Christmas tree 2004 - fully loaded 

writing

"The unexamined life is not worth living for man." - Socrates (or Plato)

I keep a journal. I always have, ever since I can remember. Probably it started as me wanting to emulate my mom (which is a perfectly good reason to start something like that), who is a chronic journaler. Or "diarist," I suppose is the truly technical literary term for one who keeps a chronicle of one's own life.

When I was a teenager I wrote copiously, pouring out all my angst and all my arrogant ideas. I guess I had more time for it back then too, since I didn't have a TV when I was a teen, nor a computer with internet to waste time on. So I read and wrote a whole lot, and I have wonderful autobiography of that period. About 12 or 15 years ago I decided that I wanted to fill a book every year, and I started getting a dated book for each calendar year and designating a certain amount of space for each day or each week, with a couple of pages at the end so I could write a kind of summary. Every once in a while I'd fall so far behind that I couldn't fill the entire book by year's end, but by and large I'd fill the thing, if only to satisfy my own anal-retentive need to do things to completion.

A few years ago I started using a book that did not have dates in it, but provided approximately 1-2 pages per week for reporting and reflection. Each year I seem to be less able to finish up the entire book, despite meticulously figuring out how many pages I have to use and how many days to allocate to each page. This year, I wound up about 2 months behind, which sometimes really bugs me, but not enough to force me to sit down and fill the damn book up. It's just been such a good year, I didn't have enough angst to fill the book with, until the past few months, which have been characterized by a kind of suffering that requires me to file it away and attempt to forget about it, rather than writing it down for endless rehashing and analysis. So I haven't been writing a whole lot this year.

Now for my present dilemma. What I have been doing is writing in this here blog, which, while not providing an outlet for my innermost thoughts (yes, believe it or not I do have an even more private life than what you all read here), does give me an outlet for writing and reflection on less intimate topics. So, my question is, do I purchase a new book for 2005, and if so, which kind of book should it be? A full-size book that I can, say, paste blog entries into, and augment with extra private thoughts as they occur to me, or perhaps a book with smaller amounts of space, for general reporting? I'm leaning toward the former, which seems to make the most sense. I have a few more days to make the decision, and in the meantime I can review what little I did write last year, and prepare my annual summary. The blessing and curse of the examined life.

parenting is paradox

in a theme that has recurred throughout my career as a parent, i have felt a disturbance in the Force all day. I am preparing (mentally, at this point - the physical preparations won't begin until later tonight) to send my daughter to her father and his family for their Christmas celebrations. This will include a visit with her uncle, aunt, cousins and grandmother at the uncle's place, and her dad will join them on Friday. As this event approaches, I am spinning as usual between keen anticipation of a short break from my parenting duties, and acute melancholy at being bereft of my child for such a long time. It is 3 nights.

I wonder whether I will have the same experience next week, when not only will I be absent from my child, but I will also be away, hanging out with my boyfriend. I wonder if, this time around, the anxiety I feel about her being away from me is made worse by the fact that she will be in largely unfamiliar surroundings. She has visited with her uncle and aunt before, and she will undoubtedly have big fun with her cousins, but she has never stayed with them for that long before, and her dad will not be there for the first part. I will be at home, puttering around, doing the last few preparations for our family Christmas, and enjoying a couple of evenings to myself with no responsibilities beyond my own needs. I will be thinking about her. Next week I'll be escaping with my sweetie, having even my own needs seen to by him, and taking care of him in return, so perhaps I won't feel it so keenly.

No matter what the circumstances, I feel an absence from my girl with a mixture of relief and sadness. My mother tells me that this feeling will never go away, and this weekend I witnessed another mother feeling and showing both pride at her grown son's independence and accomplishment, and a kind of grief at the distance that now lies between them, and the resulting diminished contact. I don't think any of us realizes the depth and breadth of emotion that we sign on for when we leap into this thing called parenting. I wouldn't give it up for anything.

silver lining

the good thing about this being the shortest day of the year is that from here on in, the days will get longer and longer. It will be imperceptible until a few weeks from now i'll notice that when I leave work, there's still a glimmer of daylight in the sky. I'll miss the twinkling christmas lights that adorn all the houses though, a substitute for sun.

sexy

grr, can't find a good title for this post.

okay so I got this inspiration from Yikesahootie's blog, where she says guys can meet women by writing a blog. At least, someone in her acquaintance seems to have managed this, although that was not his prime motivation for writing a blog. Which begs the question...why DOES he blog? But that's a topic for another day.

