A different 2 ww

My event is in two weeks, and I'm feeling it today. There are so many annoying little details left that I feel like throwing my hands up and saying "f it" to half of them. This is precisely how I end up dropping the ball and let some small thing slip, like not having a warm up dance before a contest, which then goes on to haunt me months later as people bitch about it online. There simply isn't enough time left before the event to focus on, and insure the proper execution of, all those little details.

I am not at all confident in my leadership at the hotel, which scares me. My usually totally on top of it hotel rep has been MIA for weeks - every time I email her something needing attention right away, I get a response saying she's out of the country for the next few days. Her assistant is brand new and totally incompetent. And today after asking how many more special staff rate hotel rooms I get, we discovered the last assistant had been giving me tons of discounted rooms I wasn't supposed to get, and so as of next year they are going to start charging me full rate, which means I'll be stuck spending about $4000 more a year from now on, for exactly the same thing. Ugh!

Last year (and every year, actually), the parking was such a debacle that people actually told me I should find a new location. I've stressed over and over that this just can't happen again, but I have this sick feeling that once again this super important aspect of the event will be ignored and I'll be stuck juggling furious over-charged customers all weekend again. The thought of it fills me with terrible dread.

There are a million other annoying, stress-causing things going on with regards to my event, too many to even catalogue here. Well, one good thing. - I won't have morning sickness this time!!!

Tuesday is my 40th birthday. At the moment I have no plans other than going to the vintage clothing store where I used to work which is having a huge sale and spending money I don't have on cute vintage clothes for me and Bumpus. I thought about planning a dinner or going to a movie or something, but honestly I kind of want to spend my birthday with my son. Even if we just sit and watch TV together, that sounds like a happy birthday to me.

Sole benefactor

Ok, so, I’m still slightly traumatized by my travel experience. For the most part I think I’m fairly competent at this mom stuff – I don’t get too frazzled, in general. But I just found travel with the baby – and he’s a really good, content baby – to be infinitely more stressful than I ever imagined. Maybe it was just because it was the first time, and after this it’ll be easier…but so many moms have told me, with memories of screaming toddlers and spilled Cheerios in their haunted eyes, how much easier travel is NOW with a small baby who just wants to nurse and sleep. You mean…it gets even worse?

I agree with Shannon that the only way to handle travel with two small children is to just not do it at all. I realized during my trip that travel with a baby and a toddler would not only be difficult but actually physically impossible – I mean, I just plain couldn’t do it, period. Which as I’ve mentioned means no seeing the relatives for several years. Which means not only would the relatives miss out on the kids, the kids would miss out on the relatives, and I would miss out on the relatives. And if we’re talking years, this means there’s an outside chance that some of the more elderly just plain might not be around when the kids are older and we can travel again. All of this really put me into a tailspin. It made me think, for all that Robert and I would have to sacrifice for him to have a sibling, is it really worth it?

Yesterday I had a lot of paperwork to do and Robert was especially fussy.  He needed me a lot, and I had to keep stopping my work to entertain him. And I was ok with it, since I planned ahead to not be stuck with mountains of work at the last minute that couldn’t be spread out over several days. But again I had the thought, “imagine trying to get all this work done, AND have a fussy baby that just wants to be picked up, AND have a toddler who needs you?” It just sounded horrible. I think multiple children is when the whole “importance of the dad” thing really comes in to play. One woman can manage one child just fine. It’s when you’re outnumbered that the trouble happens.

So let’s just examine again my desire for two children. The possibility of a girl, sure. Someone for Robert to play with. Someone for Robert to have who’s intimately connected to him other than me. The lifelong gift of a sibling. But more and more I feel like my desire for two kids really has to do with keeping up with the Joneses – as if I still have something to prove (ie – “see, not only can I have one awesome baby without a man, I can have two, ha ha!!”). When in reality there’s nothing at all wrong with only children. And he’ll have tons of little buddies in the dance world to grow up with, maybe even biological half-siblings if I get to connect with some other choice moms using my donor.

I know for a fact, just based on how my feelings for my dog have declined since the baby (they hadn’t initially, but when she started barking all day and night and pooping and peeing on everything, I seriously wanted to “re-home” her), that it would certainly at the very least deprive Robert of his current share of attention if a new baby came into the picture. Is this wrong? Not really; all kids have to learn to share, and that’s one thing siblings give us. But oh, the difficulty! The expense! The toll on my body and state of mind to have to endure another pregnancy and labor! The struggle of balancing a newborn and a two year old! Ugh!

