a little secret

it's a little embarrassing to admit that i got snared by a pop culture phenomenon, but whether it fits my "do nothing everyone else is doing" attitude or not, it happened. i am in love with so you think you can dance.

let me first defend myself by saying i am not a TV sort of person. sure, i love the office and i've been known to spend afternoons in front of hgtv or the foodnetwork, but in general i'd rather be doing something else--like writing a book or reading a book or watching henry eat a book.

but there's something about the show. [it definitely isn't the host or the judges or the way they keep referring to "America" as though she has a national identity and a single unified purpose--at least when it comes to one of the nation's greatest popularity contests.] so putting all the tween girl appeal aside, i admit i love to watch people passionate about dancing, dance. and it's not because i think i can dance [i know i can't]. but i wish that i could. and somehow watching others carry out that same dream onstage lets me imagine for a minute that i can spin on my head and jump into a somersault and not only move around in heels, but move convincingly, like i was born with three inch spikes attached to my feet.

so, dance, i say. dance.
[and i'm going to feel real ridiculous if i keep crying like i did last night every time a dancer has to leave the show.]

the work force

after seven blissful months of postpartum unemployment, i'm back in the work force.

[in eulogy to dr. norton my grammar professor, i will now analyze the above sentence at every level.]

after: implies that i've finished something, like being a mother, when in fact i haven't finished anything -- i've just dipped my fingertips in the neverendingness of taking care of henry

seven: an interesting way to label time, "seven" seems to say that it's possible to quantify the hours and hours and hours i spent bouncing henry in front of the CD player while he screamed over the top of primary songs

blissful: the word can't hold the nuance of the past seven months -- the song i sang laboring my son into the world, surrounded by water, peaceful darkness, and the people i love -- the utter joy at hearing henry laugh for the first time (i held him in my lap and cried out of relief that he didn't hate me) -- the way it felt when he just wouldn't breastfeed and i pumped every hour, desperate for my body to make milk -- the afternoon meetings with the midwife to get my wounds cauterized, walking home in blizzards barely able to move my legs for the pain -- the nights i've watched henry in his bath grab his toes and suck on his washcloth and giggle

months: it has been months, or years, or enough time that everything has changed

of: self explanatory

postpartum: i still have the fluffy belly, the weight lingering on my behind, the squiggly vericose vein underneath my left knee

unemployment: they say that motherhood is a job -- they don't mention that it takes all your mental, emotional, and physical strength

i'm: is it me?

back: did i ever leave?

in the: i hope if i'm "in" it doesn't mean that i will never be "out"

work: work is finding carrots in your ears and your son's ears and along the molding and in the baseboard and on the linoleum and down your shirt and in your hair and sticking inside the seams of your pants

force: i will have to force it -- even after so many reasons (to stay current, hone my skills, keep my mind alive, fill the family coffers) i still hesitate -- will i miss henry when he is surprised by a butterfly or a ray of sunshine or a blade of grass? and if i do, is it worth it?


[the cold hard facts: i'm an online writing tutor for www.smarthinking.com -- i can work in my pajamas and smell like spit-up]

mom-ing

it was my fault to begin with. we kept henry out all day: skipping nap after nap. [the picnic in findlay park was worth it, but that's another story.]

when i finally wrapped him up and put him in bed, he blinked a few times and then started to scream. he's just really tired, i thought. i'll let him cry. so he cried. and cried and cried and cried. [and if you're a mom, you know the difference between the i'm crying but soon i'll fall asleep cry and the i'm crying and i will continue to cry until something about my life changes for the better cry.]

i sat down on his floor and tried to think of all the reasons i can't fall asleep when i'm exhausted. i rubbed his legs. i slid his fuzzy blanky down his forehead and over his nose again and again. i gave him his binky. he continued to cry scream flail etc.

then it hit me. the number one reason i can't fall asleep: i'm too darn hot.

i picked little hal up out of his crib and put his head right in front of the breeze from the window unit. he blinked. he blinked again. he whimpered. he stopped crying. he made a little half-smile. he closed his eyes. he went to sleep.

yet another mom-ing moment where words would have helped.