Goodbye Juniors Department

My parents were in town this past weekend. My Dad cooked up a storm-- a fortifying roast, a chicken soup for runny-nosed grand-kids, and a Spanish Menudo that Manny and Benicio devour. My Mom was on a Spring cleaning streak that both exposed my pat-racking tendencies and also simultaneously forced me to make my list of moratoriums-- no more lipsticks, Clara does not need more than 3 pairs of jeans, fight the attraction to adorable bags! Also, my Mom gave me a little money to go buy something that made me feel great. So, Cloe and I took to the mall.

The mall is where I discovered that I can no longer shop in the junior section. I was equipped with my new organizational resolutions--Keep things clean and feminine and classic. Springing for a well-fitting single thing is better than three cute things that I won't wear next year. Think of my closet as prime real-estate and don't fill it with stuff that makes getting dressed an ordeal. Also, I found myself standing in the junior department where there seemed to be an inordinate number of young women with long coltish legs, and drum-taut abs. I was in the market for a trenchy-type coat and maybe a cleverly -cut white dress shirt. I grabbed two coats and with Cloe in the sling, tried them on in the mirror. When the junior size 6 began to cut off the circulation in my upper arms, I thought, "That's okay." But when the size 8 failed to conceal what Anne Lamott refers to as the "flannel covered waterbed" that is my belly, I thought, "Damn it, we're leaving."

Geoff and I resolved that our thirties were going to be the time when we stopped posing. Grew up. Grew into who we've always been and kind of pare away the rest. Begin to see ourselves rightly. I am not saying I am throwing out all my favorite novelty T-shirts. My Mom was begging me to do away with my E.T. shirt and my "Cow-tipping" one. We compromised and she put them in a bin entitled, "holding area" for stuff I can't make heads or tails of. I think I am still holding onto my carefree days where my sis and I combed the boys section at thrift stores and squeezed into boys 8s and 10s that said funny things like "Sacred Heart Bulldogs" and my favorite tank that had British auto names emblazoned on it. My mom held up my Rubber Soul T and said that Manny could fit into it. Dear Lord.

Anyway, I bought a lemonade and regrouped my dignity, went back into H & M and found a smart little coat in a color halfway between army green and chocolate brown with a flattering shape and a sash tie around the waist.

the swing of things

The Cowardly Lion and the TIn Woodsmen at the nursery school Wizard Of Oz night party. Geoff said it was amazing. Also, Geoff with our FOUR children!!

Week 3: Strength in the Water

Geoff started back at work this week. Our sons were on Spring Break. I felt equipped by the stern lecture from my mother, "You have strong genes. We came to this country with nothing. Imagine me with a newborn and a ten-month old, I had to be at the hospital every fourth night and work all night-- and your Dad was at sea." I thought of this scenario a lot this week-- my mother in the late sixties, new to this country, trying to juggle med school and motherhood. Thinking of this makes me feel a bit like a ninny-- I chose this path, we chose this spacing, and I have four healthy and wonderful children. I should be grateful-- and I really am.

But it wouldn't be an honest account if I didn't say that this week has felt like treading water-- a boy on the third floor needing assistance on the potty, Calliope rooting and fussing in the sling, and Clara standing at my sewing machine plucking pins from their cushion, and another boy trying to explain a complex plot in one of his drawings and would I please draw some speed lines from this guy to his ship. Trying to catch a breath in between, staying afloat while the needs and demands swirl and bob around me.

Trying to figure out what it means when folks are offering help, how to say what would be helpful (or what wouldn't be helpful for that matter.) Help to Geoff sometimes looks different than help to me. I am learning to steer myself toward my safe harbors-- visits from friends who help me to breathe and laugh, going outside to begin to see Spring, this book on the life of St. Francis, which I lifted from my parents house. Trying not to sweat the laundry situation, the veil of dust.

Calliope Free-Week 3

Calliope's Birth Story

Most midwives require that for each child who is present for the birth, there should be a care-person for him/her, someone other than his/her parents. Because it was a priority to have Manny, Benici and Clara present, I thought carefully about who I wanted to be their support-people. I asked my two yoga teachers, one who was with me through Clara's pregnancy as well as Calliope's and one whom I have trusted with a lot of my pregnancy questions-- with both I would say, I have done a lot of "body work." What I mean is, I trust their care like a clinician and find that after practicing yoga with them through Cloe's pregnancy, I really had little or no reservations about moaning or hip-circling in their presence. (This is a very important thing for a birthing mama. If you don't feel comfortable with someone seeing you vulnerable, you aren't going to birth well in their presence.)

And also, I invited someone who I consider to be a great friend to my kids. She came up to me just after Clara was born and said, "I had a great conversation with Manny on the swing today. He's a bit low-energy but it seems like he's really transitioning well with his new sister." It is hard to tell if I like her more than Clara does because we have equally meaningful interactions with her. In other words, I love the way she enjoys my kids and I knew if they found themselves in her arms to witness their new baby's birth, they would be delighted.

All this to say that I have three amazing accounts of Calliope's birth, which these women have given me. I tried to excerpt them for my blog but I feel like some kind of editor, and I don't want to mess with them. So, what I'll do is email them in their totality to whomever asks.

first days with our Calliope

Calliope Free

Our daughter, Calliope Free was born just after midnight on Friday, March Second. She arrived in glorious fashion. We feel full with pride and hope for her. She weighed 7lbs. 10 oz. and was 19 inches long. Her siblings were present at her birth.