Right now I can still kind of hang in there – my life hasn’t really changed that much. I can still go to my clubs and do my activities, I still get sleep and time to do things like blog and mess around on the internet and care for the house and animals. And it’s affordable. But with two all of that would change – I think the sacrifices would start coming hard and fast, and with it all that resentment and bad feeling I had so hoped to avoid in motherhood (and so far have avoided).

It sucks that if there were a husband in the picture, baby #2 wouldn’t even be a question. But the fact is there is no helper, and I’m not rich enough to hire one. I discovered on this trip that I only have two hands, one lap to pee on, and two shoes to be spit up on. Lately I’ve just been thinking two children would not only be hard on me but actually kind of impossible.

In other news, I started a $500,000 life insurance policy today. Guess who gets to be the sole benefactor?

Cuteness

I've been thinking a lot about children's self image and body image lately. Mainly because I spend a lot of time thinking about how cute my baby is, and we spend a lot of time with my female friends who always remark on how cute he is, what a heartbreaker he'll be, etc. I worry that he's already learning to charm people with his looks, and learning to expect people to react to him in a certain way because of his looks.

I know it probably sounds insane that I would even think about something like this. But I remember a radio show once where they were talking about good looking politicians - John Edwards in particular - and how they've always been handsome, and probably always got away with murder because of it. It really made me think about how early we imprint on our kids the importance of their physical appearance. Cute babies and children are going to be looked at more, smiled at more, picked up more, given more attention, and probably more bad behavior will be forgiven. It just goes to show how early these lines are drawn in human society.

It's also true that children who are "easy" are going to be complimented more, picked up more, smiled at more, etc. I remember the tremendous pressure put on me as a child actor to be "outgoing" and "personable" at auditions so I would get the job; in the end it never mattered how good an actress I was; it was only about my appearance and how friendly and mature I was, when I was just a shy kid in a sea of much prettier little girls.

My time with the family this week involved a lot of comparison between my baby and my half-sister's son when he was a newborn, and how funny looking he was and how my half-sister worried her father didn't love him because the baby's appearance was so off putting. For the record he grew up to be super cute. But it does make me wonder why every discussion about babies tends to focus on their cuteness or lack thereof. Is it because we don't really know them yet? Because at this stage, with no talking or moving around, they don't have much personality yet?

I don't think there's much you can do about this particular phenomenon; it's just the way the world works. Thank goodness we all have the option of developing talents and a personality even if we're not blessed with conventional good looks. And thank goodness all mommas think their babies are beautiful even if they're not.

IUI Anniversary

I've been pretty lousy about remarking on various anniversaries - my 300th post, etc - but the anniversary of the day my son was conceived is a date that will be burned in my head forever. I've made many impulsive leaps of faith in my life, with mixed results. Moving to LA - good. Buying real estate in New Orleans five days before Katrina - bad. Starting a dance camp - good. Loaning my ex $700 to fix his car - bad. But definitely doing my third IUI right after a chemical pregnancy - best leap ever!

It's funny to think that had I waited I may never have had a baby at all - or certainly would have had a very different baby. Not a Bumpus, but someone else who would have been sort of like him, but not.

I remember those days of hope and fantasy, the "trying" days. When nobody knew what I was up to, and my life revolved around prenatals and pee sticks and worry about upcoming trips and events and how I would do it all while pregnant or with a baby. So far it's all worked out. He didn't turn out to be a preemie nor special needs, and my birth experience left me only psychologically scarred, not physically.

At the dance event where I sang last weekend I was watching the young girls dance and was surprised I didn't feel my usual mild pangs of jealousy over how pretty and young and in shape they are, what excellent dancers, and how full of adventure their lives are. Because I'm just not in the same category as these people; we can't even be compared side by side anymore; I've crossed over, and there's no going back. These are girls, and I'm a mother. I pushed a human being out of my body. And I'll be forever changed by the experience. A year ago today that journey officially began.

Rolling over

There's so much to post about this last week. But I didn't want to forget the most important milestone, which is Bumpus rolled over! He did it once when we were hanging out on a blanket on an incline, so I thought it was a fluke. But then he did it again while on my cousin's floor, and again while on the bathroom floor of my b&b (with no swings or bouncy chairs, he spent a lot of time on the floor). For the record he rolled back to front. Very exciting!

