friday morning mouse

We have a mouse problem.

It made for a very exciting morning on Friday before school, with all three children tickled silly by the sight of the tiniest fury creature trapped beneath a narrow spouted bowl normally used for the wet ingredients, and Mike and I - for the first time ever - deciding depriving them of a pet is probably criminal and we should get a dog.

...But not now! Later. (Talking about a dog happens to be more fun than addressing the mouse problem).

This week was my first back at work after winter break. The first day, when I dropped Beatrice off at her sitter Danielle's house, it was almost as hard to leave as when I first started back in August. After three weeks together, my tolerance for separation was nil. When I rushed to pick up the baby in the late afternoon, feeling quite proud of myself - of us! - for keeping it together that day, she seemed distressed, rather than relaxed and happy in the glow of our reunion as she used to. I picked her up and she reached unmistakably for Danielle. I passed her back to Danielle and the baby smiled at me in gratitude, then grabbed at my necklace without looking at me, absorbed in pursuit of its glimmer - like she normally does with everyone else while I hold her. At one point she even turned away and nuzzled her face, shy, into Danielle's shoulder.

I found myself nervously chatting about how surprising and strange it was to see Beatrice acting with Danielle the way she normally acts with me around friends. And gee, wasn't it nice that Bea had such a strong attachment to Danielle, and was so comfortable and happy at her house?

I hope it doesn't make you sad, said wise Danielle.

Oh, no no, maybe like ... 5% sad, I said, smiling. 10% max. It's just a little bit, mixed in with being glad this is working so well.

But then the rest of the day I felt ill. And the next morning when Beatrice woke early and I brought her into bed to nurse - as is our wont - I snuggled her close and covered her in excessive kisses with a desperation that a baby can surely detect and might be inclined to pull away from in disgust (though she didn't, bless her darling heart).

The rest of the week wasn't quite as painful at pick up, but Beatrice continued to have a hard time transitioning. We usually sit at the kitchen table and talk a little in the afternoons, as Gabriel and Danielle's kids play and snack and Beatrice nurses. This used to be comfortable for her, but now the presence of two caregivers lingering seems to put her on edge. She looks to Danielle, shouts a bit, looks back at me. Maybe now that she's older she doesn't know who she will be with, or when we'll finally leave, and it's unnerving.

Or maybe she just loves Danielle better. (Not really. Right? Ha ha ha?)

I need a heart lobotomy. I need a surgeon to take a scalpel to the site of my deepest feelings and do something, turn down the volume, excise the part that makes love so excruciating. 10% sad?? How cavalier! How silly, how optimistic. I was 99% sad within minutes, and now, after a week, maybe I'm at 72%. Not only am I sad, my confidence is shaken. I'm questioning the way I let the baby wander about and pull the scrap paper out of the shelf, the way I hoist her around the kitchen and talk to the big kids, the way I put her to bed at night. The way - let's just be out with it - I leave her with another mother who stays home and crafts and cooks the way I once did while I go to work four days a week.

Lest you worry, I do know the baby is very attached to her own mother, adores her papa and her siblings, and seems undeniably happy in the bosom of her family. She is growing and becoming herself beautifully. My job is a satisfying, meaningful, challenging privilege that I feel very lucky to have.

But. This pulled-in-two-directions mothering stuff can be so hard.

(I won't even get into the challenges of mouse poop under the oven.)

ten-month-old sandbag

Happy new year! Yesterday I went to a real deal, slow, steady, deep, wring-out-the-old-open-up-to-the-new yoga class (one of my intentions heading in: make peace with the fact that yoga class these days is a rare treat). During savasana, the teacher offered sandbags, which one could settle over her hips for a very grounded, weighted-down end to the practice. What a warm, solid feeling.

Later at home, I was sitting with Beatrice in the glider, nursing her before her nap. She always begins with the left side, wriggling, waving her top arm, and pushing her toes against my legs, refusing the allure of sleep. When we switch to the right side, she can't resist. The exploring, kneading fingers slow down and eventually gather themselves between her chest and my belly, The long, dark eyelashes blink, blink, and finally close. And the weight of her - the nearly twenty pounds of soft, heavy, sleep-slung, pink-cheeked Beatrice - settles with little sighs across my lap.

Watching her let go and relax, I had one of those moments when I realize the thing I have been wishing for is already right here, just different. I have been missing the peace and release of the final moments of yoga class. But all winter break, I've escaped from the whirl of family life three times a day (two naps and a bedtime) into the dark quiet of Beatrice's room, felt her becoming heavier, curving around my hips in the glider. Even when my mind is going over to do lists, I am never very far from my body. The sight of her face in profile being overtaken by sleep draws me into the sensory sweetness of right now in a way nothing else quite could.

