The curtains to the 90 inch windows of “The Art Room” of my 1880 Victorian historic home are open.
I can hear the morning birds singing and the lawn mower humming across the street. My desk where I write faces north (had to think about that) – where is my compass? I miss that about Wyoming – I always had the mountains to guide me west. That is something I miss about the West – mountains that tell you where you are. Now I am in the South and my compass is my heart. The needle points North, right? Sometimes my compass needle seems to be rattling all different directions.
I don’t know who designed this picture above, but I found it on this guy’s blog http://www.williamzeitler.com/blog/2009/09/15/new-musicimagepoem-the-journey/
I am a new mom as most of you all know. I often wonder who you are. Are you a mother of three who has had a long damn day and is surfing the blogs to get some relief? Or are you a friend from high school and you’ve clicked on my link from Facebook? Are you a fellow writer who has stumbled on my blog?
The baby is sleeping and this not only excites me, it makes me blissfully happy that I have some time to myself to write on my blog. I am lucky enough to be staying home with the baby right now, as a stay at home mama (for the short time being) and honestly, I am lucky some days to get dressed and showered and sometimes it seems like it would be easier to do it in that order. Yesterday I managed to get a load of dishes in the dish washer, wipe down the kitchen counters, sweep the floor, and vacuum the living room. All the while one-handed.
I am trying Attached Parenting and I need to read some more on it, but I don’t have the time to read the directions that failed to come with my little love bug baby boy, so Dr. Sears is going to have to be shelved for a while, along with all the other baby books and I will let my instincts point me north. I am basically trying to comfort and love on my little one when he needs me. He seems to love being held and what baby wouldn’t. Heck, if I could get someone to carry my 150 PLUS pound self and get into a cushy left shoulder hug, I would be all over that. And rub my back while you’re at it!
My little wonder boy is worth the back ache, the heart ache, the brain ache, the everywhere ache and the love ache. I know everyone reading this has an opinion and believe me I’ve heard them. From the lady in the grocery store to the mother of six who has seen it all. Some suggestions and comments are friendly and respectful of the invisible mama boundary fence and some leap right over, lick my face and shove their opinions down my throat with a spoonful of cod liver oil. I never did like cod liver oil, even though it’s good for me. It makes me gag. Period.
I was in the grocery store last week getting some pastries and fruit for breakfast before a coffee/play date. Us moms would have coffee and the babies would play (baby boy pretty much just stares at his play dates now) and have breast milk. So I am checking out of the grocery line and my baby boy starts his revolt against the detachable baby carrier car seat. If his revolt could be categorized as music, it would be heavy metal acid rock. The carrier with baby boy is sitting in the grocery cart. He is screaming his I hate this darn car seat – darn you – get me outta here immediately before I call the guilt on your heart mama police…
Oh the guilt, how it governs me. I tried to remain calm. I looked pretty sassy, for I had showered, put curly mousse in my hair, and blow dried my hair with the diffuser and GOT DRESSED and put make-up on. All the while baby boy cried. It was a difficult time getting out the door for our morning coffee play date to begin with. And here I am in the grocery store just wanting to get out the door so I don’t have to deal with people staring at me because my baby is crying or rather screaming. So this middle age woman, with a florescent pink t-shirt and a clutch purse, hands free I might add, comes over to the grocery cart unsolicited and peers inside it like she’s looking for the package of pasta in the cupboard, and says, “That’s an unhappy baby.”
I wanted to say, “Piss off lady.” I might have rolled my eyes (I did) underneath my stylin’ oversized glamour sunglasses and breezed right by her with a body language, screw you. But underneath my glamour shades and puffy styled hair, was just an insecure new mom who felt judged and to make matters worse, that I couldn’t get my baby to be happy. For the crying activates something in me that is so deep and so magnetic, like that compass pointing north, that I feel awful when he cries.
My point is – what is my point – I think this is one of my open rambles. I alternate usually with these blog posts. One day, a really tight focused essay where the reader can identify what I am talking about and then these posts where I ramble and the compass dangles. My point is – you just don’t know where a mother may be in her heart. The compass may be pointing north, but her heart might be sinking south. The baby may be crying west, but the mama might be feeling guilt all the way to the deep Atlantic east. You just don’t know. So instead of looking in my baby cupboard carriage and telling me my baby is unhappy, look at me and smile. Why not say, “That is an unhappy mama.” Because believe me I am not happy when my baby cries or hurts and I can’t console him.
But I’m human and there will be babies that scream in the grocery store.
These cute little compass gems (pictured above) can be found at https://www.art4thesoul.com/CM01.html.