The Night of the Rambling Thoughts

Two coffees in the mid to late afternoon yesterday equalled a night of insomnia. Thus, a night of thinking and musing, especially about the future.

I've been feeling really ambivalent about my work lately, for a number of reasons. At the forefront is this amazing SAHM summer I'm having. I enjoy being with my child for the majority if not all of the day. Before the arrival of AwesomeKid, I had always thought that I would be unhappy, bored, and unfulfilled if I was a full-time mom. I don't think that's the case anymore. Additionally, the past two years at work have just been rough. I know that's because I was pregnant/pumping/adjusting to motherhood for this whole time. I know that when I go back for the fall semester things may be different, but I'm scared that they won't.

Being a musician and a teacher/music director has been part of my identity for my entire adult life. It's weird to feel myself losing enthusiasm. Working with the younger set is easy and not as challenging as it used to be, although there is still a lot I could improve upon. Working with the older (teenage) crew has just been an exercise in frustration for the past five years, if I'm totally honest about it. I don't think I'm cut out to work with teenagers, but it could be the school climate I'm working in -- all boys, machismo values, sports above all, slackerdom rampant... And the over involved parents and their endless emails trying to wrangle special treatment for their kids... At the end of last year I really felt like giving up, but I signed the contract anyways.

Plus, I have issues working for a Catholic instutution. I'm not religious, and I strongly object to the Catholic Church's anti-feminism, sex negativity and bigotry regarding homosexuality. I don't like being one of the faces of that instutution in the minds of my students.

So, there are a lot of negatives associated with the current work situation. But it is the devil I know, and the city I live in does not support arts education in its public schools, for the most part. So there it is, I guess.

Rattling around in the back of my head, though, is this totally other field of work. I've been fascinated with birth and birth advocacy since my Bradley classes and my husband and I's amazing birth experience. The enthusiasm has not dwindled. I find the natural process of birth amazing and transcendent, despite its earthy, guttural, primitive quality. I cry when I read birth stories. My husband and I still talk about our AwesomeKid's birth on a fairly regular basis. I read articles about birth and the controversies surrounding the home/natural birth communities and hospital protocols. I firmly belief that the treatment of women in pregnancy and labor/delivery is a feminist issue, though it is largely ignored.

I'd really like to get certified to teach Bradley classes, since the method worked so well for my husband and I, but there's no way that would bring in more that spending money. I've thought about doula-ing also, but I am really really not good when I don't get enough sleep, and what would I do with a client like myself (27 hours of labor)? I was a zombie after coaching my sister's birth, and her's was fast - 12 hours from start to finish. I don't know...

But it still appeals to me. It sounds fulfilling. It'd be a completely different line of work. There would be wack hours, but more time not working... I'd be my own boss. I could subsidize with performing - my first love before teaching... I don't know. There's a training for doula/birth educator certification in my city in a few months. Is this something I should check out? Or am I just burnt out and looking for an escape from the current job? There are a lot of other things I could attempt within the field I already know - setting up a private studio, attempting to find a new school, gigging... How much of all these thoughts are pipe dreams and how much could really work for me?

Rachel Scott

So, life. It keeps going.

At work this week, the powers that be trotted all of the kids out to the gym for an assembly on bullying, which I initially thought was going to be super cheesy, just like the Coke presentations of my youth*. Instead it was one of those things that is so sad it leaves you feeling hollow for the rest of the day.

The presentation was part of a project called Rachel's Challenge. Rachel was a girl who was killed at age 17 in the Columbine shootings. Weird that none of my students knew about Columbine. It was such a huge deal, but now it's just the distant past.
Rachel's father was the presenter. He talked about finding Rachel's diary and essays she had written about her views on life, on how people should be kind and refrain from judging others without knowing the full story. Idealism. It actually reminded me a lot of myself as a teenager - I was super idealistic, really did try to be nice to everyone. I wanted to grow up to help refugees and work for Amnesty International...

Anyways, this project, Rachel's Challenge, outlines tenets for living based on her writings, and it's a wonderful concept. Be kind, give second chances, choose positive role models... Great stuff, and it was great for our students to hear. Something about the message coming from "beyond the grave" seemed to really strike a chord for a lot of them.

