Confession #21: I Dread the Week Ahead

So, you will probably think I am a horrible mother for this, but every single weekend since I have come home from the hospital with my newborn, I have dreaded the week ahead, knowing I have to care for my new baby all alone, with no help during the day.  Don't get me wrong, I love my child dearly.  I just find caring for a tiny baby extremely taxing, and it is so much easier when there is a second pair of hands to help.  The problem is that life with a newborn is completely unpredictable.  There are days when he sleeps great after feedings in his cradle, and when this happens, I have a couple of hours to eat, bathe, pump, and sleep myself...but more often than not, he doesn't sleep so great in his cradle, and when I put him down in his swing or his little play mat, he is content for short bursts of time, but never long enough for me to accomplish anything.  So often, I just begin to pump (I am trying to build a supply of milk for when I return to work) and he begins to summon me with his sorry little newborn tears.  I hate hearing him cry, and I cannot complete a task if he begins crying.  I HAVE to stop what I am doing and go to him.  It is just the way I am wired.  I cannot stand the thought of him being upset or uncomfortable in any way...it is incredibly unnerving! 

I now completely understand the maxim, "It takes a village to raise a child."  No woman should have to do this alone, and as my husband just reminded me, I am lucky to have him in the evenings and on the weekends, and my parents when they are not working, and I know there are single moms out there who do this all by themselves.  My hat is totally off to those women.  I could not do it.

So, here I am, on Sunday evening, dreading the week to follow...knowing, I won't sleep much, and there will be days when I won't be able to take a bath or pump until my husband gets home from work.  I am no longer the boss of myself.  My baby is my boss, and I have to just acquiesce to that fact, otherwise I am going to go insane!

Confession #20: I am Pathetically Waiting by the Phone

Technically, I am waiting with the phone, as my cell phone is portable, so I don't have to sit by it, but I can bring it with me everywhere I go.

Yesterday, I had my third interview for a teaching position this summer. The first was in April, and I received a rejection letter by mail in early May. The second was nearly three weeks ago (see Confession #19), and after being told I was one of the top 3 candidates and waiting in suspense for two and a half weeks, the principal of the school let me off gently this Saturday with a flattering email about how well qualified I am, but offering his condolences because he selected another candidate.

Yesterday, I interviewed for a position at a school that I would love to work at. It is close to home, and better yet, close to my hospital and doctor's office, which is exceptionally important as I am now four and a half months pregnant. I really want this job. Not just because of its proximity, but because it is a really good school. Student performance is on the higher side, and the North Carolina teacher survey results prove that most staff members feel that it is a great place to work and teach. Thus, in anxious anticipation, I have been keeping my phone very near to me, pretty much since I got home after the interview yesterday afternoon.

What happens if I don't get this job? I don't even want to think about it. I know, deep within myself, that what I want or think is best for me isn't always what I should have or what is actually best for me. I know that God's plan is bigger and his scope is vaster than my own, and even when things don't work out the way I want them to, I have to trust He is in control and is working things out for my good. But, I would be lying if I said I won't cry or be disappointed if I incur another rejection. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel like throwing in the towel in my job search if this one doesn't work out.

I really, really, really want my phone to ring!

Confession #19: I don't want to Wait any longer!!!

What am I waiting for?

#1: contact from a prospective employer I interviewed with on Wednesday of this week. I abhor the wait after an interview. Such a time lapse plays the most hideous of tricks on me. I begin, in hope, to dream of myself in the new position, pre-planning my space, imagining myself doing stellar work for the employer, and envisioning all of the items I plan to purchase when the paychecks start coming in. I have to stop, and I have to stop now because if no news is bad news or a precursor to bad news, I am going to be disappointed, and who wants to wallow in disappointment?

#2: my pregnancy nausea to go away. I am 17 weeks pregnant, and I have been fraying against nausea since week 8 of my pregnancy. While most women are hitting the peek at that time, my experience with morning sickness was just beginning. Accordingly, while most women are bidding the ill feelings adieu by week 12, I was in the throes of the most violent sickness, and while most women count nausea a distant memory by week 17, here I am, still experiencing it, still coping with it, and still, albeit foolishly, hoping for it to end soon. Yet again, I have to stop because, although it is rare, some women battle nausea throughout their entire pregnancies, and I could be one of those few.

