Labor in reverse

So, another event goes down in the books. Despite my fear of forgetting something huge, or some unforeseen calamity occurring, everything went swimmingly, and today I feel terrific. This story would be dramatically different had you talked to me Friday night, however.

It's a natural analogy to compare running an event or any kind of production to birthing a baby. But it is kind of in reverse - starts off intense and like a steamroller out of control, then slowly gets easier and ends quietly. And after fifteen of these events, we're really down to just the minutiae - tiny little tweaks and details to make everything run perfectly. It's a far cry from the early days when I used to make huge mistakes and was such a ball of stress I couldn't eat or sleep for days.

The only thing other than the usual stressors that got me this year was Bumpus started to get sick - crusty eyes, coughing, hacking, labored breathing. I chalked it up to air conditioning and bad re-circulated hotel air quality that makes us all sound like Brenda Vacarro by the end of the weekend, but I wasn't sure. By the end of Friday I was so stressed out and convinced he was in trouble that I just lost it and started crying my eyes out - I could picture taking him to an emergency room in the middle of the night, him not being able to breathe, basically every parent's nightmare. But as my Doula Friend who was the weekend babysitter pointed out, he was still smiling and happy, not listless, and no fever. My hotel contact ran out and got a humidifier for me which I used that night, and he seemed to
improve. Also as the days went on it was clear he had not in fact contracted some virus and was not developing pneumonia or anything like that.

But here I was, dealing with uptight and intense dance competitors freaking out over every little thing - where are the pins for our bib numbers? My partner is going to be late, can we go in the last heat? What are the song tempos going to be like? And being so worried about the baby, all I could think was, "fuck off! I have a sick baby on my hands! I just want everyone to go away so I can breastfeed my baby and comfort him!"

It was challenging having a small baby during the event, for sure - and I definitely couldn't have done it without all the help. The whole time I couldn't help but think, "it's so weird, he'll never be a little baby during the event ever again!" By the next event he'll be 1 1/2 years old and into everything - but not breastfeeding, and probably with a bedtime and not waking up every couple of hours, which will be so different from this year, which was all about rationing the pumped breast milk (I didn't have enough - no surprises there), wearing breastfeeding-friendly dresses, and not getting ANY sleep. Next year there will be a whole new set of challenges.

So after Friday night's freak out, the rest of the event was all downhill as it always is. I haven't processed the credit cards so I don't know where I stand financially yet, but I am feeling pretty optimistic.

And now I get to enjoy a year of being with the Bumpus all day, every day. A few days of intense stress and risk is a small price to pay for that payoff, really.

Survived!

Too tired for a weekend wrap up, but here's some photos - story to follow!

4 Months

That old chestnut

I debated on whether or not to even write today since there are bloggers out there who are having real problems, and mine just seem so stupid and petty in comparison. They don't just seem stupid - they ARE stupid. So I hope if you read this you understand that I am not being normal and rational right now, and there's a reason. I believe with my event coming up in three days that I have been experiencing a return of my "old" self which is being brought on by anxiety out of control, and it looks a little like this:

I have been feeling like garbage lately, even though nothing is technically “wrong”. Because I’m doing all that old stuff. Nightmares. Horrifying scenarios running through my mind all day about Bumpus dying. Choking disorder when eating. Irritability. Impatience. Inability to get joy out of anything. Obsessing on tiny turns of phrase or tones in people. It’s that old anxiety monster. And there’s really no cure for it other than the event being over and my stress level going down.

I was actually so bitchy the other day that I caught myself thinking, as I turned on the amazing air conditioning in my car to cool down on a hot day, “of course it would have to blow right in my face.” I’m starting to sound like my mother again.

So this is what happened with my party. Even with my friend graciously helping, even with her picking up the food, even with everyone having a great time, getting to bond with an old friend and his new baby, even with getting gift cards which is far preferable to acquiring a bunch of crap I don’t want, even with everyone helping clean up so there’s nothing to do today, I still wasn’t happy. What the hell is wrong with me?

