Mumbling to the Universe

May 29, 2012

Dear Son,

I want you to know that the post-feeding naps you take right on top of me have given me the warmest feelings I have experienced in my life.

Your chubby little face rests on my chest, while the rest of you is either sprawled on my torso or curled up in a kneeling position right next to my body. Your diapered bottom sticks up in the air, propped up by your legs. I can’t imagine either of these being particularly comfortable, but your deep, rhythmic breathing says otherwise.

The tiniest tufts of eyelashes peek out of your shut eyes. Your lips are slightly ajar, forming an isosceles triangle mouth. Your left cheek is the softest flubber smushed up against me, and I know that, when the nap is over, I will have an imprint of your cute baby ear on my skin.

Your arms are draped near my neck. Your right hand is still assuredly curled into a fist inside the double layer of mittens I make you wear. The other has been triumphantly freed and so tiny fingers (with freshly clipped nails) are able to gently stroke my skin. You may not know it, but this is the closest you’ve come to giving your mom a hug. The feeling is so perfect I could cry.

I look at you and see a chick, a puppy, a cartoon glowworm all rolled into one rolly-polly kid that I have fallen crazy in love with over the course of just five weeks.

I know we have our moments. I know that, at my nth attempt to soothe your indecipherable cries, I have sometimes wished (quite foolishly) for time to move faster. More than once, I’ve looked forward to a time when soiled diapers, nighttime feedings, and all the exhaustion that comes with will become a thing of the past. But all those uttered frustrations are not meant. Even in my most frenzied, sleepless state, I know that never before in my life have I been as happy as I am now, just being with you.  Even though I have hopes and dreams for you to one day become an intelligent, self-sufficient grown man, it breaks my heart to even think that this time we have together is fleeting. The tiny lashes, the rolls of fat, the puckered-up triangle mouth, these treasured naps—none of them will last forever. So now I hold on to you, my little guy, asleep on my tummy.

Love always,

Your Mom

Having been inducted into motherhood only just a month ago, it’s still tough for me to encapsulate how the experience has been for me so far. After all, as all moms and moms-to-be know, having a child introduces you to an array of topics and choices. Will you be breastfeeding or giving the baby formula? Should you return to work or be a stay-at-home mom? Will the baby be co-sleeping with you or is that too dangerous both for the baby and your marriage? There’s so much to consider (and write about).

But I’d like to start off with my thoughts on two things. The first is my own experience of the moms that rallied around me right after I gave birth. The second is the question Time magazine challenges mothers all over the world to answer: Are You Mom Enough?

I had read so much on how moms tend to be their own worst enemies when it comes to parenting. I had witnessed it too on noontime talk shows and mommy blogs—grown women putting each other down over differing views. I braced myself for the worst, but instead got the exact opposite. While dealing with post-procedure pains, I got calls from girlfriends who had gone through it before me, telling me I would feel better in a few days. When my son didn’t move his bowels for four days straight, I began doubting whether breastfeeding was such a good idea. Other moms called and sent messages, not to preach what felt right to them, but to tell me to trust myself and that everything would be alright. A former co-worker I only kept in touch with sporadically actually came over just because I was a newbie in need of support. She even emailed me illustrated guides on how to properly burp a baby. Another friend, the wife of my husband’s high school buddy, called to assure me that some things (like freaking out about the baby and getting frustrated with my partner) were inevitable but also ultimately survivable. At a time when I felt utterly exhausted, lost, and overwhelmed, a group of ladies spontaneously came to my rescue.

Where were all the backbiting and snide remarks? I have no doubt that this type of destructive behavior among women really does exist. But the pleasant surprise I got also proves that this doesn’t always have to be the case. Motherhood doesn’t turn women into monsters. If anything, it is the most humbling and humanizing of life experiences. But when the media (like, say, Time magazine) and the so-called experts they quote (or quite often misquote) attempt to establish a universal measurement for something that’s as unique as motherhood, battle lines are drawn. When we’re asked “Are You Mom Enough?”, we go on the defensive. Yes, I am because I (insert practice here) and that ensures (insert benefits of said practice here). As that response becomes our personal definition of what a good mother ought to do, anyone else who does otherwise suddenly becomes the enemy: the mom who isn’t mom enough. So and so isn’t mom enough because she gave up on breastfeeding. So and so isn’t mom enough because she continues to work outside her home. Ironically, our own fear of being deemed inadequate is what spurs us to unleash harsh judgment on others.

