I USED TO CUSS LIKE A TRUCKER

Some (Nate) may have even called me trucker-mouth some of the time. It's just who I am (was). And then I had Clementine and the world literally stopped rotating for just a second and when it started up again...it was spinning in the opposite direction (and I became a conservative cusser). My world changed in a bazillion different ways; mostly for the good. But, of course, there is always bad with the good, right?

First, I lost all my core strength. I've been in my body for 40 years and after that amount of time you get to know each other pretty well. I used to know exactly what it felt like to sit on the ground and then get to my feet. I could even do it gracefully and without grunting. The whole process now has about twenty steps and reduces me to thinking, "Is this really my body"?. There are times that my head tells my body to do something (like roll over in bed) and my body initially thinks it's a simple request. But it's not. Thanks to my trainer this will all be a thing of the past very soon.

Second, I used to work. I had a career and a title and felt sort of important about it. Now my job has many titles like poopy diaper removal, cheerleader, silly noise maker, paparazzi, home sanitation, and sleep trainer. I am constantly making a fool of myself all for the sake of a Clementine smile. I'd do anything to get that mouth to form one of it's gummy grins. Anything.

Thirdly, when Nate used to ask "what's for dinner?" I'd usually reply, "quesadillas or cereal". Now I might answer with something like "chicken tagine or ground nut stew". I really like cooking and trying new flavors. And with a husband that would eat the tongue of a shoe if I served it to him...I'm in a good place to experiment.

Lastly, I used to be interesting. I listened to NPR and read books and engaged in interesting conversations with other adults. Conversations that didn't include phrases like, "the pork is on ad at Harmons this week" or "is that dried spit up on my shoulder?" or my favorite, "look, I put on lip gloss today." I know this last change is deeply my fault. I can still read, and shower, and change out of sweats a few times a week. All in good time. All in good time. These mom shoes are new to me and once I feel a little more comfy in them I'll see how they look with hair and makeup.

Well, if it weren't for the bad changes, the good ones wouldn't be as rad. Right?

I just have to say this, though, because I feel like it. There are some blogs out there that are really wonderful and pretty and give this impression that life is always beautiful and full and adventurous. They fool us all into thinking that life should be full of well-planned parties and gorgeous outfits and homes that look like they belong in Domino (yay) magazine. They were inspiring to look at for a while and now they are boring. They're all the same, and too focused on looking perfect and making life look like a magazine spread.

Um, please stop. Women already have a tendency to compare themselves to everyone's best self. We already expect way too much of ourselves and focus on our faults. And women in Utah are already among the heaviest users of anti-depressants. I wish we all felt a little bit better about being real. And sharing the real side of ourselves with people. I prefer people with imperfections, a pile of laundry, and spit up in their hair. It's the truth so why are we so ashamed to tell it that way?

Me and Clemmy. She is bathed...I'm not.
Eyelash extensions are the world's best invention
and I wish every new mom could have them . 

I USED TO LISTEN TO INDIE-ROCK

But now I kind of get my kicks out of listening to whatever new sound Clementine has discovered. Sometimes it's just babbling during nap time. Often it's a guttural/gurgling sound that I swear sounds like a baby Chewbaca. Other times it's whatever music her jumpy seat makes or the lullabies on her iPod (yes, she has one along with a 40" flat screen, an xbox and the Kinect...her dad finds it necessary to pimp out her nursery with techy gadgets).

While I absolutely love my new playlist, I also know that it's a slippery slope I'm on. I mean, music and concerts and concert t-shirts have always been such a source of joy and bonding with Nate and I. We love music together. And I don't want to lose that because we are a trio now. A few months after we started dating we decided to go to Coachella and it's been concerts and head bobbing and ticket stubs ever since. Once I find babysitters that I'm sure won't ruin her I'm looking forward to getting back to a few shows this year, just us.

In a few months we're flying to LA to hang out with Nate's sister Emma. She's really fun and pretty and always makes me laugh. She invited Nate to go to Coldplay at the Hollywood Bowl with her and I invited myself and Clementine to come too. It will be Clemmy's first concert outside of my belly (she heard many shows floating around in amniotic fluid like The Kills, The Black Keys, U2, Pete Yorn, Old 97's...). I purchased cute little noise-canceling ear muffs for her so no need to worry about her damaged hearing.

I'm looking forward to sharing good music with Clementine. She's exposed to tuneless songs with nonsensical lyrics every day as I sing all about folding laundry, changing poopy diapers and, most importantly, taking baths and going night night.She knows what off-key means, of this I'm sure.

But in the meantime, until Nate and I put on our coolest old shabby concert tees and get our hands stamped at the next club, I'm gonna sit back and listen happily to the joyful sounds of Clementine while she performs her latest trick...grabbing her toes. No regrets. She absolutely gets my head bobbing.

She smiles like this when I sing poorly.

WHAT IS MY STORY?

Tonight I went on a date. With my husband. Like, the kind where you leave the house wearing lipstick and go someplace like a restaurant or a theater. Only I just wore lip gloss and, of course, sweats. Nate's dad and brother are picking up his mom at the airport tomorrow; she has been in New Mexico helping out with the newest member of the Conger clan (new baby Brian Asher. Double yay!). And since we live so close to the airport...So, long story short, I put Clementine to bed, made pizza, and then Nate and I went to a movie at 10:30 PM! Thank you Grandpa and James for standing guard and protecting my little one while she dreams.

We saw Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I loved it. I went prepared to sob my eyes out. But instead found myself completely involved with the story and, more than anything, adoring that quirky, neurotic little boy. I walked out of the theater thinking, "If my little Clementine can be that brave and determined and curious with her life then I will have done my job well."

On our way home from the theater Nate and I were talking and an interesting topic came up. One worth thinking more about. It started out like this:

Tonia: That movie reminded me, again, how important it is not to judge people. Everyone has a story and if we knew their story we'd understand them better.
Nate: Yeah Tonia, I've been meaning to tell you that you are so judgmental (tongue-in-cheek).
Tonia: Well, I do make assumptions sometimes about people that are more on the eccentric side. But I guess we are all pretty eccentric when you think about it.
Nate: yup.
Tonia: But do I want anyone to know my story? I kind of feel like it's pretty typical. Born into a middle class family, had pets, learned to swim, broke a few bones, went to prom, college, jobs, marriage, baby. Nothing extraordinary happened or didn't happen. I really want my story to be interesting...not like everyone else's. Hopefully it will stand out in some way before it's over.
Nate: Oh Tonia (shaking his head).
Tonia: One of my greatest fears is living a mediocre life so I'm hoping my story can stand on its own some day. That it won't be so forgettable.

Anyway, that's the beginning of our conversation. But not the end of my thought process. I hope it doesn't sound like I'm ungrateful for my life or looking for any drama. I just want the story of Tonia to be one you want to be told over and over. Or the kind of story you start reading at bedtime and just can't put down.

I think the only way to have a story like that is to be authentic and live honestly. Not for anyone else but you. Not with any thought to "what will others think". The best way to encourage Clementine to live courageously, determined, and curious is be courageous, determined and curious. Make no room for doubting. No room for second guesses.

I'm writing my own story, word by word. And I'm helping create Clementine's story, and I'm playing a key role in Nate's story. So I have a lot of responsibility. I have a lot of living to do; a lot of living minus all the fear and doubt. That's a big pill to swallow.

2009, Mexico. I was horrified to scuba dive. But I did it.
And look at my smile. Must have more of these moments.

How do you do that? How do you live free of worry and doubt and second guessing? How do you live without the presence of fear? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

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.