I was annoyed that many of the people who RSVP’d didn’t show. People kept pointing out, “there’s a lot less people this year,” which annoyed me.

I was annoyed that many of the people who did show had to leave early to go somewhere else.

I was annoyed that many people came late.

I was annoyed that once again only about half the food was eaten and had to be thrown away.

I was annoyed hardly anyone went in the pool.

I was annoyed it wasn’t hot enough.

 

I was annoyed by everyone’s toddlers running amuck and wanting to mess with the baby (toddlers just can’t keep their hands off of babies, apparently).

I was annoyed that I feel obligated to put on this party every year, yet I’m so over it – it’s expensive and a mountain of work and just isn’t fun for me. Yet at the same time I feel like it’s an important pre-event bonding experience, since it’s really the only time these people get together. But next year the event won’t be right on its heels, which means either a) I won’t be as stressed out so having the party will be a better experience, or b) I can feel free to stop having the party and travel instead, maybe go to Hawaii or see the family.

I feel like my party is a tradition…and yet like many traditions I believe it’s the type that gets taken advantage of; when people know it’s always going to be there, they skip one or the other. Lord knows I’ve had much poorer turnouts at my party than this year (like that one wicked hot year where everyone just stayed home because of the heat). I should keep doing it, really. But God is it a lot of frigging work!

Since I woke up all pissed off today, I thought I should try to look at the bright side of all the things that annoyed me – like, look at all those nice people who DID come to my party, spend the day, and bring me presents.  Don’t they get any credit? Look at the people who stopped in even though they had somewhere else to be. Look at my friend who helped SO MUCH and took so much of the stress off of me (and it was an enormous help). Look at how lucky I am to even know enough people to have a party.  Most people would just have awkward gatherings with old college friends and the guy who works in the cubicle next door.

But look at ME, who has this beautiful, perfect child, an event that’s successful, and tons of great friends, even if we don’t spend the time together that we used to, even if we are all kind of going our separate ways.

As of today I have 589 people.  That’s phenomenal! I hope I get to 650 by Weds night, although even if I don’t it’s no big deal – I’ve already exceeded all my own expectations. Of course the money still sucks, but I still maintain that it will even out in the end. There are TONS of extra women, and I know this will be a problem, but I have a plan to fix this for next year so I can at least stave off the complaints with that. And we’re moving to Labor Day next year. Apart from worry about the money stretching that long, I really don’t have a bad thing to say about that.

But much like my pre-eclampsia only being curable by giving birth, there really is no cure for my bad feelings other than getting through the event and it being over. All the self-talk in the world won't really help the fact that I make my entire living off of one long weekend a year and that long weekend starts in three days. I challenge anyone to remain cool as a cucumber under those circumstances.

God bless the helpers

Today I took on the odious task known as "party prep". Boy do I love entertaining, but do I hate cleaning everything up for it! Fortunately the gal who's house hosted my shower had offered to help, so she came by to help me scrape a year's worth of neglect off of everything in my back yard. It is a HUGE task.

Walkways have to be cleared and swept, furniture set up and scrubbed, garbage taken down two flights of stairs. Then we had to drop all of my unwanted kitchen crap at Good Will, then buy all the ice & drinks...and all this in the 90+ degree heat, in the direct sun, up and down stairs. This person is an angel sent from heaven, I swear.

Last year I did all this by myself, while pregnant. Of course I didn't know I was pregnant at the time; I wouldn't test until the following morning. I remember last year thinking, "I really shouldn't be lifting this, I really should take it easy," but luckily this little zygote had dug in and wasn't going nowheres!

I'm still always amazed when people put themselves out and help others. I mean, I love helping people, but why do I assume no one else does? My sister reminded me that our mother wasn't a helper, so we got this fear from her, that we'll somehow annoy people by asking them for things. I have a friend who I would never ask to come over and scrub my outdoor furniture, because I know she just wouldn't want to. So I guess there are people out there who are just selfish and don't ever want to be put out.

