Step one: acknowledging.

8/30/07

Today I will ask God to show me what is next. After a year of being a stay-at-home mom, I’m ready to re-enter the world as a redefined woman. I’m just not sure about the what’s, where’s, how’s, or why’s. The span of change that has happened to me over the past 2 years is astronomical. My body has morphed from a young 22-year-old, 140 lb, perky breasted, slim figure, to a 200 lb pregnant woman with legs and feet that look like they’re about to pop and the varicose veins of a body builder. Now, a year after the birth I’m under my pre-pregnancy weight, but my breasts have been the sacrifice. One flops on my chest like a dead fish, and the other is usually much larger than the other. They droop, and like the stretch marks on my lower right tummy, thighs, and breasts, serve to constantly remind me of my role as “mama.”

The physical changes are only the beginning. The youth I was seems to be hiding within, waiting and hoping for a chance to sneak out, like a rebellious teenager. It wasn’t always this way, oh no. During the pregnancy, and for the first several months of motherhood, I exuded an uninterrupted calm. My role was unquestionable and understood. I was life giver, nurturer, and protector. The itch of independence has only recently snuck its way back into the spectrum of my experience, and I believe it is a parallel of my daughters growing abilities and individuation from me. We have been a unit, and now the unit is slowly dividing. I watch her exploring her world with curiosity that is unencumbered by past experience. There is a freshness that I can only dream of feeling again. Like the moment of birth. WOW, true awe! I will learn from her and try to see the world through the eyes of a child.

The idea to write this book came to me the other day when I was at a friend’s house. It was the four of us, three artists and my little girl. The discussion of my friend’s most recent works was hot and the dialogue consisted of wanting to understand where her paintings came from. “These paintings are mirrors of spirit, true feeling and total emotion, an expression of the 6th sense.” In the middle of the discussion I noticed my daughter squatting and grunting on the floor, a sure sign that “potty” is about to happen. I quickly scooped her up and attempted to make it to the tiny bathroom, which was non-equipped for the baby style poop process. It was a mini adventure, trying to catch the poopy in the potty, wiping her butt with only a few ply of toilet paper, interrupting the esoteric conversation and bringing it back to earth with “DO YOU HAVE ANY MORE TOILET PAPER??!!” That was the moment that I broke down and started laughing. The moment when I knew that my life as a young independent woman was never gonna be the same again. That I was forever changed with the blessing and duty of being responsible for another precious being. I could never fantasize about flying to NYC a young, single, gorgeous artist with the world at my fingertips. No, I’d have to leave that to my friends, and try to live vicariously through them, as they do me. I wouldn’t trade my situation for the world, but there is a fine balance that is being sought out. The balance of being a whole being at least 2 hours a day, or during nap time. The challenge of negotiating time. Organizing moments of silence, socialization with peers, and mama-baby time.