Anyway, so I read this article entitled Reading: The New Sexy on The Tyee, a local online lefty political and opinion site. The article is kind of mostly about a campaign by Penguin to make reading sexy, and the comments (which I confess I didn't read because usually those things are so trite it makes me want to barf) were (probably) critical of the article, but I'm more interested in the idea.

I do like a well-read man, or at least a man who reads. I managed to hook up with a man who doesn't read for recreation the way I do, and the way other men in my life have done, but I find it's not a detriment to my attraction to him. He reads lots of news and articles online and in magazines, and he's creative and stimulates his imagination in other ways, which make up for the fact that he's not particularly turned on by curling up with a book. He's still a smart guy :)

I liked the idea of creating a dating service based on what people like to read, except that when I take myself as an example, I like to read through the whole spectrum of stuff. Something from just about every genre has piqued my interest at some time, and I'm just as likely to be turned OFF a given genre at other times. It's all very complicated. I'm not sure I could identify a man who might be a good all-around match with me based on a book he might have in his back pocket when we met, just as I'm not sure I'd want to be assessed based on my current literary interest. It's an interesting idea, although as I said, I think just knowing the guy is smart and thinks outside the box would be enough for me. Which is why I enjoyed meeting men on the nerve.com personals. It's kind of an edgy site that seems to attract people outside the mainstream.

Hoy's

Hoy's is the Chinese restaurant a block from my house. In a city with literally thousands of Chinese restaurants, Hoy's is not a standout. But, I can arrive home from work, phone in my order, walk over 10 minutes later and pay $6 for a plate of hot food that will be dinner and lunch the next day. And when I leave my door I can smell my food cooking :)

8 years ago today

I was welcoming my daughter into the world. Almost this hour, in fact.

I have a very imprecise memory: most things I remember in terms of how I happened to be feeling at the time or from whatever was happening around the event in question. The birth of my daughter? I remember every detail with perfect clarity. From waking up at 5am on December 9 with cramps and lower back pain, having to pee, and hearing my mom, who was staying with me in anticipation of the event, get up and go to the bathroom. I heard her stop in the kitchen after using the toilet and I heaved myself up out of bed. I told her I had cramps and lower back pain and she said she did too: she'd gotten her period. Which was a very sporadic event back then, since she was menopausal. I went to the bathroom and went back to bed, but the cramps persisted and I didn't go to sleep. I didn't sleep again until 30 hours later actually, after I'd managed to endure the greatest physical (and consequently emotional) trial of my life.

I spent the day before my daughter's birthday in labour. First phase labour I guess they call it, something like that. Contractions that felt like menstrual cramps, on par with the worst cramps I'd ever had in my life. Something like having someone punch me in the gut about once every 10 minutes. My husband and mother went about their day, and I sat on the couch watching Rosie O'Donnell, soap operas, and Oprah, my attention focused inward. I was ready for this, utterly tired of being pregnant. I wasn't afraid. It hurt.

I didn't eat much dinner that night, partly because I wasn't hungry and partly because in prenatal classes they'd told us we shouldn't eat too much before we went into the hospital, because you never know what kind of effect the labour will have on your digestive processes, and with all the pushing...well, you get the idea.

We just kind of hung around all evening and the contractions, which had remained steady all day, gradually became stronger and closer together. At about 10pm we called the hospital, which was 35 minutes away down the highway. The contractions were about 30-60 seconds long and about 5 minutes apart. They told us we still had lots of time, but we could go in if we wanted. I was starting to feel a little nervous so we packed up and headed off. That was a difficult car trip. I was definitely hurting now.