Ladies, ladies…Were we not the ones who endured 9 months of hormonal insanity? Were we not the ones who agonized night after sleepless night about what it means to bring a child into this world? Were we not the ones who struggled with the confusing and often heartbreaking choice between returning to work and putting our careers on pause for the sake of our kids (and let us please acknowledge that both options entail major sacrifices)? Being a mom (or a dad) is tough. It’s rewarding, but very, very tough. And we parents are the only ones who really know what it’s like. We’re the only ones who understand how chaotic it can be. We’re the only ones who know what it’s like to struggle with the doubt and indecision that comes with being responsible for a life. We are the only ones who know the heart-wrenching love we have for our kid(s). If anything, we ought to be an exclusive club!  We ought to be sticking up for each other! We ought to be insulted that some magazine dares to ask how adequate we are in a role we all know we give our very best to, day in and day out.

Parenting styles vary just as children, lifestyles, and belief systems vary. Are you mom enough??? Yes, you are. So am I. I believe we all are, even though we have different ways of going about it. I won’t let a magazine bully me into feeling like I’m not giving it my all when I know I am. And I certainly won’t let it bully me into making others feel that way. 

I realize it’s a little weird that my first real blog post after giving birth is not about the magical and emotional rollercoaster ride that is motherhood (but like I’ve said, I’ll get to that in due time). It’s even weirder that I am choosing to write about TV. How mundane, I know. But hey, writing is writing. And I have to start somewhere. 

Turns out, that somewhere is here: 7 reasons TV is supposedly ruining my life. 

I don’t like admitting it, but I am a TV junkie. First, let me plead my case. Because of my living situation with my husband, I sometimes find myself stuck in China for months at a time. Now, I’m sure Chinese television is entertaining in its own right. It’s just that most, if not 100% of it, also happens to be in Chinese. And constantly consulting a foreign language dictionary is not my idea of a relaxing evening. And so in my defense, there are times when I live in China and my life is completely TV-free (like most of 2011, for example).

But now I’ve moved back home where American TV shows are in no short supply. When you’ve just come from a year and a half in China, something as straightforward as a drama series or sitcom or even a news program that is immediately understandable to you can feel like manna from heaven. 

With my husband still abroad, a room and TV set all to myself, and not much to do in the evenings, the last few months of my pregnancy were spent with the TV switched on in the background. (Shows on food and travel are best when one is also simultaneously clearing up space for a baby so thank you TLC). And now, with the baby here, the TV keeps me company while I feed and change diapers at ungodly hours. 

So yes, the TV and I are very much back together. But the LearnVest article made me reassess: Is it ruining my life? The article points to ways watching TV could end up depleting my funds but what really spoke to me was Reason #4: Life is more fun without TV. 

4. Life Is More Fun Without TV

Talk about living her richest life. Our Senior Editor, Laura, hasn’t watched TV in 20 years, and she’s living proof that cutting TV cold turkey will improve your happiness. Since college, she’s become a certified yoga instructor, picked up Italian and become an advanced Argentine tango dancer (while also becoming proficient at salsa, merengue, ballroom and swing).She makes almost all of her presents every Christmas, cooks dinner on weeknights that she doesn’t go out, regularly attends concerts and still finds time outside of work to blog three to six times a week and dance the weekend away with friends. She can also, depending on her schedule, work her way through a book per week.

I have no interest in suddenly becoming an Italian-speaking Argentine tango dancer, but an undeniably good point has been raised. What would I be doing if I weren’t watching all that TV? Sure, I’d still be stuck in my bedroom, direct-feeding my son. It would still be 3 in the morning. But I could be paying more attention to bonding with him. I could be reading more. I could be writing or at least cooking up topics I could write about. I could be productive. 

And instead? What do I actually watch whenever the TV is on? A lot of nothing, with the possible exception of HBO’s Game of Thrones and the Discovery Channel’s Mythbusters. The rest?

