Savagemama
Column: Savagemama
My Pregnant Body: Not Exactly a TempleI wish I were one of those pregnant women who crave oranges or nuts, that my sweet tooth could be sated with a nice fresh apple or a glass of juice. But I haven’t proven that lucky. While I try, trust me I do, my pregnant body is less of a temple and more of a shrine to the white powdered donut. [more]
Column: Savagemama
A Tiny Secret: Another Baby on the WayYou may have guessed from my silence and the fact that I wrote most recently about eating a hamburger in the middle of the night that I might be carrying around a tiny secret.
Someone recently confronted me, “Only 16-year-old boys and pregnant women have cravings like that.” Arms crossed in front of her she waited for my confession. “Well, I’m not a 16-year-old boy,” I said.
Yes, it’s true. My little secret is growing bigger everyday forcing me into fashion-tragic pants with elastic waists and keeping me from eating almost everything. You guessed it. This Savagemama is pregnant. Knocked up. I’m in the family way, I’ve got a bun in the oven.
And no one seems to be more continuously surprised by this than me.
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Column: Savagemama
A Little Note on Being ThankfulLast week when we sat around a table heavy with home cooked goodness and I thought about what I am thankful for this year, the list was extensive but a few things stood out. [more]
Column: Savagemama
Eliza is Making Her Way, I’m the One StumblingLast week I took Eliza to our local library for story time. When we arrived I was surprised to see at least 40 other children younger than three years, their parents in tow, settling in for songs and stories – which is to say they were ricocheting off each other like pin balls. As soon as we stepped into the large, carpeted room, Eliza was trying to twist free of my grasp. There were, after all, children to meet, adults to smile at. Before I knew it she was lost in a sea of little people checking things out.
Then it happened. Some little boy that I would later learn was named after a particularly brutal empire and who obviously didn’t finish his morning nap, pushed my sweet baby girl to the ground. She looked up at him as if to say, “What’s your problem?” and I ran across the room to get her. I wanted to jerk that little two year old up by the fuzz of his head but walked Eliza back to the center of the room to hear the story instead.
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Column: Savagemama
When Mama Ain’t HappyThere are days I feel exceptionally greedy.
Today is one of those days.
I want and want and want for no other reason than I want. I want Eliza to take a nap. I want to eat three meals today and to not have a gnawing in my gut or the head-spinning anxiety that hunger brings. I want a long, hot bath without the dog scratching at the door. I want to sit and read something for longer than five drowsy minutes before I fall asleep at night. I want the bills to pay themselves.
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Savagemama
Teeny, Tiny Challenge on TimeI see the five other women I went to graduate school with about once a year now. Today we are not the angsty 20-something writers we were when we first met that day eight years ago. Now we’re angsty 30 something writers with houses, husbands and babies. We have careers, go to Costco and still try to make writing as close to the center of life's bullseye as possible. It's not always easy. So when I get an email like I did this week from one of them with a “teeny, tiny challenge” to write on “time” I take it seriously. Here’s what I came up with... [more]
Column: Savagemama
Sleepless in ArleeLast night Eliza went to sleep around 9:30 p.m., woke up once around 3 a.m., ate, and went back to sleep in her bed until 6:30 a.m. This is a schedule I would welcome every night.
On my good days, I look at her asleep for her brief 45-minute morning nap and think that she will probably grow into a centered young woman who loves yoga and quiet walks in the mountains behind our house. On my bad days, I move from coffee to Coke by noon and think this child is trying to kill me slowly, one two-hour stretch at a time like the twisting of a dull knife jabbed squarely into the center of my gut.
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Column: Savagemama
Babysitting: What One Mama Will Do For AnotherAs part of a one-day-a-week trade, a girlfriend and I are watching each other’s children. And because of a daycare hurdle in her household I watched her child two days in a row this week. In return, she watched Eliza this past Sunday so Seth and I could finish a house project.
Honestly, I am thrilled that we hatched this plan a few months ago. It means I can have one day a week to work, to get organized, to go to the grocery store. I think she is happy too because it means her daughter only has to have two days a week at daycare. We do love each other’s children and are happy to help each other out, but the reasons we swap care one day week go deeper than that. We are both trying to balance working part-time with full-time baby care; trying to find a flexible, affordable daycare we feel good about is next to impossible; and no matter how many degrees we mamas collectively hold or how many years it’s been since our mothers’ generation fought for equal rights we are still the ones largely responsible for childcare.
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Column: Savagemama
My Weekend Alone: How One Mama Survived, Even ThrivedSo, they went.
Seth took Eliza to Portland and I survived a quiet weekend alone. As I helped Seth ready Eliza for the trip, I tried to remind myself this was a good idea.
After we put her to sleep that night. I stacked her clothes in Seth’s suitcase. I always over pack for Eliza and this night was no different. I packed several long-sleeved shirts, pants, a dress or two, some short-sleeved onesies and three pairs of shoes. Yes, three pairs of shoes for a child that isn’t even walking. Even while moving around the house matching outfits, finding diapers and bottles of teething tablets, I was still on the fence about this whole endeavor.
During the past 24 hours, I’d called everyone I could think of that might be able to reassure me that sending Eliza to Portland was OK. Everyone thought she’d be fine, that she wouldn’t wean if Seth took breast milk, that it could be an adventure. I was still unsure.
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Column: Savagemama
Separation Anxiety: How Would Mama Survive a Weekend Alone?If you haven’t figured it out, Eliza and I are a matched set. Where I go, she goes. Work, the bathroom, restaurants, the garden. She plays peek-a-boo with the shower curtain when I’m in the shower, she cruises across the room and climbs up my legs when I make her breakfast. There are some days I do wish she were a little less interested in me but I know those days will come. So for now, she’s my girl. I’m her mama. How could Seth even think of taking her with him for the weekend? It’s absurd! [more]