When we arrived at the hospital they told us another mother was in the maternity suite but the delivery/labour rooms were free. It was a small rural hospital with one labour room adjacent to a single delivery room. The labour room had 2 beds in it in case there were overlapping deliveries, but tonight I was the only one there. The couple who had delivered earlier that day were still there, but they would likely be gone before I was done. The husband came by to visit (they had been in our prenatal class) and offered us his video camera. We declined, and I have never regretted that decision.

At about 10pm or so they offered me some demerol because I was pretty much exhausted by this time, having been awake since 5am. With reluctance I agreed to the shot, since they assured me I'd be able to doze before things got really serious. It would just take the pain away they said. I don't do well with narcotics of any kind, even codeine makes me very woozy. This shot didn't do shit for the pain but it made me very stoned. I stayed awake.

Around midnight or so my water broke. I will never forget that sensation, like a balloon suddenly popping just under the skin somewhere in my belly. I had the sudden, desperate urge to pee, and the liquid leaked out from between my legs as I shuffled, knees clenched together, to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and the liquid (somewhere in there it dawned on me that this was not just urine) tinkled down for a good 5 minutes. I endured at least one contraction during that time, and now that there was no cushy balloon between my baby's head and my pelvic bone, the pain took on a whole new dimension.

In prenatal classes the nurse warned us repeatedly about "back labour." This is where most of the pain is centred in the lower back. I did not experience this: my pain was all in the front. I found the best position for labouring was sitting backwards on a straight-backed chair, with my arms crossed over the backrest. I would hunch over and breathe through the contractions, now coming pretty much one on top of the other, with maybe a few seconds to relax in between. It was somewhere in here that I fell off the chair. Still in a Demerol haze I straightened after a particularly gruelling series and just kept going. The nurse and my mother got me sitting back up again.

The night passed pretty much like that. Around 6am the nurse decided to call my doctor. I was about 8cm dilated on one side, not quite so much on the other. I was dilating unevenly, which isn't a problem, it just meant I wasn't ready to push yet. My doctor arrived around 7am and I was fully dilated on one side. I still couldn't push because I could have torn my cervix. In prenatal class they had taught us panting, like a dog on a hot day, as a technique for resisting the urge to push. As that urge came on me, I dragged this memory from somewhere in my pain-riddled brain and started panting. It had seemed like the stupidest thing when we'd learned it in class, but damn if it didn't work. For a while anyway. When I was finally given the go-ahead to push, I was pushing for all I was worth before the words were even out of my doctor's mouth.

I pushed for over 3 hours. I started pushing at around 7:30am. The relief I got from pushing was immense, and immediate. The contractions seemed to slow and the intensity seemed to diminish. I felt like I was actively involved in the process, instead of just enduring it. But it was exhausting. After a couple of hours I started to actually doze off between contractions, I was so tired. I even started snoring a couple times, to my mom and husband's amusement.

Finally they figured out I needed help. They attached the suction cup to my baby's head and pulled while I pushed. At the very end, she was suspended with her head in the opening as I prodded my belly, for the first time in 30 hours begging for a contraction. It was the longest minute of my life, but when the next contraction came, I bore down and they gently pulled, and she slid out. I don't remember feeling any greater relief in my entire life. I was nervous about delivering the placenta, but with the flurry of activity that followed her birth--the discovery of her gender, the counting of digits, the weighing and placement of tiny pink knit cap on her head, I didn't even notice the placenta coming out (though I did get a glance of it in a metal dish later...ew.). They laid her on my breast and she looked up at me and the first thought I had was that it was exactly right. I was absolutely certain that I loved her and I could do it and everything was fine. It was 11:13am.

In the 8 years since that day I have had many, many moments where I was not so certain. In fact I was absolutely sure I'd made the biggest mistake of my life, becoming a mother. Luckily those moments, while numerous, are spread far enough apart that I can regain my certainty before the next one happens.