Man vs. Food: I’m serious! The gross-and-yet-strangely-likable host coupled with the disgusting amount of food he has to consume at each episode’s challenge somehow appeals to me. But just enough to keep it on the background. Most days, I don’t care enough to know if he wins or not. 

Anything with Samantha Brown: What’s not to love? She seems genuinely nice and so are the places she ends up in. But while it’s nice to bask in her personality’s sunshine, I’m not heading to any of those places solely on her recommendation.

No Reservations: Anthony Bourdain is like the anti-Samantha. He is somehow lovable in his meanness. But again, the show’s limitless budget and Bourdain’s I’m-a-chef taste in food means I won’t be going his route any time soon. 

Glee: Ever since its first season, this has been the show I’ve loved to hate. Now on its 3rd season, the plot lines have just stopped making sense. And yet I still tune in whenever I can! Waste. Of. Time. 

American Idol (and other reality shows): None of the contestants mean anything to me! I don’t pay attention to the performances and, even though a part of me wants to know who gets voted out each week, I get that information from the internet and move on. So why I even bother is, again, beyond me. 

How I Met Your Mother: I used to loooove this show. But it has gone downhill. Wake me when Ted finally gets to actually meeting the mother. 

The Today Show: There is a cable channel that shows The Today Show (together with Early Today and Today with Hoda and Kathie Lee) on loop. Even more perplexing than that programming schedule is my willingness to watch the same news and lifestyle segments over and over and over in the course of one day. I’m convinced it has something to do with all the colorful and yet office appropriate outfits the ladies wear. 

The Tonight Show with Jay Leno: Jay stopped being funny a long time ago. And I’m still mad at what he did to Conan. 

Conan: Funnier but sadly also no longer worth it. 

So am I giving up TV? Let’s just say that catching myself tuned in to The Bachelor: The Women Tell All just so I could have something to watch is something I consider a serious call to change. So yes, I’m certainly going to give it a try.

The TV will always switch on for whoever is up for watching what is usually mildly entertaining. But as I type this entry, it’s switched off. Instead, some classical music is playing for the baby, while I spend some time further enriching this blog and my renewed enthusiasm not just for writing but also for a fuller, funner, more fulfilling life.

It’s been a while since my last post and so much has happened since then. Yes, our bun is finally out of the oven. I am officially a mom! I SHOULD write about that—the experience and the full spectrum of emotions that come with it—and I will, one day. I hope against hope that that day won’t be too far off from today. But it certainly won’t be today, because the topic of motherhood is HUGE. So huge that I simply can’t rush an entry on it while my new boss naps in between feedings. 

Speaking of feedings, there have been plenty of those going on ever since my baby’s arrival and some of those have occurred at an ungodly hour wherein my only company has been articles from BlogHer, LearnVest, Purpose Fairy, and other similar sites. 

I am thankful for all the insights I’ve gained during those late-night feeding-and-reading sessions. But most of all, I am thankful for the inspiration to get up in the morning and find time in the day to write, keep writing, and write some more. And that is what has led me to this entry—my back-in-the-saddle entry.

May this be the start of plenty more entries to come. 

I’ve put up some posts about my latest read, The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. I think that happiness will forever be a pivotal topic in my life so more posts about her insights on it are on the way. 

In her book, she takes on projects to help make her happier. One such project: completing a novel in a month! Automatic lightbulb above my aspiring-writer head. 

The mechanics are simple enough: Write one part of the story each day until an entire novel is finished in a month’s time. Whether the story is good enough to ever see the light of day is besides the point. 

Just to add to the challenge (and to prove that there’s no such thing as perfect timing): I am now 9 months pregnant and very likely to pop before the month is through. Still, three quarters of a novel (or whatever) is still way more than I’ve ever accomplished before. 

So here goes nothing. I’ll be posting my progress on my other blog: http://fictionconfidential.tumblr.com/ Wish me luck! 

An old college friend of mine recently posted something on Facebook that hit close to home. Because we’ve never really been close and have actually lost touch with each other after graduation (Facebook hardly ever counts as keeping in touch), I am reluctant to post his status verbatim here. But the gist of it was this: Comparing his life to those of his peers (oh woe are we who make a masochistic pasttime out of this!), he feels as though he’s fallen behind everyone else and that he just doesn’t have as much going for him as others do. Even though I’m what you’d call a Facebook-lurker (someone who occasionally logs on to observe but never really posts anything), I knew I had to respond to this one. After all, haven’t I been feeling the exact same way? His post told me I wasn’t alone! I wanted to return the favor. Cue a quote from Pinterest: 

“The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with everyone else’s highlights reel.”

