

The more we get together.

Sometime in November I noticed that Emmah really became very animated and happy in the presence of other children. She had always enjoyed going to the park and watching them, but this was different, she seemed to crave them.

So I decided that my Christmas gift to her would be more outings - even ones that *gasp* cost money, but gave her the chance to socialize.

Well this week has been a real turning point for both of us. I had quite loathed the whole experience of trying to connect to other mothers and force playdates and such. The ones that seemed crazy always seemed eager and the ones that I felt a connection to always seemed skiddish. So we remained alone.

But this week, we have been to two libraries for story hours. One turned out to be a wonderful music class and the other was a very sweet, good-vibed story and song time with the perfect aged children for Emmah. The youngest were 6 months and the oldest was a year. Ideal! Plus the moms were very friendly. Bonus!

This was the introduction song, a classic, but it really was an important message for me this week:
The more we get together, together, together

The more we get together, the happier we'll be

‘Cause your friends are my friends and my friends are your friends

The more we get together the happier we'll be.