This morning while I sat with my daughter and watched her open her presents, I felt calm, happy, and confident. I was so caught up in the moment I forgot to have my shower. I remembered the first moment I saw her. I remembered the first time I felt her fluttering around in my belly. I remembered the moment the stick turned blue and I knew I was going to have her. I remembered the first time I knew that I wanted to have a child. I look at her with wonderment because she is 8 years old, she is my big girl and my baby. She is her own person and she is a part of me.

nature

There is almost nothing in nature that stirs my heart so much as seeing canada geese migrating. I don't know why exactly, but it excites me and lifts my spirits to see them. Their flight represents strength, freedom, and intuition. I saw them this morning as I was walking from my car to my office. A smile came to my lips and I had to stop and watch them as they climbed.

A couple years ago I was dating a guy who I was destined NOT to be with. We had a very strong physical attraction but our situations and philosophies were completely different. One of my strongest memories of being with him was lying in bed one morning, just waking up. I was just becoming conscious and the first thing I heard was the sound of geese honking outside. From the sound of it, they were passing overhead, and in my mind's eye I could see them, their long necks straining, their wings beating, their voices carrying over the houses and the trees. My eyes were closed and my heart began beating a little faster and my lips curled into a smile. I felt my friend stirring beside me and heard his voice say, "mmm...I wish I had my gun."

it was like he had thrown ice water over my head. My heart constricted, my muscles tensed, and my mind shut down every good feeling I had toward him, just like that. It was a clear illustration of everything that was different between us, and even though we dated a little longer, I never had the affection for him that I had hoped might develop.

it was a little sad to know that he wasn't the guy for me, but at the same time, I was delighted to learn that I could follow my own heart, I could keep things in perspective, I could do what felt right to me, and not have to sacrifice my own ideals just to alleviate some loneliness. Strength, freedom, intuition. I think I know why I love the geese so much :)

Molehills, not mountains.

i've never been a drama queen. I think honestly, i'm too damn lazy to get worked up over things. Don't get me wrong, I have my passions and I take things to heart...hell, I probably take things to heart more often than I should in the grand scheme of things. But I don't tend to act out. I pull my grievances in instead of projecting them outward.

If you've read my recent posts, you know that I've been in kind of a slump lately. Things just haven't seemed to be going my way, and I suppose part of it is my own fault, since I find myself goofing off instead of doing homework, spending money foolishly instead of socking it away for a rainy day, feeling sorry for myself for the things I lack in my life rather than feeling happy for the things I do have. I'm not going to do something silly like make some grand pronouncement about how it all ends here and now, because I'm nothing if not realistic, and I bear the burden of self-knowledge.

I went to the dentist last night to have a filling, and I was feeling pretty sorry for myself over that. Not because I feel put-upon about my dental hygiene, just about the procedure itself. I have a needle phobia so having the shot pretty much made me cry. The dentist asked me if I was okay while he was injecting me and I said "Unh uh" in that way you do when your mouth is being jacked open by fingers and dental instruments. It felt good to say No when he asked me that question, instead of lying and saying "oh yeah, this is just dandy" or the open-mouthed equivalent.

As I sat alone in the chair, waiting for the shot to take effect, I started to become filled with the "why-me's" again, and I realized, a little freezing really isn't much to get depressed over. I'm not a fan of comparing my own problems with the greater problems of the world, like war, famine, natural disasters, and the people whose lives are shattered by those types of things. Of course, my little woes don't compare, but that fact doesn't really make me feel any better when my self-esteem is in the toilet and I have 14 cents in the bank until payday, a week away. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say, exactly. I guess my point is mostly that I feel entitled to my woes, but I don't want them to take over or be the central focus of my life. It's exhausting to be down all the time.

So, even though I have all these little things that have piled up on me simultaneously to create what feels like a mountain of stress, I'm not going to moan or bitch or whine about them any more. I want to let myself feel them but I want to try and think positively. I don't want to fling myself down and pound the floor with my fists and scream and cry. I also don't want to do the thing I usually do, which is to plant my head firmly in the clouds and daydream myself out of my present dilemmas. I want to try and keep my feet on the floor and my eyes on the prize. Life is just more fun that way.