So! Be it resolved: I would like 2014 to be a year of slowing down and accepting limits, in the hopes of being more fully present to the riches of my life as it is right now, all around me. And I send wishes for everyday pleasures, and the ability to enjoy them, to all of you.

year of the baby

This morning the paper told me that the population of our country hasn't grown as slowly as it did in  2013 since the Great Depression. Tough times apparently mean fewer immigrants and fewer babies.

Which makes sense, but doesn't map onto my experience lately: babies are about to be born, being born, and growing like mad everywhere I look. This year brought us Beatrice, as well as a whole lot of babies - first babies, second babies, third babies - to many excellent people in our orbit.

Maybe it's something about being 36 years old. Or having lived in one place for over five years. In any case, as I waited in line to mail out packages that included tokens for some new and precious people this afternoon (having promised myself they would leave the kitchen table before 2014), I listened to a three month old baby wailing while his papa quickly gathered items to mail and thought about how very fertile this moment seems to be.

I also thought about how grateful I was that my baby was sleeping at home.

Holidays with babies are ... well. Hmm. I suppose they are kind of like regular life with babies, except more. More sweetness, more delight, more sleeplessness, more fussiness. More sensitivity (routine disruptions galore), more hand-clapping, more laps and arms to settle into (or not).

These past few days have been mostly delicious, as Mike and I are both on break, and we're all soaking in lots of time together. Of course routine disruptions aren't easy on bigger kids either, and there have been what I will refer to simply as moments here and there that have been, shall we say, challenging. Ah. Yes.

Sometimes my ambitions are unrealistic.

Like when, on the way to Mike's parents after Christmas, we stopped in at some outlets, having decided we both were in desperate need of wardrobe infusions. No big deal, right? A quick shopping trip! We piled into a family dressing room at Banana Republic, plunked the yelling baby (not in distress - just yelling, to yell) on the floor with her nose running profusely, and began peeling off layers to try on jeans and sports jackets. Gabriel was draped on a bench moaning when can we go to Grammy and Poppy's house??? and Frances was asking incessantly if she could keep the rhinestone button she'd found on the floor of the store. As I left the dressing room with the baby in the Ergo (still yelling) and piles of clothes draped over my arm to return, the attendant gave me a look that I can only describe as disdainful.

It said: who are you people, and why in the world did you have all these dirty noisy children?

Oh lady, I don't know. Aren't they outrageous? Excessive? I know! They are. But the surprising thing is, her disdain didn't even bother me. Despite it all, I love our fertility. I love our spilling over, our oozing out. I love our babies, sprouting always towards the sun like so many glorious weeds.

bathtime, round one, nine months

Beatrice has graduated to the big tub - with my ample feet as supports.

The first semester at St. John's has ended. Winter break has begun! I always have Mondays off, during which I tend to squeeze in some much-needed cooking and/or cleaning, but this Monday felt different. A true domestic settling in, a rooting down for the holiday season and the many open days ahead to spend with my family.

The sewing machine is out. Our old friend Thomas is helping us deal with the many half-finished house projects that have been collecting dust since the summer. I made simple lentils and brown rice, roasted brussels sprouts and multi-colored carrots (baby loves them! oh the pleasures of a pre-picky eater!!), and a big balsamicky salad for dinner. It was the sort of meal that makes me so happy, so just-like-myself. When the days are short, something about lentils and warm winter veggies satisfies completely. (Lest you think I am sort some of dietary purist, this afternoon I consumed large quantities of chocolate accompanied by espresso tempered with - I kid you not - a generous glug of eggnog. I confess, I drink two cups of the stuff every morning, and will until the season is past and I have to wait til next Thanksgiving for eggnog to reappear on the shelves. Talk about impure! It's fantastic.)

The point is I have the energy and time to notice again, to relish, to direct some creative momentum towards the nest and my dear little birdies. They do drive me insane, but just now I feel glad we have enough time together to go a little nuts.

And there is Beatrice. Bea, Bee bee, Little B, Baby Bea. After her bath, I wrapped her up, rubbed my nose in her big warm belly, put her in pajamas, nursed her, and snuggled her up in her crib. While I was doing this Mike ran the bath for Gabriel, who waited for me to wash his hair, and his beautiful long body and smile - still so unself-conscious - were meltingly sweet when I opened the bathroom door.

Frances read Lord of the Rings with Mike, and after I did Gabriel's routine she came and climbed into my lap.

Let's talk about what's on our minds, Mama. For five minutes, before I have to go to bed.

So we did. And now they are all sleeping. I still have to make lunches and fold laundry and honestly, I don't even mind. Tonight I am grateful, only grateful, for all of it.