Yesterday

When you have a baby, as everyone who has had one knows, most of the people you talk with have something to offer about life relative to babies, whether they have had a baby or not. This is so common that everyone knows this is the case, whether they've had a baby or not. Okay, not the point, but I am getting there.

One of the most common things people who have had babies say to someone who has recently had a baby is, "They grow up so fast" or something to that point. A general warning that the time will pass so quickly that you cannot believe it.

I believe it. It scares me, makes me feel very sad and causes me to cry almost everyday. In the midst of such bliss about all things E, this is a reality that causes me pain.

It is within the massacre of love that overwhelms me when I hold her that my heart is pierced by both tremendous joy and by the torment of haunting voices, which repeat... this will not last, before you know it she'll be walking, talking, schooling, dating, loving, leaving... and then my voice cracks as I sing to her, because I've begun to cry.

I stand in front of a mirror as I hold her. I am holding her in my left arm and her tiny hiney sits on it like it's a little shelf. It is. There has never been a more noble purpose for my left arm. It is, in my opinion, the greatest accomplishment of my arm's life to have become a tiny hiney shelf for E.

I stand and I stare, trying to etch all of the details into my memory. Her pink socks, the shape of the back of her head and ears, the feel of her tiny hands exploring my face, the length of her legs as they drive her feet to thump against my belly. My belly that held her almost 8 months ago. Feels like yesterday.



I try to take refuge from this anguish by diving into the compound of excitement for the present and the future. E helps me with this challenge. She knows already the power she has over me (us) when she calls my (our) attention to her excitement of discovery. She invites me to share in her experiences with beckoning calls, "bah bah budah rah rahlabah" and glances that issue, "Mommy look!" "Mommy help!" and my favorite, "Mommy I DID IT!"



Is feeling powerless against the passage of time just part of the parenting deal? I suppose the more you love something the less you want to let it go, even if you have no choice. Maybe the best thing is to make a decision to be comfortable and gracious about the time today lasts and really live in it. That's what I want to do. I don't want to feel sad about how quickly time passes, I want to feel exhilaration for the whole process.

Fucking February

February must be a good month to die. When working out how shit would go down, Death must have argued for February.

Death- "Alright Life, I want a month when I can double my productivity, increase my stats. How about January?"
Life- "No way. Too depressing for the start of the year."
Death- "Alright, December then."
Life- "Not fair, there are already tons of people headed your way on account of the holidays. No."
Death- "June."
Life- "Absolutely not. That's one of my biggest months and you know it."
Death- "You pick then, but I want one."
Life- "Fine. Have fucking February. But we're making it short."

In January, I feel refreshed. I shake off the year before and set my sights on the possibilities ahead. Around mid month I am still balls to the wall, but February starts fucking with me a little. As the days push me closer and closer to February, that underlying nag of sadness seeps its way into the foreground. I hear songs, see pictures, smell smells that bring me closer to memories of people I've loved and lost. I've wondered if it's them influencing reminders to be sure their memories are cherished. I wouldn't like that really. Seems desperately sad to think once you've moved on from this place you'd be interested in vying for the attention of the living that way. I hope it's just me making stronger associations because I feel my grief again.

Either way... my February is painful every year. It began as a child, knowing my mother's father passed away on February 10th, when she was the tender age of 19. Once I understood why she was sad that day, I thought about it too much, the way kids do when they have learned something new. I wonder at the coincidence of having had my first miscarriage on February 10th as well.

I won't go through the volume of the dead in February. It's long. It includes Beowulf, my cousin Leslie and Marty's wonderful and beloved dog, who died in February almost a decade ago. I think of that every year too. He was a special person. He used to say "I love you" and he meant it. You could see it in his eyes.

It's somehow nice that now my mom doesn't have to live the grief of the 10th alone. We talk and cry together, support one another on that day now. I like to think my little angel is in my grandfather's arms and that they are showering one another with love. I don't know if I believe that, but it feels good in a blissful "escape from fucking February" kind of way.

And that brings us to my grandmother. She didn't die in February. She died March 2nd. That makes me smile every year. I miss her a great deal and I cherish her memory all year round. She was a fabulous woman... full to the brim of her 4 and a half feet with the wisdom of experience, boundless love for her family, the skill to work a kitchen like no body's business and a set of bona fide brass balls. I can imagine how the conversation with Death might have gone if he'd stopped by her bedside in February that year...

Death- "Okay Ruth, it's time to go now."
Grammy- "I think I'll wait until March. Too many people have died in February in this family."
Death- "Okay, you let me know when you're ready."

She was that kind of commanding little lady. Fucking Ferbruary's match.

Hi. How are you?

So, I really foreshadowed the shit out of that disappearance, huh?

I re read my posts. Man, a lot has changed. Who was that person who couldn't live without training in martial arts? I went back to class for a month threw up one night, accidently took someone else's weapons bag one night, was balls out into it another night, skipped the next 3 nights to hang out with E and S, liked that best so came home and hung up my belt. Now S and I train on the back porch and that's just fucking fine. Those 20 more pounds will catch up with that 50 I lost already sometime. S thinks I'm hot, so I am. Jiggle it!

"I love work! I would love to go back to work! No problem about working!" Fuck that. I work 65 -70 hours a week and I have a 7 month old love of my life waiting on hold all that time. That can kiss my ass. S takes the bar next week and he'll ace that mutha. I can't wait. They did give me more money and they said over and over how valuable I am and I appreciate that... but life is not about that rat race anymore. I'll still work. I love to work. Just not so much and not for anywhere that doesn't do something good for this godforsaken planet and the life on it. Poor mother earth needs all the help she can get. And I am a powerhouse!

So, things I can now do in under a minute:

- apply lotion, brush teeth, put in contacts, put on deod
- get dressed, prepare myself a meal, get coffee creamed sugared and poured
- change E's diaper, strap on the nursing pillow, whip out the boob, put E on and moo
- all things related to sex

Hope everyone is well.