Tuesday, 26 May 2009
Thank you, Jessica, for the blogging award! I can only imagine it's an attempt to get me to blog more, since this poor blog has been woefully abandoned for a few months. :)
This is what I have to do:
1. List 7 things that I love
2. Link back to the blog that awarded it to me
3. Choose 7 blogs to award as “Kreativ Bloggers”
4. Comment at each blog to let them know they’ve been chosen
Seven things I love:
1. My family. I have the most snuggly, beautiful, wonderful babies, and an amazing husband.
2. Photography. Through photography I have found a creative outlet and learned to 'see' the world in a new way.
3. Summer barbecues. and grilled kabobs.
4. Music. I can't live without it.
5. Gardening. I love reaping the rewards of hard work as fruit and veggies are ready to harvest.
6. My home. Every day I love my home more. When I walk in the door, I usually let out an audible sigh, and my whole body relaxes. It is a wonderful home.
7. My life.
I was awarded this by Green Mamma, go check her out!
7 blogs to award: How about the only blogs I read?
1. Right back at ya Green Mamma! You're the only blog I read on a daily basis.
2. Motherhood uncensored. You have to read it to see. Maybe the only blogger to ever make me laugh out loud.
3. Her Bad Mother. She puts my own experiences so eloquently in a way I could only dream of.
4. The Midwife Monologues. A blog written by two Virginia Midwives.
5. The Attached Feminist. Fascinating dialogue on feminism and motherhood and how the two relate.
6. Mother's Rights Network. A blog by my good friend and woman's rights advocate, Shel Lyons.
7. Well, there is no 7, because I only really follow 6 blogs. This spot is open to the highest bidder...
Monday, 18 May 2009
I'm sorry I've abandoned you.
There is not enough time to do everything; kids, cleaning, photographing, cooking, reading, living, blogging. And disciplining.
I'm having a quarter-life identity crisis. I've lost me. I've lost the sharp, pretty, eclectic, accessorized person I was and have become this dull, hungry, sometimes stifled, slightly pudgey, sloppy haired, and maybe too crunchy mom. Ok, maybe I'm not dull, but definitely not as bright as I was. Don't get me wrong on the crunchy part -- I like the choices I've made, and stand by many of them strongly (like birth). But I don't want to be that woman who people see as a crazy hippy and is dismissed immediatly because I've been stereo typed. I've got to get me back. Not the early-twenties, head turning, sometimes provocative, sometimes a little on the wild side me. Just some of that confidence, and a bit of that quality that I can't describe. Or maybe it's a feeling.
On top of that - What do I want to do? I'm waffling. I want to be a photographer, be known, create great work. I want to be a mom to many. Both take years, time. I know I have time, but I long to start really working on photography. Do I get help with the kids and limit my family size so I can persue my carreer sooner? Do I swallow that desire to build my business and let it continue to waft along, and only take what comes without any self-promotion? I can't do both, not successfully, and I'd rather do one excellently than do both on a mediocre level. And what of birth advocacy? I can't just let that drop.
And now, though I would love to write more, the oldest is jumping on furniture and rearranging the house for me. Off to clean. And cook. And photograph. And all the rest.
Monday, 16 March 2009
I remember how awkward it was when the nurse first shoved my breast into your mouth because I didn’t know what to do. You did, and you showed me that I shouldn’t worry. I remember how much I fretted over how sleepy you were at first, the wet washcloths I put on your feet to wake you up, and how I would cradle you in my arms and wish everyone would go away so I could learn how to do this without comments from the peanut gallery. I remember the moment when I learned that I had no reason to worry on your seventh day after birth. We were at your friend Calla’s baby naming ceremony and saw the struggles and the effort her mom had to go through to feed her while you just latched on like a pro. We had no need for nipple shields or any assistance at all.
I remember sitting downstairs, tears rolling down my cheeks onto your tiny curled fists. I cried because I knew that someday I would no longer be able to protect you from everything and you would get hurt, sick, have regrets, and feel heart ache. I remember how sedating it felt to lay in the bed with you snuggled into the crook of my arm, nursing in your sleep. I remember how sometimes you would requisition my breasts for the entire night as you marathon nursed through waking and sleep the entire night. I didn’t even know that you were nursing sometimes because I was in a nice deep slumber, knowing you were safe in my arm. I remember the night that you tried to latch on but missed. You tried to nurse anyway and your dad and I laughed the next morning when we found a mark on my breast left by your dream feeding.
I remember the happiness that burst from me the first time you laid your little hand on my breast on purpose, the days of flailing, uncoordinated arms coming to an end. I can sometimes feel the same tears well up in my eyes that did when you would make eye contact, stop nursing, and look up at me with a big, toothless grin. I remember how I marveled over your chubby rolls, and the enchanting newborn smell in your teeny tiny wisp of hair. I remember the few time you bite me, and how you laughed when I gave a yelp.
I remember the wiggly, wiggly nursing sessions when a ten minute meal took an hour. You were so distractible but still so charming and cute. I remember nursing you everywhere we went, always once before we got in the car in hopes you wouldn’t cry the whole ride.
I remember you waddling up to me in the drunk toddler walk and raising your chubby arms with a hurried pump of the hand, demanding that you nurse, right now. I remember how you first called it ‘urse’ and then ‘nursing’ and now ‘Nurse, me, please.’ with an emphatic pause after each word.
I remember just how much it hurt to nurse you while I was pregnant. I just wanted to give you two solid years, not 14, 18, or even 20 months. I felt you deserved to have at least that, and I know you deserve more.
