There is no doubt that I was overwhelmed when I had McKenna. This was so for a number of reasons: it was an unexpected pregnancy, we were married for just six months (do the math on that one…), I was the first of my closest friends to have a baby so no one was there to offer sound advice, and she was an unhappy, sick baby. My brain was preoccupied by everything relating to babies and being a mom. With Robbie, things are different. I’m enjoying his babyhood much more than I was able to enjoy it with McKenna, also for a number of reasons: he’s our second child, he was very planned (can’t be much more planned than in-vitro), we have been married now for seven years and have overcome our share of differences, I’m probably the last of my group of friends to have a baby so I have plenty of people to turn to when needed, and for the most part, he’s a healthy and happy baby (sans some digestive issues). Not overwhelmed at all.
So when I recently began a series of unfortunate events, I had to wonder if I am once again overwhelmed or if I’m just preoccupied. It was about a week ago when I began to notice a slow transformation of sorts. Nursing Robbie, for example, has brought out the exhibitionist in me. My boobs are exposed constantly, so much so that I forget to close up shop and I’ll walk in front of open windows with my newly engorged porn-star boobs clearly visible to any passersby. I say “boobs” instead of “breasts” simply as a way to put them into a schema that reflects how I feel about them. “Breast” implies fairly firm hand rubbing, flicking of nipples in between fingers and gentle tongue play that leads to stimulation down below. No, that’s definitely not the use for them lately. They’re “boobs”, objects that bring on an animalistic aggression in my son that can lead to blood if not guided correctly by the referee (that would be me). It’s anything but sensual. It’s more like the game Whack-a-mole, except he feverishly tries to attack the nipples before the milk drips down. I’ve become so carefree, in fact, that neighbors have come by and I just sit there, boob exposed, and we have a pleasant conversation. At least that’s my point of view. My neighbors may feel differently about that considering my porn-star boobs are not on a porn-star body.
There have been other small signs that have made me question whether I'm overwhelmed or if I’m preoccupied with mommyhood. I’ve put formula in my coffee instead of my non-dairy creamer. (Luckily, I realized it before I took my first sip, but a definite sign something is amiss.) I’ve had to turn around to go back home because I’ve forgotten to get out of my pajama bottoms and put on real clothes before I’ve left the house. I’ve burned my eggs because I have forgotten I was cooking (okay, that’s not so unusual for me). But I think the real moment of truth came last week when I was getting ready to go to the store.
I couldn’t wait to get out of the house. With Robbie cozy in one arm and a bottle of water tucked in the other, I locked up the house and headed toward my car. The magic doors to my Honda Odyssey popped open and I buckled up Robbie in his car seat. As I pressed the button to close the door and walked around to the driver’s side, I suddenly had a very Eckhart Tolle-living-in-the-now kind of moment. This is it. I am living the American dream. I have a beautiful son, an absolutely amazing daughter, a husband who is loving and caring to everyone, a roof over our heads, two cars, two jobs that are extremely secure, and enough money to buy the necessities that I was about to purchase. I was suddenly overwhelmed. As I’m living this moment, with the deepest feeling of peace running through me, I buckled myself in, turned on the car, and began to back out of the driveway. A jolt and crunching noise abruptly awakened me from what felt like a meditative state. Rob’s car was behind mine and I ran right into it.
Wow…how did I not see that? I jumped out to inspect the damage and except for some swapped paint chips, all was well. I had to laugh at my own idiocy, to the blindness of my own environment, especially since I had to walk in between the cars to put Robbie in. Yes, it was unusual that Rob’s car was parked directly behind mine considering we have a double-wide driveway. But how on earth was I going to explain this one?
