First Day

Today is my first day as a full-time mom. The weather didn't disappoint, it has been one of the most glorious Mondays I can remember. Golden sun; crisp, colorful leaves; blue sky; a hint of warm in the air of an otherwise chilly autumn day. We went for a walk at Green Lake and felt all the tree trunks for their different textures, touched leaves and pine needled branches, barked at all the dogs, and spent long minutes staring at a group of ducks bob and play in a quiet piece of lake surrounded by a grassy knoll. Cora blew kisses at the people she felt needed them, and waved at everyone else.

Nap time is not easy. It took a long time for her to fall asleep today, but that is also because I am trying to find the "right way" to do it. I read her a story, put a blue blanked over her window, put her in her pajamas, read to her, sang to her, rocked her, and put her in her crib. She lay there looking up at me with her finger on her mouth, copying me as I said, "shhhh." I left the room and she hung out in there for awhile, babbling to her doll and her dog. I kept coming in and helping her lie down, and she'd copy my "shhh" and then sit back up. She ended up hanging out in her crib chewing on the rail protector and throwing her socks on the floor. She doesn't know how to lie down and go to sleep on her own, which presents a problem. But every time I try a brief period of letting her cry in her room alone, I feel terrible. It works, but I feel awful, and she seems to feel awful, too. So, the nap thing is a challenge for me. I just don't feel calm about it, don't feel like a baby whisperer of any kind when it comes to Cora's naps. I start getting really frustrated and dazed about the whole thing. It's funny, because she actually sleeps amazingly well at night (I am knocking on wood right now). She goes to sleep around 8:30 and sleeps till 5, then nurses back to sleep until 7 or 8. Whenever we try to get her to take two naps (which is typical for her age), she ends up sleeping about 25 minutes in the morning and then fighting her second nap until she knocks off for another 30-45 minutes. So I'm trying to see if she'll nap longer if she just takes one, long midday nap. Today I finally nursed her to sleep. We'll see how long it lasts this time.

Of course, this whole nap thing is quite a topic for me, because it is during this time of the day that I get to write. Or at least that's how I have it set up in my mind. I think she would actually be OK if I wrote a bit while she was awake, too, especially because she is great at entertaining herself with her books and her toys. But regardless, I do view this window of time as my opportunity to collect myself and refresh, to spend a few minutes just being myself and thinking my own thoughts. Which I do like to do. Which of course is a perfectly reasonable reason why, apparently, it might have made sense for me to continue working--it would seem that I would have had more time to myself, to think my own thoughts and be alone. The thing is, I was reflecting on this today (as I have done for many months prior), and what I want to say this: It just isn't so. It's precisely not true. The jobs I have held are all about deadlines and communication and thinking about other people and their needs. I want to think my own thoughts for awhile, and I want to write my own stuff. Just writing this entry instead of an email about a redesign or a product launch feels so darn good. It feels like my fingers are coming through my brain and plucking out a thought or two, taking them for a brief walk around the block, and then putting them back. It's like giving my brain a treat.

Already I feel better. I was feeling a bit ruffled about the whole nap situation. Feeling a bit "Mom-ish" and annoyed that I had to write a whole paragraph about sleeping issues. Just wait, I'll have a whole paragraph about poop here soon, too. It'll happen.

You know what I was thinking the other day? That reading is therapeutic. That if more people read instead of watched TV, we would have a healthier world. I mean mentally. So much focus is put on the link between TV and obesity, about getting outside and playing soccer instead of watching a show. But just reading a story is so deeply useful on a mental level. It feels like I am giving my head a shot of oxygen, like hanging my thoughts on the clothesline and letting them flap in the wind instead of tossing around spasmodically in the dryer. A large part of my personal transformation of late is due, in large part, to books. A few months ago, I picked up Elizabeth Gilbert's book "Eat, Pray, Love," and followed her on a wonderfully quirky journey around the world. It wasn't just that the subject matter was so focused on freedom and inner guidance, but it was because suddenly I watched my thoughts follow along and fill in the spaces with my own imaginings. That's therapy. Reading is more active, brings up memories and thoughts and dreams. Every night now I read before going to sleep, and I think I am sleeping better because of it. I think I am living better, too.