Now our nursing relationship is coming to an end. I must admit, I’m a little relieved. I have dreamt of the days without toddler nursing. I have longed for the end of the irritated feeling, that internal itching that I feel when you nurse. It’s been there since I got pregnant, but it’s so hard to describe. I think it’s called ‘nursing agitation.’ I wish I could give you more, but I have to admit, I am not the mom I wish I were. I wish I were a mom who didn’t feel the agitation when you nursed. I wish I were a mom who could hold on, just until you decide you’re done. I wish I were more patient, and could show you the patience you deserve, not the hurried ‘One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, ok, all done, finish up, all done.’ I wish I didn’t tell you ‘We’ll nurse later,’ when you ask to nurse.
Through all of it, I’m still a little sad. It’s the end of your babyhood. I know I’ll still be the one who can comfort you the best with a big hug and a kiss when you get hurt, but I will still miss how I was able to soothe you when you got a bonk or a scrape. I’ll still miss holding you as you drifted off to sleep and continued to nurse long after I had taken my breast from you, making little suckling motions with your tongue. I’ll still miss the hours of just you and me, mother and child, cuddled together.
I still love you, my big, leggy toddler.
Sunday, 01 March 2009
(those god awful infant car seats that parents tote around with their babies inside of them.) I do. I hate them and this is why:
I was putting my one million items of junk (that's another post) on the checkout counter at Wegman's when a baby started to cry. It sounded a few aisles down from where I was, and not too frantic, just a 'ok, can you pick me up?' cry. As my cart emptied, the baby continued to cry, and the parents came to check out in the line next to mine. Now, I don't mind crying babies... except when my milk lets down as a result. I have no control over this; whena baby cries, I start pouring milk all over my shirt, much to my changrin. So, back to the baby. They baby was crying, and crying, and crying, then screaming, then wailing. It's cries reached that horrible, 'I cannot get anymore upset, PLEASE HELP ME!!!' pitch. I turned around to see why this poor baby was crying, and if the parents were trying to sooth it, and this is what I saw. I saw dady unloading items as fast as he could, and mommy picking up the damn baby carrier and walking to the nearby bench. She sat and rocked the plastic bucket while the baby's cries continued to intensify. Not once did she touch the baby, except maybe by accident when trying to shove a plactic peice of crap... I mean pacifier into its mouth. Not once did she pick it up. Poor baby.
I stood there watching, pretty horrified, and noticed my cashier glancing over at the wailing baby as well. The look on her face told me she was thinking the same thought as I was, but neither of us said a word. The cries only diminished as the mother carried the baby, still in it's bucket, out to the car. *sigh* JUST PICK UP THE BABY.
Babies need to be carried, they need to be held. If you need your hands, or your arms are tired, get a wrap, a sling, a mei tei, a pedogei, or hell, even a sheet, and carry that baby next to your heart! Geez, I'd even tell you to get a damn Baby Bjorn if it meant you would actually carry your baby around! I hate baby buckets.
Sunday, 22 February 2009
What with my husband away for weeks on end and all.
I've been hypnotized by my littlest baby. I can't help but stare at here all day long, I just want to keep every single grin and laugh in my heart forever. I remember when Aryana was so little, all smiles and giggles... although she cried a bit, too. If I had had Nikou first I would probably want 18 kids like the Duggars. She's that mild tempered and angelic. I know there will be a day when she's tantrumming, too, but right now she rarely ever cries, and is soooo patient with me. Sometimes I feel bad that she's just playing by herself (or working on rolling around and hand coordination), but when I go pick her up her smile just wipes any worries from my wind. On the rare occassions when she does cry, she stops immediately when she sees me, and lights up in smiles. I remember Aryana being inconsolable when I even put her down to go to the bathroom. They're night and day, these two.
Aryana is still half of my heart (Nikou is the other half), and every day she says things and does things that make me melt, laugh, and sometimes scream on the inside. Her latest cutism: When something falls, or she falls, or something is about to fall, she says,'Humpy Dumpy!' (because of the Humpty Dumpty nursery rhyme)
I've realised she is an introvert. While babysitting for my friend, she would play so sweetly with her little friend. After about an hour she would start acting out, and finally I realized she needed some alone time to recharge. The second day, as soon as she started showing signs of being all companied out, I would put her in the bath, or give her alone time in another way. After a good 20 minutes she was ready to play with her friend again for another few hours. I'm glad I made this breakthrough.. although it makes sense since she has an introvert mother, and a very social, but also introverted father.
Oh, and I wanted to say, when I had Aryana I realized just how easy life had been without a kid. Now, with two, I realize just how EASY it was taking care of my spirited baby. Perhaps when we have 3 I'll look back at these days and think about how easy they were. Who knows!
Anyway, it was nice to write for a few minutes, now off to the outlet mall!
Friday, 09 January 2009
We lost Grandpa Yazdani.. well, we didn't lose him, he passed away, on New Years Day. Every day since has been a whirlwind, getting his body shipped back, making arrangements to travel to Canada (where we are now), getting emergency passports since my daughters and I didn't have passports, and trying to keep the girls fed and clean. We're now enjoying the visit with the Yazdani families and extened families, and dreading wrangling our spirited toddler on the way back. Seven hours of travel + two plane rides + tired cranky todder + too many carry ons = not fun
Saturday, 27 December 2008
I take photos and make art. Mostly I just take photos. That said, I'm an aspiring photographer, in the very beginning of the road to success. I am a mama to the most beautiful daughter a person could be blessed with. Don't believe me? Look inside.