When he and McKenna got home from camp, I suddenly felt like I couldn’t admit to another adult my absentmindedness, my carelessness, my recklessness. I didn’t even have time to process the event in my own mind for Robbie began crying immediately after impact. Counting on the presence of McKenna, I turned innocently to my six-year old with my husband watching. “McKenna, I have to tell something to Daddy and I don’t know how he’ll react,” begging her to ask the inevitable “What do you have to tell him?” Being the inquisitive child she is, she did just that. “Well, mommy was backing up her car today and I forgot Daddy parked his car behind mine.” The look on Rob’s face was one of sheer shock as he yelled, “NO, YOU DIDN’T!” I looked at him with a smile and remorseful eyes. Panicked, he ran outside to inspect the damage. McKenna, flustered at his reaction, needed an explanation. “I ran into Daddy’s car today,” I explained. She covered her mouth and giggled. Even she finds it crazy. Rob suddenly came back inside stating, “I need a beer before I do this,” and he ran into the kitchen. “Get one for me, please,” I called out. When he returned with the beers, we all headed outside.
Rob knelt down in front of his car and began to touch the front bumper in a way that made me long for my boobs to be breasts. He looked carefully back and forth between the front of his car and the back of my minivan. He stood up, looked at me with furrowed brows and a lighthearted shaking of the head that said, “Who are you and why did I marry you?” It suddenly occurred to me that cuteness always works. “Look at it this way. It’s like a Reese’s peanut butter cup. I got my peanut butter on your chocolate and you got some chocolate on my peanut butter!” I paused with a smile, hoping he’ll find me quirky enough to see this latest faux pas as an adventure rather than a problem. He simply shook his head, smiled a bit, took a sip of his beer and gave me a kiss.
All was well.
I don’t know if Rob thinks I’m losing my mind or if I’m preoccupied with being a new mom again. But the truth is, at least in the case of the Reese’s peanut butter cup, it was neither. I wasn’t preoccupied. I was pleasantly, joyfully and thankfully overwhelmed with all that I have.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Confessions of a Cheerless Mom
McKenna has begun cheerleading this week and I hope she hates it. I highly doubt that will happen since she is naturally loud and energetic, but it’s a wish.
Oh...in case you were concerned, this entry is not about post-partum depression.
I know…I’m a terrible mom. It’s not that I want her to be miserable. I just dislike almost everything that cheerleading stands for. Why does she have to be one of the robots, yes robots, which have to support the boys on the field? Don’t we get enough messages that women are not free to find joy from within themselves, but that joy comes from the men in their lives? As a middle-school teacher, I see evidence of that everyday. Girls will say and do blatantly mean things to each other and to their peers to create a social hierarchy that is centered upon how boys perceive them. The more a girl can do to have boys notice her, the more popular she is amongst the girls. If someone else comes along, a threat is felt and the nastiness begins.
Cheerleading, in my mind, is a (semi-)subtle way of sending that message yet again. “Cheer those boys on girls! It’s very important that we do our best to support those boys out there on the field.” These girls are trained from a very early age to fit a certain mold. “Smile!” “Keep your arms straight!” “Jazz hands!” Individuality is simply out of the question. “Hair must be decided upon by the coaches and team moms. All girls must then wear their hair in the agreed upon fashion (ex: braids, ponytails, etc).” While some may argue that it’s creating a sense of team work, I would argue that it creates a sense of communism. With the 2008 Olympics beginning this week in China, I’ve realized that it’s not that far of a stretch. Yes, I believe cheerleading is a “sport” and I understand the trust that gets developed between the team, but I’ve also seen how it can turn girls against each other. Case in point…this year, a bunch of my students were on the Pop-Warner cheerleading team which just so happen to place first at the national competition at Disney World. Great for them…no easy accomplishment. However, a couple of students confessed to me how they were outcast from the team because they refused to drink and have sex like the rest of “the team” was doing (yes, I’m talking 13-year olds). While I know the argument can be made that this can happen with any sports team, I would beg to differ. As a longtime coach of girls’ basketball, my husband has found that his girls are and have always been, very accepting of the individuality that each player brings to the team on every level. Personality differences, sexual orientation differences, academic differences, etc. It makes sense, considering that basketball is a team sport that thrives on the individual talents of each player. In cheerleading, that’s just not so. The more you are just like everyone else, the better you are. It’s a pack mentality that spills over into the personal lives of these girls.