#3: fetal movement. Over the past few weeks I have felt pokes and flutters, but I sometimes go days without feeling anything, which makes me feel rather anxious. Although, all reliable sources admit that it is much too early to expect to feel a regular pattern of baby's movements, it is so reassuring to feel that little poke in the gut from time to time, or the swishing turn-me-upside-down feeling I sometimes get, which somehow reminds me of sojourns upon Space Mountain in Walt Disney World. I cannot make the baby move, however, and besides, it is likely moving a lot in there, but I cannot make it decide to kick in the front or the sides where I can feel it. Already, it has a little mind of its own and I cannot control its actions. Perhaps, this is an early lesson in parenthood?

#4: my anatomy scan ultra sound. In less than a week, my husband and I will loiter in the doctor's waiting room, watching the clock tick the seconds before we are called in for the ultra sound. The technician will squirt warming jelly on my belly and on the screen before us, we will see our little one, hopefully bouncing about, content within its home of amniotic fluid. I cannot wait for this moment. I cannot wait to go and hopefully, have all anxieties about baby's development relieved, and possibly, learn the gender of this little baby. It is already determined, I know. The child knows its gender, and it has been keeping its secret from mommy and daddy, and it has been keeping its secret well. But I cannot wait any longer! I am eager to finally know. I have no idea how people the ages over waited until delivery to find out. I am much too impatient for that!

So, there you have it! I am waiting for a potential job offer, the end to my morning sickness, the beginning of regularly detectable fetal movement, and the revelation of baby's sex. Can I make it? Can I distract myself sufficiently to forget the angst of anticipation? I will try.

Confession #18: Mode or Queens?

Let me explain. I have recently become infatuated with the charmingly witty comedy series, Ugly Betty. I owe all my thanks to Netflix instant streaming, since the show is no longer on the air.

Betty Suarez is a latina from Queens who acquires the position of executive assistant to the wealthy bachelor, Daniel Mead, Editor in Chief for Mode Magazine. A fish out of water, Betty transcends the supercilious back stabbing world of fashion-dom by being her intelligent, and sometimes naive, self. While Betty's character embodies wholesome purity and goodness, one cannot help but wish for a makeover for her, while simultaneously coveting the bodies/wardrobes of her trendy, pretentious peers.

And this brings me to my ultimate confession. While Mode Magazine is a symbol of style and chic elegance, Ugly Betty and her middle class Queens family and abode represent reality, down to earth, and raw. While I would love to consider myself worthy of the symbol so elegantly represented by Mode, who am I really?

The answer lies in my blanket. Yes. My blanket. Today, while watching a second episode of Ugly Betty on my instant queue, I happened to notice Betty's nephew, Justin, nestled on the couch after a long day helping his working class mother bake muffins for her new entrepreneurial venture, upon my blanket. Yes, thrown across the back of the Suarez family couch was a woven blanket in burnt red and olive, the very same blanket that, at that exact instant, I was cocooning myself with in the name of cozy comfort. So, who am I? Mode or Queens? Well, I believe it is fully apparent: I am Queens. I shop at the same store as Betty Suarez!

#17: I Want to Live in a BIG City

I want to live in a BIG city. I want my sole means of transportation to be my feet because walking in the world makes me feel alive. I want to hear the honking of horns, the hum of motors, the murmur of conversations occurring all around me. I want to see the buildings scraping the skies and the fashion of people on the streets, the store fronts aglow, and the ornate architecture of buildings constructed to contain masses while simultaneously pleasing the eye. I want to stride into the pit of the subway, ride the train and arrive in moments. I want the world at my fingertips: markets, retailers, and restaurants. Choice, choice, and more choice.

I feel alive walking in a city. I will never forget my very first experience in a bustling megalopolis. Paris, 2007. We rode around the city in a shuttle bus, and my eyes absorbed Haussmann’s embellished building facades, adorned with twirly wrought iron balconies and aged green eaves. Timidly, I held fast to Phil’s grip as we crossed the cobbled walks from one avenue to the next, and though at first I felt my displacement obviously informed the stylish, haute parisians around me, I embraced the orchestrated movements of the masses, as that light blinked green, and we all moved forward as one. I rested in the cafes on the sidewalk, people watching and world watching, beholding the whir of traffic and the leisurely glide of passerby, while hearing the clink of glasses, the swish of wine, and gazing upon the pleasant smile of my one true love, shining even as brightly as the City of Love.