The footage they used was just gut wrenching. The thing that almost broke me was the video montage of her growing up, starting with videos of her at the same age my daughter is now. It was so so sad, to see her father up there, knowing that he has given this presentation a million times, and that every time he's reliving and remembering her loss. And while I'm sure he gets solace knowing that this message of peace has been spread all over the world in his daughter's name, I'm also sure he'd rather she had the chance to grow up and create her own legacy.

There was some talk in the teachers' lounge about destiny, and maybe this girl was meant to die so that this project and her message could spread throughout the world. One student told me he thought Rachel was a prophet, because of her prolific writings. I just keep thinking - here was a person who has been suspended in time at the height of idealism. She is forever seventeen in the minds of everyone knew her and who hears about her. But if those terrible, evil boys hadn't shot her in cold blood, she'd be my age today. She could have become "great", or maybe she'd have shed some idealism. She could have a family. She could have a blog. She could play on her iPhone too much. She could be stressing about how messy her house is. She could be alive.

I don't believe people are "meant" to die violent deaths. I don't believe people are destined to suffer. I can't. I don't care how much good has resulted from that kind, beautiful teenager's death. It would be better if she was alive today.




* Coke presentations = Trot all of the kids to the gym and make them watch an "inspiring" multimedia presentation with trite truisms about life and how drugs are bad blended in with positive popular music. Designed for super short attention spans. All sponsored by Coke, so that the school feels less bad about picking corn syrup beverages at its population. Dunno how popular these were/are in other regions, but they were BIg Events when I was in high school.

The Power of Hormones

I decided to cut back on the pumping at work, because AwesomeKid has been less interested in the boobs as of late, plus she has moved into the "Walkers" class at daycare, where she is allowed to eat non-purées. Finger food has been her preferred food for many months now, but daycares have rules, so she's been stuck with mush until now. So the combination of real food at daycare, her unending campaign against bottles, and hitting that magical twelve month made it seem like the time was ripe to cut out at least one pumping session per day.

The first few days went fine. I was a little (ok, a lot) more busty than usual, but that's no big. A little bit of pressure, but no pain. All was smooth sailing. Alas, what I had not counted on was the hormones.

I woke up a little late on Thursday, but I'm always a little late. Normally, I just rush around and make it work. Some things get left behind occasionally, which generally annoys me but so it goes. I don't like how disorganized I've become, but I have adopted a "strive for your best, and remember your best won't be perfect under your current life circumstances" way of looking at the work situation as of late.

But back to Thursday. I woke up late, and on Thursday it was a TRAGEDY. I was really really really angry with myself for sleeping in. And then I had no clean clothes, so that made me more angry. The dishes were piling over in the sink AGAIN, and I got really worked up thinking about how much time I spend doing dishes when I could be doing other things, and how BestHusbandEver could really do the dishes more often, and how unfair the lack of a dishwasher was for our family. Then I started thinking about the piles of laundry, and that made me mad too. I think I tripped over several toys, which exacerbated the angst.

So next thing I know, I'm crying and telling BestHusbandEver that we need a serious discussion about our division of domestic responsibilities, but we can't talk about it now because I need to leave for work, and by the way I am completely overwhelmed with life and I haven't had more that four hours of sleep at a time for almost a year, and I just don't know how I can handle this anymore.

Bear in mind, that while I don't get much sleep, and I do have a fair amount of stressors (what working mom doesn't?), I generally am pretty damn satisfied with life and don't really care about having a messy house. This freak out really did come out of nowhere.

Anyhow, I get to work, my eyes are all red, I'm in the bathroom trying to calm down, and I wind up telling my first class I have a cold plus I slept in my contacts. After that I went and cried in the bathroom about how horrible my life was for a while. It was bizarre. I was literally shaking with emotion. I was considering quitting my job right then and there. Could not stop crying when I wasn't actually teaching. It was very dramatic.

I made it through the day, but it felt like I'd been through some horrible trauma. I had that whole post crying your eyes out empty feeling. It was awful. I was just so sad, and the fact that this sadness had come out of nowhere was worrying. I thought I might be pregnant, because the feeling reminded me very strongly of my weepy anxious pregnant self.

Then it hit me. The boobs weren't full and huge in the morning as they had been the past few days. My body had adjusted its milk production. HORMONES were at play here. The power of Google confirmed it. Actually, there was very little stuff out there about weaning and mood swings, but there was enough to confirm my suspicions. Evidently the milk producing hormone is associated with feelings of calm and peace and all that happy stuff. I guess I was having some kind of peace love happiness hormone withdrawal. Luckily, it was short-lived, because all was well with the world by Friday.