Why did I sign her up for it then? Well, Rob and I have always encouraged McKenna to have a “polite bite” of everything and that includes activities. She’s tried soccer, swimming, T-ball, dance, gymnastics, and Girl Scouts, all of which she has enjoyed, but has not latched onto. I guess cheerleading is a logical step for an American girl and I’m hoping it will be another stepping stone on the way to something that clearly demonstrates that a girl can do and be whatever she wants and that her sense of self comes from herself, not from what boys say, think or do.
Until then, I will support her enjoyment of cheerleading. I’ll continue to show enthusiasm as she shares with me what new stretches or routines she has learned. But I will do it while reminding her that she brings something unique to the team, that her individual sense of self, her confidence, her humor, her ability to make respectful and responsible decisions is what makes her such an awesome cheerleader, an awesome team player and one amazing little girl.
Oh...in case you were concerned, this entry is not about post-partum depression.
I know…I’m a terrible mom. It’s not that I want her to be miserable. I just dislike almost everything that cheerleading stands for. Why does she have to be one of the robots, yes robots, which have to support the boys on the field? Don’t we get enough messages that women are not free to find joy from within themselves, but that joy comes from the men in their lives? As a middle-school teacher, I see evidence of that everyday. Girls will say and do blatantly mean things to each other and to their peers to create a social hierarchy that is centered upon how boys perceive them. The more a girl can do to have boys notice her, the more popular she is amongst the girls. If someone else comes along, a threat is felt and the nastiness begins.
Cheerleading, in my mind, is a (semi-)subtle way of sending that message yet again. “Cheer those boys on girls! It’s very important that we do our best to support those boys out there on the field.” These girls are trained from a very early age to fit a certain mold. “Smile!” “Keep your arms straight!” “Jazz hands!” Individuality is simply out of the question. “Hair must be decided upon by the coaches and team moms. All girls must then wear their hair in the agreed upon fashion (ex: braids, ponytails, etc).” While some may argue that it’s creating a sense of team work, I would argue that it creates a sense of communism. With the 2008 Olympics beginning this week in China, I’ve realized that it’s not that far of a stretch. Yes, I believe cheerleading is a “sport” and I understand the trust that gets developed between the team, but I’ve also seen how it can turn girls against each other. Case in point…this year, a bunch of my students were on the Pop-Warner cheerleading team which just so happen to place first at the national competition at Disney World. Great for them…no easy accomplishment. However, a couple of students confessed to me how they were outcast from the team because they refused to drink and have sex like the rest of “the team” was doing (yes, I’m talking 13-year olds). While I know the argument can be made that this can happen with any sports team, I would beg to differ. As a longtime coach of girls’ basketball, my husband has found that his girls are and have always been, very accepting of the individuality that each player brings to the team on every level. Personality differences, sexual orientation differences, academic differences, etc. It makes sense, considering that basketball is a team sport that thrives on the individual talents of each player. In cheerleading, that’s just not so. The more you are just like everyone else, the better you are. It’s a pack mentality that spills over into the personal lives of these girls.
Why did I sign her up for it then? Well, Rob and I have always encouraged McKenna to have a “polite bite” of everything and that includes activities. She’s tried soccer, swimming, T-ball, dance, gymnastics, and Girl Scouts, all of which she has enjoyed, but has not latched onto. I guess cheerleading is a logical step for an American girl and I’m hoping it will be another stepping stone on the way to something that clearly demonstrates that a girl can do and be whatever she wants and that her sense of self comes from herself, not from what boys say, think or do.
Until then, I will support her enjoyment of cheerleading. I’ll continue to show enthusiasm as she shares with me what new stretches or routines she has learned. But I will do it while reminding her that she brings something unique to the team, that her individual sense of self, her confidence, her humor, her ability to make respectful and responsible decisions is what makes her such an awesome cheerleader, an awesome team player and one amazing little girl.
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