The trip was good. As noted I was wracked with anxiety for certain aspects of it; leaving him with a stranger when I sang, flying, various questionable driving situations. But he charmed the relatives with his unbearable cuteness, and I was interested to see his interaction with the male relatives. He's so used to my feminine softness - not scratchy faces, booming voices, strong arms, and rough-and-tumble play. And he does need all of those things. As much as I like to brush it off as unimportant, young Robert does need to learn maleness, and like it or not that just can't come from me.

Another thing that can't - or rather, shouldn't, come from me, is another baby. Much of this trip was so logistically difficult - flying, in particular sitting in this tiny tin can-like spot with a squirming, screaming baby, and your drink, peanuts, Hooter Hiders, blankets, diapers and tiny socks flying everywhere, while the baby simultaneously spits up, poops, and pees all over your pants, and he keeps wrenching off the Hooter Hiders so you flash your neighbors with your poor irritated nipple...then imagine throwing a toddler into this mix! It would be just impossible. So I would have to just not travel, not sing and not see the relatives for some five to seven years. Is that really in our best interests? I'm beginning to think not.

The first night in our dorm room in Boston I looked down at the baby in his swaddle and thought what a family unit we are. We're a team. And more importantly, he is the most important relationship of my life, and I'm his. Even though he won't remember any of this, it's the beginning of our adventures together.

Boston if you please

I'm in a charming bed and breakfast in Winthrop, Mass, where my cousin, a mechanic for Jet Blue at Logan, lives. Now comes part II of my trip, Introducing Bobby to His Family.

The gig part of the trip ended better than it began. The second night singing Bumpus slept straight through, thank goodness; we worked out the obligatory first night sound system issues, and I even got to dance with a guy I won a dance contest with seven years ago. Sleep was elusive - the room was FREEZING cold. Bumpus was ok because he was in a fleece swaddle (and is his own space heater anyway), but I had nothing but my sleep bra and froze my butt off, with resultant little sleep. After much confusion and stress on my part we arranged rides to the airport (the band members) and a ride to the b&b (me). Had a quick dinner at the cousin's house with my sister who flew in from NY, Bumpus was fussing and screaming the whole time, not at all like him and not a great first impression. The only thing I could think was he was just plain over it. As soon as we were back at the b&b he was cooing and happy. Go figure!

I so want him to be adorable and loved by the family members. I don't know why I can't wrap my brain around the fact that they are his family and will love him whether he screams or not - I don't know why I feel this pressure for him to be "good" when he may just plain not feel like it. He's just a baby. And I'm sure he's picking up on my anxiety and stress. Well. Tomorrow is a new day, and this is the fun part - bar b qs and fireworks and boating and good times. It's rare - unheard of, actually - for me to have a good time on the 4th of July. Last year I'd just had the miscarriage and my car was smashed to bits by a hit and run driver. Remember that? I'd say this year's 4th is already a huge improvement!

Here are some random pics from the last few days. Bumpus has spent a lot of time on floors lately, with no swings or bouncy chairs present!

Working mom

It's not often I feel like a working mom (because for all intents and purposes, I don't technically "work"), but I am definitely feeling it this weekend. Just the stress of having to leave your baby in someone else's care while you go and be professional, when you'd really feel so much better if you could just strap the baby to your body. Alas, this isn't always possible.

So last night I strapped the baby onto a random 16-year-old girl for four hours while I sang. It wasn't quite as seamless as the previous Saturday. When I checked on him at the second band break he was screaming his head off, so I awkwardly nursed him in my breastfeeding friendly vintage dress. On the third he was screaming again. The girl didn't seem phased by it, but it certainly didn't feel good for me. I had hoped he would just sleep, but no. Now I'm all worried about tonight...the dress I brought is not at all breastfeeding friendly, and it's a later night (goes until 2:00 AM). And we also have to discuss what I'm paying her. I hope it's not more than $60 because that's all I got.

Stuff like this is just a bit of a logistical nightmare. I can't bring a pump, and there's nowhere to store breast milk nor time to pump, so I have to make myself available for feeding, and my clothing doesn't really suit that purpose, and there's also no good place to do it nor time. And really, he should be fine not eating for four hours - he does it at home all the time. But I've come to realize there are more reasons than being hungry for wanting to nurse - needing to poop is one, and another is needing comfort. So it could have been any number of things last night.

Still and all, this is temporary - by the time the event rolls around he'll be a month older, and when the DC trip happens he'll be a month older still, and the next time the band travels (if we do at all) it probably won't be until next summer and I doubt I'll be breastfeeding then. So as stressful as this has been, it really is a one-time thing.

Went down to the beach yesterday. Boy how I miss the Atlantic Ocean! Sigh.