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| I heart this baby. |
Showing posts with label baby clementine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baby clementine. Show all posts
May 18, 2012
GUILT JOURNAL UPDATE
I took Clemmy's 9-month photo today. Right after I talked about how guilty I felt about waiting until she was almost 10-months old. The laundry is still neatly piled on the chair and Nate and I had takeout for dinner. But at least I got this done which I consider the most important thing on my list anyway.
May 14, 2012
IT'S DIFFERENT NOW: DIFFERENT GOOD
It was perfectly heartbreaking; all of it. I remember sitting alone and watching the sun melt into the Thanksgiving waves and I felt peace. I was at peace being alone. At peace digging my toes in the sand. At peace slurping my Cup-O-Noodles. At peace with my anonymity. Mostly the last one. You know how there are people who always needs to be with someone? Always need to call a friend and can't stand spending one night alone watching Bed of Roses for the umpteenth time? That is NOT me. Being alone and anonymous is practically the best thing ever because you can feel how you want to feel and act how you want to act and NOBODY notices.
Now when I travel I'm part of this big caravan. I'm not the girl in the window seat on the plane who puts on her headphones and sleeps the entire flight. I'm the mom with toys and bottles and a poopy diaper in my purse who has an entire game plan for a smooth flight. I'm the woman that girl with the headphones is trying to avoid. Goodbye anonymity.
The first few days in Santa Monica were just for me and Clem to enjoy. Nate had meetings and work to do so I'd put Clemmy in the stroller or baby bjorn and we'd just go on mini adventures. And the thing is, I wasn't anonymous for even a moment. I always got noticed with Clementine. I know people love babies; people LOVE Clementine. A lot. To the point where I couldn't go anywhere without someone tickling her or playing peek-a-boo with her or biting her toes. Yes, I said biting her toes. And it's not their fault, really. It's Clementine's fault. Because she has these eyes that cast a spell on you. She's got eye of newt and dragonfly wings and all sorts of spellbinding concoctions behind those baby-blues and once you look into them you cannot be held responsible for your actions.
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| See. I told you. |
March 27, 2012
HYSTERICAL BLINDNESS AND A MACHETE
In my life I've played both the role of a brave warrior and a yellow-bellied coward. For instance: when I was about ten I used to climb up this tree in our neighborhood and swing on the rope swing (warrior). But then one day I somehow slipped out of the tree and broke my arm. I ran all the way home crying and vowing NEVER to go on that rope swing again (yellow) and I never did.
Once, in college, I agreed to go bungee jumping with some girlfriends. I tried everything to conveniently get out of it since the mere thought of being up high gives me vertigo. Unfortunately my friends wouldn't accept any of my excuses. There I was, crawling up the stairs of the tower on my knees (yellow) even my spleen was quivering with fear. But then, quite unexpectedly, I plunged off the tower without hesitation (warrior). Don't go throwing the confetti and celebrating my achievement just yet because after I jumped off the tower I WENT BLIND. Really. I'm not just using that as a metaphor to say I was really scared. I literally lost my sight. It's called hysterical blindness (yellow).
There are plenty more examples to share but I should save some of my stories for when we meet in person. I can't give away all my funny conversational anecdotes. I used to think this was normal until I got married and Nate pointed out that I was basically insane. That people don't work themselves into a lather the way I do.
See, disasters don't really have to strike in order for me to turn yellow and get scared. My imagination does a perfectly good job playing out the worst possible scenario, the most horrific outcome, the absolute most painful ending to just about anything. And that's really all it takes for me to decide it's safer here, sitting on the side of the pool with my feet in the water. Really, it's great here. You go enjoy the rush of the water slide or the cliff jump. I'm just fine here in the shade.
So the same thing was happening when we started talking about having kids. In my mind the delivery was super traumatic and my baby ended up with six heads and I was the worst mother on the planet. I just couldn't bring myself to give birth to my beloved six-headed off spring. I was yellow. As yellow as they come. But then 37 became 38 and then I was 39. Time was not on my side.
So Dec 31, 2010, I took a pregnancy test and faced all those fears at once. Alone. Sitting on the toilet frozen in time. I don't know if I sat there for 3 minutes or 3 hours. Thinking about my six-headed baby and his 12 eyes blinking at me and then biting off my hand with his razor sharp teeth.
The pregnancy was pretty crazy. I started with twins, hemorrhaged, miscarried one of the twins, grew a uterine cyst the size of a cantaloupe and went into labor 6-weeks early. My plans were a quiet and peaceful hypno-birth and what I got was an emergency c-section where I was cut open with a machete. In my mind it was a machete and a chainsaw and they held my middle open with one of those devices you see at the orthodontist. Only bigger. This part is actually true. Nate witnessed it. He said there was one person on each side stretching me open like the grand canyon. I wince at the thought.