As far as cities are concerned, Paris will always hold the highest rank in my heart, and I dream to one day live in an apartment overlooking a boulevard where I can lean into my window and view the sentience of the populous pulsing throughout.Nevertheless, recently, I had the opportunity to spend a few days in New York City, and it was there that I realized my desire to live in a bustling metropolis. It isn’t specifically the avenues of Paris or the Underground of London that I long for. Rather, it is avenues and undergrounds and people, and ornate buildings and cathedrals and proximity, and yes, even nature, offered by any large city, that I long for. Central Park, serene, yet peopled, is a grand exemplar of the accessibility of nature within a city; however, a soothing reserve is not the only natural option available to urban citizens. I find that I spend more time in nature when I am in a city than I do living in my suburban, nearly country abode. This is because when I am in a city, I spend all of my time outside, walking, with the ceiling above the blue, sometimes gray, skies and the cumulous, sometimes cumulonimbus clouds. Sure, I am exposed to the elements, but rain boots, an umbrella, wool scarves and leather gloves are stylish accessories I would not mind adding to my present wardrobe. I breathe in the natural air. Sure, it may be a little polluted, but it is better than breathing in artificially manufactured air inside buildings or cars all day long. As it is, I spend 2 lonely hours a day in my car commuting to and from my Charlotte job, but I would so much rather a brisk stroll on city sidewalks and a quick jaunt on a train.

I know it isn’t perfect, and my idealism is evidence of my lack of experience, but I am old enough, yet maybe still young enough, to try new things and create a world of my choosing, rather than complacently accepting what I know simply because I know it.

Confession #16: I Don't Want to be your Friend.

My friendship with you edifies only you. My shoulder is yours to cry on, but when I need to cry, you do not spare an inch of cloth for me. My time is yours to waste, but time for you is not easily dispensed. My ears collect the trash overflowing from your troubled heart, but there is no depository for me. You can make your demands and pull your weight all around my world, but a momentary power shift to me is impossibly unthinkable, and downright rude!

I don't want to be your friend, if I cannot cry on your shoulder. I don't want to be your friend if you cannot spare your time for me. I don't want to collect all of your trash because I have too much of my own to bear, and I don't want to do all you will for your pleasure, just for you to forget your empty promises to me.

This topsy turvy relationship does not suit me. It benefits me not at all, and proceeds to hurt me. Why should I remain a friend to you who want that which you cannot be?

Confession #15: I Bought My Dad a Cat Without My Mom's Permission

This is Sugarfoot:
Well, that was his name before today, when I adopted him from Second Chance Kitten Rescue this afternoon. I hope he has a new name soon. Naming is a very important function of Christian life, as it indicates intimacy and relationship. When Sugarfoot receives his new name, he will solidify his place in his new home. I do not plan on giving him this name because I did not bring him home to my house; rather, I adopted this adorable little boy as a gift for my dad.

What I did not consider before making this purchase was the fact that my mom would not only disapprove, but feel intense anger and resentment towards both myself and my father for my decision. Sure, I knew that if I asked her whether I should give my dad a cat, she would tell me no, but I didn't think she would be angry. But, you see, being a grown child no longer living beneath my parents' roof, I tend to forget the weathering of the past upon their marital bliss. I forget the prior hurts and resentments that are rooted deep in days gone by, arguments gone awry, and wounds inflicted knowingly or unknowingly somewhere over the rainbow. I forget how hard they have fought to hold on or hold it together, and so with that limited perception, I move forward in my own life, healing from their past, but not realizing they are not healing alongside me.

With that said, I did not think for a moment that getting my dad this cat would create upheaval in my parents' home. And, truly, I meant the very, very best. As my dad's daughter, I knew this gift would be the best gift I could imagine to give him. He LOVES cats! I see the sparkle in his eyes when he plays with mine, as well as the disappointment in his demeanor when they refuse to give him the time of day. I know the joy they bring when I am alone with them, and they, being comfortable with me as their owner, relax into the nooks between the couch and myself when I am taking a nap or when they nudge me by ramming their heads into mine, blocking my view of the computer monitor when I am working. I know this joy, and he knows it too, and I wanted, more than anything, to give him this. And this I am giving him, which is a wonderful and beautiful thing, but this gift has come at a price.

Yes, the adoption fee, and the pet carrier, and the supplies I bought to accompany the little baby, but that isn't quite what I am talking about. The price is the envy and resentment my mom feels now. And I am not even going to say her feelings are unjustified. I accept those feelings; I threw her out of her comfort zone without a warning. But those feelings are being directed at my dad. Is the love of the cat worth the vice of my mom? I wish it could be. I mean, in reality, the vice of my mom is going to surface from time to time for some reason or another, so having the comfort of a little friend could assuage some of the grief...but is it worth it for the cat to cause the vice? Once again, I want it to be worth it. I really really do.