LOVE, AND OTHER WORDS CLEMENTINE TAUGHT ME

Being 40 when you have your first baby is super rad. But I must admit that days after we had Clementine Nate declared "Let's do this again soon" and I retorted, "Why did we wait so long in the first place?" I love being Clemmy's mama right now, just as it is, forty and fabulous. But I feel a little silly having lived 40 years before I learned the meaning of certain things. I graduated with a degree in English. My vocabulary is okey dokey (see?), but then along came Clem and my eyes were opened. Case in point:

SAHM: Stay at Home Mom. Yes, I joined some online mom communities. I knew there would be questions I'd have at 2am and the Internet would be the only one awake to answer them. SAHM gets thrown around a lot, as does DH (dear husband), LO (little one) and EFF (exclusively formula feeding). That last one stings because EBF (exclusive breast feeding) moms think you are pathetic and lazy. Suck it EBF moms. I EFF and my baby is strong and healthy and PERFECT. Sheesh

MAMA BEAR: I thought I had a handle on this one. I've always said that if you mess with my family or friends I'll go "mama bear" on your ass. But I think I only knew how to go "bear" on your ass before I had Clementine. For example, let's say you're unkind to my sister. I would come to your house and tell you exactly what I thought of you...throwing in all sorts of expletives and "why I oughta's". Say something unkind to Clementine and while I'm at your house giving you the "what for" I'll also reach into your chest, pull out your heart, and feed it to you. THAT is how I serve up a little mama with my bear.

PARENTAL PRIDE: I just didn't understand those tacky parents who drove around with the stickers that said, "Proud parent of an honor roll student." Oh, I get it now. I mean, if I thought you'd listen I'd tell you how Clementine is the world's best sleeper/pooper/smiler and that she eats solids with such voracity that I want to stand on my front porch and tell the world that my miniature-born preemie baby eats solids way better than ANY BABY EVER DID while I held her little body up toward the heavens ala Lion King.

OVER-PROTECTIVE: My plan before I had Clementine was to go back to work. For my sanity. Yeah, right. Let me just say that I've caught myself telling my own mother how to feed my baby. I've also given her pointers on how to change a diaper, read a bedtime story, and burp. My. Own. Mother. Hi, I'm Tonia, and I'm over-protective. If I've ever let you hold Clementine, feed her, change her, or look at her for too long, then you know I love you and trust you with my most precious possession.

LOVE: Sure I loved before Clemmy. I loved my family, my friends, Nathan. Nate has been known to make fun of me because I love so enthusiastically. He calls me Elmira after the Tiny Toons character. I grew up hearing my parents and Sunday school teachers tell me that Heavenly Father loved me. I sang songs about it in primary. I knew it as a fact the way I know that Abraham Lincoln was a good president; because someone told me he was. But after I held Clementine for the first time; saw her tiny wrinkled body thriving and strong; recognized her graceful, patient spirit; witnessed this miracle baby sprint into life with the kind of gusto you read in a Hemingway novel; I thought, Wow, Heavenly Father does love me. He loves me enough to let me take care of THIS little one. And he probably loves me the way I love her. I really had no idea about love.

Are you kidding me with this face? 

LOOK UP

I read a well-written and perfectly-timed article from the Huffington Post by Glennon Melton a few days ago. I was feeling really down about my body, getting super tired of the two pair of black yoga pants I keep wearing, tired of all my sloppy t-shirts, tired of my gray hair and ashen skin. Just tired. Period. I cannot blame this on Clementine. She sleeps 8-10 hours every night. Has since she was 8 weeks old. I did nothing to make that happen by the way. She gets all the credit. Anyway, read the article. It will change your perspective.

So after I read the article I knew I had a choice. I could look up or I could look down.

When I look down I see my morphed body. What used to suck in now doesn't. What used to be tight is now...not. When I look down I see the crumbs on the floor and the dust bunnies floating around and settling in great numbers in the corners. When I look down I see the laundry I sorted but didn't get around to doing anything about. When I look down I see my dirty tub and toilets, a stack of books I keep meaning to read, Christmas stockings I never finished making, a bag of clothes that needs to go to the DI. When I look down, my bed isn't made and there are dishes in the sink and formula spills on the couch. When I look down I miss Nate's face.When I look down I get down.

When I look up it's a different story. I see Clementine doing an amazing superman impression, above my head. When I look up her face swallows me up and hours pass unnoticed. When I look up I see Nate's eyes that I swear can speak to me if I'm quiet enough. When I look up I see the walls and ceiling which rarely look dirty. When I look up I see potential and hope. God is up there, too, just hoping I keep this perspective a little longer. When I look up I'm alarmingly present and living in the moment. When I look up I don't see myself and the body I've become. Looking up, I'm aware of who I really am and it has nothing to do with yoga pants or dust bunnies and the dirty toilets.