And then out came this perfect creature. Bruised and tiny but so so brave. I was taken one way and she went another and for about 6 hours I didn't hold her. But this sense of total accomplishment came over me. I thought, now, if I can do that surely I can bungee jump and rope swing and the million other things I've been too afraid to do.
Clementine is my anthem. My badge of courage. Giving birth to her was the scariest thing I've ever done. And every time I look at her little face I'm reminded of just how wonderful and rewarding being brave can be. To imagine a world without Clementine is a world that isn't as bright and lacks adequate joy. And if I had allowed my fear to stand in the way of that it would have been a real tragedy.
So, here's to all the scary things in my future. To all the things that make my knees buckle, make my hair stand on end or even cause psychological blindness. Here's to the machetes and bone saws. If that's what it takes to bring sunshine into the world then I'll do it. I'll do it. I'll do it.
Once, in college, I agreed to go bungee jumping with some girlfriends. I tried everything to conveniently get out of it since the mere thought of being up high gives me vertigo. Unfortunately my friends wouldn't accept any of my excuses. There I was, crawling up the stairs of the tower on my knees (yellow) even my spleen was quivering with fear. But then, quite unexpectedly, I plunged off the tower without hesitation (warrior). Don't go throwing the confetti and celebrating my achievement just yet because after I jumped off the tower I WENT BLIND. Really. I'm not just using that as a metaphor to say I was really scared. I literally lost my sight. It's called hysterical blindness (yellow).
There are plenty more examples to share but I should save some of my stories for when we meet in person. I can't give away all my funny conversational anecdotes. I used to think this was normal until I got married and Nate pointed out that I was basically insane. That people don't work themselves into a lather the way I do.
See, disasters don't really have to strike in order for me to turn yellow and get scared. My imagination does a perfectly good job playing out the worst possible scenario, the most horrific outcome, the absolute most painful ending to just about anything. And that's really all it takes for me to decide it's safer here, sitting on the side of the pool with my feet in the water. Really, it's great here. You go enjoy the rush of the water slide or the cliff jump. I'm just fine here in the shade.
So the same thing was happening when we started talking about having kids. In my mind the delivery was super traumatic and my baby ended up with six heads and I was the worst mother on the planet. I just couldn't bring myself to give birth to my beloved six-headed off spring. I was yellow. As yellow as they come. But then 37 became 38 and then I was 39. Time was not on my side.
So Dec 31, 2010, I took a pregnancy test and faced all those fears at once. Alone. Sitting on the toilet frozen in time. I don't know if I sat there for 3 minutes or 3 hours. Thinking about my six-headed baby and his 12 eyes blinking at me and then biting off my hand with his razor sharp teeth.
The pregnancy was pretty crazy. I started with twins, hemorrhaged, miscarried one of the twins, grew a uterine cyst the size of a cantaloupe and went into labor 6-weeks early. My plans were a quiet and peaceful hypno-birth and what I got was an emergency c-section where I was cut open with a machete. In my mind it was a machete and a chainsaw and they held my middle open with one of those devices you see at the orthodontist. Only bigger. This part is actually true. Nate witnessed it. He said there was one person on each side stretching me open like the grand canyon. I wince at the thought.
And then out came this perfect creature. Bruised and tiny but so so brave. I was taken one way and she went another and for about 6 hours I didn't hold her. But this sense of total accomplishment came over me. I thought, now, if I can do that surely I can bungee jump and rope swing and the million other things I've been too afraid to do.
Clementine is my anthem. My badge of courage. Giving birth to her was the scariest thing I've ever done. And every time I look at her little face I'm reminded of just how wonderful and rewarding being brave can be. To imagine a world without Clementine is a world that isn't as bright and lacks adequate joy. And if I had allowed my fear to stand in the way of that it would have been a real tragedy.
So, here's to all the scary things in my future. To all the things that make my knees buckle, make my hair stand on end or even cause psychological blindness. Here's to the machetes and bone saws. If that's what it takes to bring sunshine into the world then I'll do it. I'll do it. I'll do it.
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| Little Tiny Brave Clementine |
March 20, 2012
I'M SICK IN LOVE
Well, it's that time again. Time to grab the Kleenex, sip the warm cold remedy of choice, and tell Nate every ten minutes how much my throat hurts/chest is heavy/body aches. And also the time to lament and regret every open-mouth kiss I've shared with Clementine the past few days. I pray her flu shot and immune system strong-arm this bug.
The worst thing about being sick when you are a mom...nothing changes. Diapers still need to be changed, dust still gathers, laundry piles up, dinner needs making, dishes need washing. Dear moms from eras gone by, current and future, I THINK YOU ARE AMAZING. The way you manage to hold things together in between sneezes. The way you still take care of your families when you need some TLC yourselves.
