It takes a village
There are things I don't blog about - more of them than one might guess.
I don't blog about my relationship with my husband. I don't blog about my brother. I don't want to blog about my grandmother's rapid decline. I don't blog about my extended families' dynamics. I don't even blog much about my work, except in the vaguest terms.
The Internet is a public place, full of more people than you think, as anyone who does blog about these things can tell you. There are people who love to have opinions about other people's personal lives based on very little actual information. There are people who love to argue about things I have no interest in arguing, people who love to give unsolicited advice, people who love to take offense. I hope that I give all these people minimal fodder; and if that makes the blog less interesting than, say, the blog of someone who is willing to let it all hang out and damn the consequences, well. So be it. I've grown more cautious about such things as I've grown older, though there are those who might say I should be more cautious still.
Which is all to say, it's not so much the one-handed typing that has kept me quiet lately (though that is certainly a factor) as that my life has been filled with a lot of the things I don't blog about, both good, bad, and just plain complex. Visiting my grammy and seeing all my aunts and uncles (and not a few cousins). Bad news from my brother, who lives far away. Falling in love with my husband all over again, not just as my partner, but as the father of our child. Coming to terms with some of my own bullshit around parenting, and struggling to be a better person in a multitude of ways.
But I will say that the last few weeks have been filled with family meeting and spending time with Ray, and that has been an incomparable blessing. His grandparents took some of the night feedings when we were visiting Grammy, and my honorary cousin S. taught me many new baby soothing techniques - she truly has a magic touch. He spent time with great-aunts and great-uncles and Grammy got to hold him, and told him, "I love you, honey. You're Grammy's little boy," which still makes me tear up just thinking about it. His Aunt D. came to visit and we discovered that he loves Bhangra dancing - he fell asleep in her arms, despite the loud music and the energetic movement. He's been handed around to a wide circle of admirers. And because of all of this, I have gotten sleep, and uninterrupted meals, and a multitude of other wonders. It truly takes a village, and makes me more determined to create some sort of local community for myself around here with other parents.
And this last weekend, Himself hung out with the baby for more than four hours while I got a nap and a massage, which did wonders for pressing my reset button and reminding me how lucky I am in my life. I'm not always good at giving myself nice things that don't have a function or can't be incorporated into multitasking somehow or that cost more than, say, $25. Himself practically had to shove me out the door and remind me that he had promised me a massage as a Christmas present to get me to actually go. And it was amazing, having that time to myself without running errands or telling myself I had to use it to catch up on housework or sleep. I feel so much more sane, so much more balanced than I did last week; I'm more ready to be a nicer person, a better mom.
I'm prone to bitching about things - I like to think that I do it with enough style and flair that it's at least entertaining. I like to think I'm good at it, if one can be "good at" complaining. But more and more, I find that what I have to say about my life involves a deep upwelling of gratitude, a sort of thanks tinged with awe. I am so very truly blessed. (And no, for those of you who haven't got kids, this isn't one of those you-can't-understand-it-until-you-have-a-baby things. It predates the baby, though he is certainly an amazing gift. This is just...hmmm. Maybe I'm growing up.) While I reserve the right to complain volubly about any and all minor matters, and to take the fifth on anything I don't wish to blog about, the core of it all is that I think perhaps I am the luckiest person I know. I feel like I need to say it, because taking all this goodness for granted would truly be a shame; it's nothing I've deserved, god knows, but it's come to me all the same, and I am overwhelmed.
I don't blog about my relationship with my husband. I don't blog about my brother. I don't want to blog about my grandmother's rapid decline. I don't blog about my extended families' dynamics. I don't even blog much about my work, except in the vaguest terms.
The Internet is a public place, full of more people than you think, as anyone who does blog about these things can tell you. There are people who love to have opinions about other people's personal lives based on very little actual information. There are people who love to argue about things I have no interest in arguing, people who love to give unsolicited advice, people who love to take offense. I hope that I give all these people minimal fodder; and if that makes the blog less interesting than, say, the blog of someone who is willing to let it all hang out and damn the consequences, well. So be it. I've grown more cautious about such things as I've grown older, though there are those who might say I should be more cautious still.
Which is all to say, it's not so much the one-handed typing that has kept me quiet lately (though that is certainly a factor) as that my life has been filled with a lot of the things I don't blog about, both good, bad, and just plain complex. Visiting my grammy and seeing all my aunts and uncles (and not a few cousins). Bad news from my brother, who lives far away. Falling in love with my husband all over again, not just as my partner, but as the father of our child. Coming to terms with some of my own bullshit around parenting, and struggling to be a better person in a multitude of ways.
But I will say that the last few weeks have been filled with family meeting and spending time with Ray, and that has been an incomparable blessing. His grandparents took some of the night feedings when we were visiting Grammy, and my honorary cousin S. taught me many new baby soothing techniques - she truly has a magic touch. He spent time with great-aunts and great-uncles and Grammy got to hold him, and told him, "I love you, honey. You're Grammy's little boy," which still makes me tear up just thinking about it. His Aunt D. came to visit and we discovered that he loves Bhangra dancing - he fell asleep in her arms, despite the loud music and the energetic movement. He's been handed around to a wide circle of admirers. And because of all of this, I have gotten sleep, and uninterrupted meals, and a multitude of other wonders. It truly takes a village, and makes me more determined to create some sort of local community for myself around here with other parents.
And this last weekend, Himself hung out with the baby for more than four hours while I got a nap and a massage, which did wonders for pressing my reset button and reminding me how lucky I am in my life. I'm not always good at giving myself nice things that don't have a function or can't be incorporated into multitasking somehow or that cost more than, say, $25. Himself practically had to shove me out the door and remind me that he had promised me a massage as a Christmas present to get me to actually go. And it was amazing, having that time to myself without running errands or telling myself I had to use it to catch up on housework or sleep. I feel so much more sane, so much more balanced than I did last week; I'm more ready to be a nicer person, a better mom.
I'm prone to bitching about things - I like to think that I do it with enough style and flair that it's at least entertaining. I like to think I'm good at it, if one can be "good at" complaining. But more and more, I find that what I have to say about my life involves a deep upwelling of gratitude, a sort of thanks tinged with awe. I am so very truly blessed. (And no, for those of you who haven't got kids, this isn't one of those you-can't-understand-it-until-you-have-a-baby things. It predates the baby, though he is certainly an amazing gift. This is just...hmmm. Maybe I'm growing up.) While I reserve the right to complain volubly about any and all minor matters, and to take the fifth on anything I don't wish to blog about, the core of it all is that I think perhaps I am the luckiest person I know. I feel like I need to say it, because taking all this goodness for granted would truly be a shame; it's nothing I've deserved, god knows, but it's come to me all the same, and I am overwhelmed.
posted by The Stute Fish at 09:50
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