Hormones. They are powerful. I don't like to give them credit, because I don't like to think I'm ruled by my primitive reptile brain. But sometimes I am, I guess. Fingers crossed they can keep in check for the rest of the weaning process, because Thursday really sucked. At least I feel prepared for the possibility, and I'll know to call in in sick next time. Yay me.

Perspective

I think I have problems, but I don't.  Not really.  I get frustrated with my job, but I think I'd get frustrated if I had morphed into a stay at home mom after the birth of V.  I get frustrated about not having as much time to exercise or do yoga, but I am capable of making time at least a few days a week.  And seriously, those are my most pressing issues.  Other problems (The house is so so dirty! I'm so sleepy! Baby's bedtime routine cuts into possible fun evening nights out!)...  These are temporary and really not that big of a deal in the long run.

I'm really lucky actually.  I've got a beautiful family.  My husband and I fit together so well, and V is just a new extension of that amazing dynamic we have.  We don't have to stress about bills or affording good food.  We have no worries about the current mortgage crisis because we rent.  I might not have my neat little four pack abs anymore, but I'm back in the pre-pregnancy clothes and I'm pretty damn healthy, in my opinion.  

The hard times - when it seems like I really do have huge, enormous problems are at work, when it's a bad day (high school students really can be assholes sometimes), and I just think about my baby's face and I get that tightened throat feeling and the tears start to prick my eyes...  I remind myself that I CHOSE this, this working mom thing, because we did discuss it, the possibility of me staying home.  Before she was born, it seemed so logical - we like to live a certain way, and money helps with that.  Jumping back into the workforce after a few years would be hard.  There are only so many choral music positions available in our area, and I've got a pretty posh set up.  Now that I'm doing it, I miss my baby all day.  I never thought it would be so hard.

But then again, perspective.  I've had two students tell me what's going on their lives this week.  Deaths, family members who are alcoholics and addicts, and absent parents that have left them feeling abandoned...  I don't have it so bad.  My baby will be just fine in the arms of a loving daycare worker that she knows and trusts.  And I will be just fine too.  My little family will soldier on through the trials of babyhood and we will survive intact.  Just gotta keep everything in perspective.      

Pumpin'

It's month 8 of new parenthood.  That means like month 6 of breast pumping.

The inconspicuous pumpin' bag, disguised as super huge purse.   

Morning starts with the rush to get to work, because I always sleep late - a side effect of co-sleeping, I think.  Babies are so freaking snuggly.  Get to school and in the 15 minute window between morning duty and my first class of the day, I sit in the faculty restroom and pump.  I wonder if the kids notice that I disappear into the bathroom next to their lockers for an inordinate amount of time every single day.  They are in junior high, which means they are a bit spacey and self involved, but then again I kind of remember discussing and speculating about my teachers ad nauseum when I was that age.  I don't think they can hear the strange rhythmic pulsing sound coming from the bathroom...

Paper towels on the ground in an attempt to be sanitary.

I emerge, boobs noticeably diminished in size, and a try to be discreet, making small talk with the random faculty sitting in the faculty lounge, deposit the precious cargo in the faculty fridge, and rush to my classroom.  Repeat the process for lunch, although sometimes if there's more time I vary it up and head to the backstage of the school's theater, where I lean with my back to the non-locking door and hope no student randomly tries to come in.

Carpet rather than bathroom tile in the theater! Yay!

I love my baby, and I love breastfeeding.  For real.  It came easy for us, and it's this amazing bonding experience.  Plus, it is sooooooo much easier at night.  Even though the precious one still wakes me up multiple times every night, I just roll to her and give her the tit.  And back to sleep she goes.  Minimal fuss.

I really hate pumping, though.  It isolates me from my fellow faculty because I can't eat lunch with them.  It ensures that I am not available to tutor students before school, at lunch, or after school.  And it just plain sucks.  Breastfeeding is such a primal, earth mama thing, and pumping is mechanized and just feels wrong...  Plus, sitting on the bathroom floor is nasty.

So, when I'm sitting there pumping, I'm googling things about weaning on the iPhone and crossing my fingers that I won't have a kid who wants to breastfeed forever.  But when I'm home, the kid and I are linked by this desire to nurse and I know I'll probably cry the day she actually rejects the boob.  So many different emotions, so many different directions to be pulled as a new parent...