"Hey Nate, my throat hurts"
Now for the love part of this post. I love my baby girl. I love her crazy little hairline that can't make up its mind. I love her deep blue eyes that already have a story to tell. I love how she mimics Nate when he talks to her. I love her little nose and how she wrinkles it up just for fun all the time. I love her spongy little cheeks and how they feel when I kiss them. I love her forever pink plump lips spreading wide when she smiles. I love her fingers and how she is so amazed by them at the moment. I love the little bald spot on the back of her head. I love those eyebrows people! I love how she gets all grabby with her feet, how she is a baby tsunami in the bathtub, and how she spit up directly into my mouth today. There is just so much to love.
"Nate, my body hurts. So. Much."
There are two main comments I heard when pregnant.
1. You and Nate better enjoy the afternoon naps and spontaneity now because your lives are about to change. ("duh")
2. They grow up so fast. Enjoy it while you can.
Both cautionary tales scared me. Kinda. The first one was more irritating than anything else. First of all, I'm 39, I think I'm hip to the idea that having a baby will change my life. Also, I found it pretty interesting that the same people that were warning me about how my life was about to get so much harder were the same people that kept saying "you need to have a baby, it's the best". Sidebar: our lives have changed, for sure. All for the better. All for the better.
"Nate, my chest feels so heavy."
The second statement echoed in my head over and over like Berlioz playing at the end of Sleeping with the Enemy. Scary. Like, I knew things were going to end badly. As in, me 70 years old, listening to Cat's in the Cradle and smelling one of Clementine's old baby blankets while I lay in a ball up in her old treehouse. How do you make sure to enjoy every minute? This warning has turned me into a basket case. I'm doing my best though. I smell her head and kiss her and nibble on her toes and hug her little body when she sleeps on my shoulder. I tell her I love her and smile at her and cheer her on when she does something groundbreaking like sit up or eat. Sidenote: I'm learning how to enjoy every minute while brushing my teeth and folding laundry because multitasking is in my blood.
"Nate, can you make me some tea?"
Finally, one of my favorite photos. Just 3-weeks old and weighing little more than a butternut squash.
The worst thing about being sick when you are a mom...nothing changes. Diapers still need to be changed, dust still gathers, laundry piles up, dinner needs making, dishes need washing. Dear moms from eras gone by, current and future, I THINK YOU ARE AMAZING. The way you manage to hold things together in between sneezes. The way you still take care of your families when you need some TLC yourselves.
"Hey Nate, my throat hurts"
Now for the love part of this post. I love my baby girl. I love her crazy little hairline that can't make up its mind. I love her deep blue eyes that already have a story to tell. I love how she mimics Nate when he talks to her. I love her little nose and how she wrinkles it up just for fun all the time. I love her spongy little cheeks and how they feel when I kiss them. I love her forever pink plump lips spreading wide when she smiles. I love her fingers and how she is so amazed by them at the moment. I love the little bald spot on the back of her head. I love those eyebrows people! I love how she gets all grabby with her feet, how she is a baby tsunami in the bathtub, and how she spit up directly into my mouth today. There is just so much to love.
"Nate, my body hurts. So. Much."
There are two main comments I heard when pregnant.
1. You and Nate better enjoy the afternoon naps and spontaneity now because your lives are about to change. ("duh")
2. They grow up so fast. Enjoy it while you can.
Both cautionary tales scared me. Kinda. The first one was more irritating than anything else. First of all, I'm 39, I think I'm hip to the idea that having a baby will change my life. Also, I found it pretty interesting that the same people that were warning me about how my life was about to get so much harder were the same people that kept saying "you need to have a baby, it's the best". Sidebar: our lives have changed, for sure. All for the better. All for the better.
"Nate, my chest feels so heavy."
The second statement echoed in my head over and over like Berlioz playing at the end of Sleeping with the Enemy. Scary. Like, I knew things were going to end badly. As in, me 70 years old, listening to Cat's in the Cradle and smelling one of Clementine's old baby blankets while I lay in a ball up in her old treehouse. How do you make sure to enjoy every minute? This warning has turned me into a basket case. I'm doing my best though. I smell her head and kiss her and nibble on her toes and hug her little body when she sleeps on my shoulder. I tell her I love her and smile at her and cheer her on when she does something groundbreaking like sit up or eat. Sidenote: I'm learning how to enjoy every minute while brushing my teeth and folding laundry because multitasking is in my blood.
"Nate, can you make me some tea?"
Finally, one of my favorite photos. Just 3-weeks old and weighing little more than a butternut squash.
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| Her hands are the size of walnuts. |
February 17, 2012
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.
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.
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| She smiles like this when I sing poorly. |
January 21, 2012
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.
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.
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| I love taking Clem on walks and talking about stuff! |
January 12, 2012
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.
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. |
January 06, 2012
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.
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.
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