The changes Asher has ushered in have involved more than just bursting at the seams with joy and pride over my little bundle. My relationship with Eric has a different shape and color now. Of course, right? How could it be the same from year to year, even without a child.
The flip side of the most amazingly pure love for a baby is the drastic shift in priorities, arriving a little shockingly and sorrowfully at times. Like a damaged UPS package on your front porch. Eric works two jobs to allow me to raise our son at home. When he walks through the door, some nights at eight or nine o'clock, what little energy he has left often goes to brushing his teeth and putting Ash in his jammies.
The overnight shift from romantic couple-hood to responsible parenthood has been remarkable, a complete sea change if you will.
Yet, somehow it all comes together each day. I steal moments with Eric in the kitchen or before bed, when I capture the familiar spark in his eyes. Right then, I see it. A snapshot of the younger version of us. Of us. The younger form of "us" is always there, I mean. Sometimes, the surface is a little cloudy, and the romantic love stage seems dimmer, but it always comes shining back in full radiance.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Utopia or Dis
Eric and I recently ruled out moving to Charlottesville, VA. Long story short, for the third or fourth time, the massage school there fell through on a potential position. However, before I found out that his official in-person interview was cancelled, I had already begun to panic.
Would I like living in Charlottesville? A downtown made up of a few short blocks and thousands of college kids coming out the ears? Not just college kids, but UVA kids. Polo sweaters and madris short-wearing kids, as if it were 1985. This fact became apparent to me during a spring visit in 2009. We happened to arrive into town on a popular horse race weekend, only to get bombarded with about 50 smug-looking pre-law kids who all needed a bagel at 11:00 a.m. Picture a swarm of sweaters around the neck with buzzing faces that looked disapprovingly at anyone who was not them.
The exciting and thrilling part of all this babble is that I feel great. Eric and I decided to just live here - finally. We made an agreement not to use the words, "if we're still here next year," anymore. Ahhhh. The simple and extreme relief of "settling." Suddenly, the puzzle pieces have shifted into place, and my feet feel more attached to the earth. This house looks different. My neighborhood is mine. I don't even mind the "hoodlumish" neighbors on my street. Because this is my house. My child's house. The first home Eric and I ever owned.
After several years of nail-biting conversations and nervous-belly discussions about moving, along with an extreme desire to be "there," wherever there is, we are now here. Just here.
Asher and I sat beneath the tree on our front lawn yesterday for the first time. I'd always wanted to do that.
Would I like living in Charlottesville? A downtown made up of a few short blocks and thousands of college kids coming out the ears? Not just college kids, but UVA kids. Polo sweaters and madris short-wearing kids, as if it were 1985. This fact became apparent to me during a spring visit in 2009. We happened to arrive into town on a popular horse race weekend, only to get bombarded with about 50 smug-looking pre-law kids who all needed a bagel at 11:00 a.m. Picture a swarm of sweaters around the neck with buzzing faces that looked disapprovingly at anyone who was not them.
The exciting and thrilling part of all this babble is that I feel great. Eric and I decided to just live here - finally. We made an agreement not to use the words, "if we're still here next year," anymore. Ahhhh. The simple and extreme relief of "settling." Suddenly, the puzzle pieces have shifted into place, and my feet feel more attached to the earth. This house looks different. My neighborhood is mine. I don't even mind the "hoodlumish" neighbors on my street. Because this is my house. My child's house. The first home Eric and I ever owned.
After several years of nail-biting conversations and nervous-belly discussions about moving, along with an extreme desire to be "there," wherever there is, we are now here. Just here.
Asher and I sat beneath the tree on our front lawn yesterday for the first time. I'd always wanted to do that.
Part II
Now that we've established that, this blog has been inspired by my son's birth along with a few friends who have blogs. I have found myself feeling this weird sense of envy. I want to be that brave, I've thought. Then again, the "who cares" comes up. Who wants to read stuff about me. Everyone else has her own life to lead with her own insights, conflicts, triumphs, and tragedies.
But, these are mine. This is "my space."
But, these are mine. This is "my space."
First Times
October 28, 2010
Writing a blog has always seemed so strange to me. Then again, sharing my personal world is not something that comes naturally to me. However, this is not a psychotherapy session.
Motherhood is changing me in ways I couldn't foresee. Coming out of my shell has been a sometimes slow and sometimes forceful process over the years. Sometimes, coming out is like labor. It's sudden, excruciating, and necessary. And there's no going back.
Other times, it's been like guiding a baby to latch on properly. A little nudging and hand-holding is all you need. There is also a learning curve. It's no big deal if you stumble and need to retrace certain steps.
Bear with me, whoever is reading, this process might take a little assistance is all I really mean. Then again, I suppose my husband and I might be the only two people on the planet whoever find out this site exists.
Writing a blog has always seemed so strange to me. Then again, sharing my personal world is not something that comes naturally to me. However, this is not a psychotherapy session.
Motherhood is changing me in ways I couldn't foresee. Coming out of my shell has been a sometimes slow and sometimes forceful process over the years. Sometimes, coming out is like labor. It's sudden, excruciating, and necessary. And there's no going back.
Other times, it's been like guiding a baby to latch on properly. A little nudging and hand-holding is all you need. There is also a learning curve. It's no big deal if you stumble and need to retrace certain steps.
Bear with me, whoever is reading, this process might take a little assistance is all I really mean. Then again, I suppose my husband and I might be the only two people on the planet whoever find out this site exists.
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