So much time has been wasted looking down so I quit. To hell with it. Tonight I watched Nate give Clementine a bath. My two favorite people splashing and totally connected. Both of them smiling. I smothered lavender and chamomile lotion all over Clem's body and noticed how soft her feet are. I put her in those cute polka dot jammies I love. I fed her carrots and apples and bananas and parsnips and she ate it all with the ferociousness of a lion. And then we rocked and I told her the story of when she was born and I watched her eyes sloooooooowly close. I would have missed it all searching for buns of steel.

So I think I've just figured out what my resolution is. Scrap all the "go to the dentist" and "lose 30 pounds" because that will come in time. But if I live this year...or better yet, if I live this LIFE looking up, then boy have I really lived.

I love taking Clem on walks and talking about stuff!

AH, THIS IS HEAVEN

I think I'm like most (if not all) moms. We go along fine for a long time, hit a wall, need a break, and then come back strong to do it all over again. Yesterday, I needed a break. Wee Clementine decided she was too grown up for naps which all but killed me dead. Because even though she's just 5-months and doesn't run around or demand snacks all the time...she gets a little whiny. And needs to be held. All the time.

Yesterday I bounced, played, cuddled, fed, burped, changed diapers, sang songs, danced like a wild animal, made so many absurd noised my lips were numb (all while wearing pajamas and bed hair). I just needed a break. So I took one. I parked Clem in front of the boob tube to watch a little Dr. Phil and I turned off my brain for a while. I think I might have just laid there in the fetal position for a little while. I thought, ah, this is heaven. 

Thoughtful as ever, Clementine slept thru the night and then took an epic nap from 7:30-10:30am. We met Kym and Lily at Porcupine Grille and had a stimulating business meeting followed by lots of girl talk at their house. When we got home tonight we played on the floor and then did our nighttime routine (bath, baby massage, jammies, solid food, 2 books, bottle, bed...it sounds longer than it takes).

I was burping Clemmy before I laid her in the crib, her head rested on my shoulder, her body melting warm into mine. She fit so perfectly there on my shoulder, in the crook of my arm. Snuggled. She smelled like lavender and clean when I kissed her ear. She was softly singing to herself while I danced around the room. Bono was singing:

"You say you'll give me
Eyes in a moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbour in the tempest
But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you."

I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms around her little body and thought, ah, THIS is heaven.

Clementine in vintage Tonia circa 1971.

FOUR AND TWO

I'm taking a break from all my syrupy posts about Clementine...but just for a minute. Don't get too used to it. I wanted to share four reasons why I HATE Fear Factor and two reasons why I like it.


I HATE fear factor because:
1. Nate keeps saying, "we are doing this together before we die." I'm like, "the hell you say."
2. Watching people being handcuffed inside a cage and sunk to the bottom of the ocean while waiting for their partner to hit a bulls-eye on a target from 300 yards, sixteen times, in order to free them. Well, let's just say it gives me anxiety for DAYS.
3. I'm not too jazzed about seeing any woman 9-months postpartum with a washboard. Further, I'm not jazzed that Nate now knows it's possible.
4. After I see anyone dive into a pool of blood, fish out pig hearts with their teeth, and toss them into a bucket...with their teeth, I feel like I could throw up and the feeling stays with me for a week. Until the next episode.

I LIKE fear factor because:
1. Hearing Nate laugh demonically while watching people gobble up hissing cockroaches and grasshoppers the size of my fist is kind of worth it.
2. It's nice that the host has a job again, what with the economy being shitty and all.

WHAT I WISH FOR

Because Clementine came six weeks early, we missed being the guests of honor at two baby showers. My mom and sisters were planning a book shower since there is some statistic that suggests any child with more than 20 books {or something like that} has a much higher chance of going to college. We really wanted to stack the deck for my little one.

The other shower was being planned by dear friends. They custom-designed invitations and decorated the house with handmade tissue pom poms, paper garland and hand-embellished baby onsies. We missed the original date but rescheduled when Clementine was about 2-months old. During the shower they handed out these beautiful little cards and asked people to fill them out. They had statements like "I hope you grow_____", and "I hope you learn_____" and "I hope you aren't afraid of _____". It was fun to read all the wishes my friends had for my daughter. The daughter that lay asleep in the arms of one of my dearest long-time friends the entire night.

Their answers included things like "I hope you grow a garden" and "I hope you learn to ignore mean people" and my favorite, "I hope you aren't afraid of your own smell". I can't wait for Clementine to be old enough to understand the wisdom and the humor of their answers. If she is anything like me she'll swoon at the sentimental ones and belly-laugh at the funnies.

When I think about Clementine getting older I do have certain wishes for her. They don't waiver. I want her to be confident. To know she is loved unconditionally by her parents. To find good friends and keep them forever. I want her to know God and appreciate his creations. I want her to be kind, sincere, adventurous and determined. 

There are even things I hope she inherits from me (as imperfect as I am). I hope she is natural (please little one, don't wear gobs of makeup), I hope she cherishes people (for I do), I hope her heart is big (sometimes too big, the world needs it), I hope she can fall asleep easily, give good hugs, trust her intuition, try new things. I hope, when she least expects it, she'll be overcome by a sunset, a mountain or a rainstorm...I mean REALLY overcome. I hope she loves walking a busy city street and a mountain path equally well. I hope the ocean soothes her soul. And may she do all of this while whistling a Wilco tune or something from the great Johnny Cash. 