I had asked for help because I was afraid Bumpus may need attention - but short of one quick feed, it turned out he didn't; he just sat contentedly in his swing, playing with his toes. I only had to check on him from time to time to make sure he wasn't being eaten by fire ants, and that's it.

Some of you may not want to hear this, so skip this paragraph if you need to! The weight loss continues. I have now broken the 135 barrier and weighed 134.8 this morning. I feel like I'm 18 again and can eat whatever I want and still lose weight. But the big question is - what happens when I stop breastfeeding? Will I blow up like a balloon? Am I developing terrible habits? Once I have to make an effort again, will it be torture? I do worry about this. It's why I don't like extreme weigh loss, because it's impossible to maintain. But at this rate if I continue to breast feed for many more months I could waste away to nothing.

Bumpus loves rolling over onto his belly. The days of leaving him unsupervised on the bed are over! In good news, he has all but stopped screaming in the car, is very alert these days, and wants to see everything. He is a fascinating little guy, I have to admit!

T minus 5 days

It's all event, event, event from now on. I'd love to have a "Stress-O-Meter" to attach to myself during this time to see what my reading is - and then the consequent reading Monday after the event. It would be an interesting experiment.

Around now I like to predict what the weekend's issues will be. I am almost always wrong - usually things I think will suck end up being no big deal, and unanticipated things crop up just to chap my hide. There's always something random that annoys the crap out of me during the last week. In 1998 it was renting linens. This year it's finding a replacement yoga teacher for the morning sessions.

My kitchen is done, but the painter guy said to not put anything on the shelves for several days to allow the paint to set. I may however break down and clean up tonight - I've spent a week with my food and dishes and cookware all over the floors of my house, and I'm kind of over it. However, I'm utterly delighted with the results of the kitchen. It's clean and fresh and bright and I just love it. So worth the expense and inconvenience.

So how has it been preparing for my event with a baby? About how I expected. I just need to pace myself, plan ahead, and prepare to be interrupted. I can't dive into those six hour projects and expect to get them done all in one day - I need to break these up over several days. I'm currently in the middle of several of these. They will be wrapping up next week.

How having a baby during the event will go is anyone's guess. I figure he'll be on me much of the time, and there will be lots of breastfeeding during contests. I have been diligently pumping every day to get a supply going, but it may not be enough. Oh well, I figure if he's bottle fed during too much of the weekend it'll cause me to dry up anyway, and that can't be good.

Boys vs Girls

Fascinating "Pregnant in Heels" episode last night, in which Rosie Pope admitted she was having anxiety about having a girl because of her own abandonment by her mother, and her fear of repeating unhealthy patterns.

When I discovered Bumpus was a boy, my family and close friends who know my mother situation all said, "that's much better, you can make a fresh start and not always have to compare your relationship to your daughter to your childhood relationship with your mother," and things of that ilk. And I agreed, as much as I mourned the idea of having someone to dress in cute girlie outfits, play with my barbies, etc.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about what a boy Bumpus is, how he's brought such a male energy to the house, and wondered how differently I treat him or think about him because he's a boy and not a little girl. I think I'd be softer and gentler with him if he were a girl; like most single mothers, I'm sure, I am terrified of emasculating him. I want to make sure he feels secure in his sexuality; I want him to be happy being a boy. I want to do what I already know is impossible - I want him to not miss having a dad.

But so much of how I relate to him is based on the fact that he's male. I call him "buddy". I try not to coddle him. I talk to him in a way I wouldn't if he were my daughter. I worry about raising him as a vegetarian, taking him to musicals, reading him Little House on the Prairie. Am I prepared to teach him a male identity? Do I know how to do that?

I guess the real question should be, what is a male identity? And more importantly, what will male identity be twenty years from now? I'm interested to find out!