For me, my wish is simple; may I be patient and fiercely loyal. And may I live to be 150 years old so I don't miss a minute of this miracle called Clementine.

 
Do you have any special wishes for you and yours?

I SUCK, COMPARED TO...

Yeah, about once a month I get deep into it. I'm not as pretty as... I'm not as fit as... I am so unburdened with talent. I practically don't exist at all. Thank you womanhood. I don't know how I'd stay humble or manipulated by self-doubt if you didn't exist.

It's hard. I think some people have a tendency to compare themselves to others. While others have a tendency to be the ones we compare ourselves to. Sure, I know I'm comparing my worst to their best, or something like that. But it really doesn't make any difference at 2am when I have insomnia and some girl takes rad-er photos, writes more vibrant posts, lives lovelier, styles herself in more than 2 pair of black yoga pants...well, you get it. Blogs are inspiring. And at the same time, at least I can leave a party if I start coveting someones ability to perform magic. A blog though, it never goes away. It's still gonna be there with another post about how their accomplishments are like 40 gazillion times more amazing than mine.

But you know what gives me hope? The baby monitor is on and every once in a while my little Clementine, 47 paces away from my bed - sleeping in her own crib in her own room, she stirs. I hear her soft sighs and the rustling of her body as she wiggles around to get comfortable, and I'm liberated from my head, from *her blog, from my general suckiness. Yes, my ass is bigger than hers. And my blog will never be relevant or rock like hers. And OH MY HELL I'm 40 and she's like, what, 23? But I'm the only one lucky enough to have Clementine.

*her is basically anyone that I'm not. I'm not referring to any her in particular. But her knows who her is.

THANK YOU 2011

Two Thousand and Eleven has been both ugly and beautiful. Without getting specific, the ugly part ended around 5:00 pm on April 20 whereupon my frown turned upside down and I was able to liberate myself from a really bad situation. Ridiculous circumstances; ridiculous people. Ahhh. Relief. Freedom.

But let's focus on the beautiful part of this year. Please. The beauty started late in 2010 when little Clementine secretly joined our family. I didn't know. Nate didn't know. But Dec 31 we both discovered her clandestine plan and celebrated in secret among friends. There was something fun about locking eyes with Nate in a room full of new-year celebrators, and sharing THAT secret with him.

I became more real in 2011. Removing the crap gave me the opportunity to really figure out who I am. So, let me introduce myself. I'm Tonia. I turned 40 this year; I'm told I look 30 which I find kind of fabulous. I love lip gloss but recently decided to try red lipstick. I take long baths but it's less realistic with a baby. I like trying new recipes and I'm almost always surprised when they taste good. I curse less these days but when I do I REALLY mean it. If you see me picking my cuticles you'll know I'm either nervous or bored. I hate socks.

I'm a mom now. Three short days after turning 40 (and six weeks ahead of schedule) a little 4.5 lb Clementine burst into our lives with such vim and vigor. I've never met someone and immediately known what kind of animal they would be...until Clemmy. I spent ten days in the hospital, staring at this little person who was more brave, patient, ferocious, determined and gracious than anyone I've ever met. She was my LION. Which I guess makes me one, too.

I'm much quieter. I don't mean I've stopped talking or being super obnoxious; I just mean that my thoughts are more quiet. It's a little more peaceful in my noggin now. Clementine had a lot to do with that but so has weekly therapy and LOTS of hard work. When I'm tired and the week before my period, all bets are off though.

I had someone at the doctor's office call me a homemaker and my heart jumped into my throat in the same way it would if someone told me my baby was ugly. I'm still working through that one. Changing my VP acronym to SAHM (google it) has been super tough but one of the very best things I've ever done. However, could someone PLEASE figure out a good way to help mom's feel more appreciated. Maybe mother's day will work; I'll let you know.

And let's be clear. If my body wasn't so freaking comfortable in yoga pants I'd be wearing those super cool colored jeans this season. I love them. Probably bright day-glow yellow and saturated blue.

In March, Nate and I sat in our hotel room on the 8th floor of the Marriott in Oahu and watched the destruction of the tsunami hit Japan. And then we settled in for a long night as we heard emergency alarms sound all over the island. In April we went to Arizona to hear The Black Keys (rad show) and then flew to San Diego to see The Kills the very next night. I was pregnant and believe you me...we got good seats because of it. Clementine enjoyed the shows.

Thank you for the good and the bad, 2011. Thank you for teaching me so much, taking so much away, and then giving it back tenfold. Thank you for being beautiful. For Clementine. For jobs and a home. For Nate. Thank you for family, for my hair, for yoga pants and the internet. Thank you for friends and love and baby formula. Thank you for mammograms and c-sections and baby magic lotion. Thank you for being over now so I can start new and fresh.

Also, and completely unrelated, LOOK HOW BEAUTIFUL MY LION IS. Did you just melt into a big human puddle on the floor? I don't blame you. It's been my constant state since July 22, 5:47pm.