Someone else commented that this was all Facebook’s doing. He referred to the site as ”a college reunion, everyday-edition”. I don’t completely disagree, but I feel he gives Mark Zuckerberg way too much credit there. Sure, finding out that someone else is engaged, earning loads, or traveling exotic locales around the globe while you are not has never been more convenient. But discontent, jealousy, self-loathing…all of these feelings existed way before we could feign giving a blue and white thumbs-up to announcements that really ate us up inside.

No, using other people’s milestones as yardsticks for our own is one of those things that’s older than time. And anyway, I couldn’t care less where it all began. It’s the rationale behind it that’s got me intrigued.

Here’s something I came across while reading the chapter on money in Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project:

“…people measure themselves against their age peers, and making more money than people in their age group tends to make people happier…A study of workers in various industries showed that their job satisfaction was less tied to their salaries than to how their salaries compared to their coworkers’ salaries…In one study, majority of people chose to earn $50,000 where others earned $25,000, rather than earn $100,000 where others earned $250,000.” 

Here’s what I take away from all this: First, it’s not just about how much we have, but about whether we’ve got more or less than the next guy. Everything’s relative. But the worst part is that the comparison isn’t and never will be apples to apples. While I’m pining away to have someone else’s career, maybe that same person is wishing she’s already in the family way like I am. We’ve all got great things going for us, but we’re just too busy looking elsewhere.

Second, we often have a zero-sum approach to happiness and success. It’s like the non-scientific, immature, and totally insecure version of “lightning never strikes the same place twice”. We feel that what happens to a friend can no longer happen to us. (It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it certainly feels like it does, right?) So when a friend lands a job or finds a great mate, it’s often difficult to be genuinely happy for them without secretly asking “What about me?”. It’s almost as if there isn’t enough happiness, love, and fulfilment in this world to go around. And here’s where my theory’s even-more-evil twin rears its ugly head: schadenfreude. If we can’t be genuinely happy for others when they’re up, then it means we secretly are when they’re down. In zero-sum, that just means there’s more for us.

So where does this leave me and my old college friend? We both certainly see how this is a very sick and irrational way to live life. But it’s not called a quarter-life crisis (another entry for another time) for how much sense it makes. ”Comparing and despairing”, as they call it, comes naturally. It’s just that if (1) everyone’s looking at everything else but their good fortune, and (2) everyone’s feeling like a loser because of what other people have, then who’s really winning anyway?

This entry is dedicated to my friend Kat…who, as far as I know, doesn’t even know this blog exists. 

I came across an interesting quote in Esquire recently. 

“The under-analyzed life is not worth living, but the over-analyzed life is worse. The latter is every woman’s reality.” -Alex Escat

Kat is one of the girl friends with whom I’ve shared the agonies of over-analyzing life. What is my life meant for? Which path is right for me? Who am I really??? It’s a treacherous sport. 

Today, while waiting for the rest of our perpetually tardy gang to show up for lunch, Kat shared with me her ongoing struggle to figure herself out and how she has repeatedly turned to the enneagram for some insight. Interesting. 

Having spent most of my college years hanging out with Psychology majors (even though I wasn’t one myself), I’ve heard quite a bit about the enneagram. I think I’ve even taken the test once or twice before. But I guess I’ve never been interested enough to remember the results. 

Chalk it up to an increase in free time (much of which is spent over-analyzing my life and myself) or the fact that I’m at a crucial fork in the road (a great time to do even more over-analyzing), I decided to give getting to know myself a bit better another go. The results: 

According to the test, I am equal parts a Three (The Achiever), a Six (The Loyalist), and a One (The Reformer). But taking “wings” into account, I’m a 3w4, meaning I am predominantly a Three with some tendencies towards being a Four (The Individualist). 

Reading through the descriptions of these four types, I came to realize that they tend to focus on hang-ups and fixations. I’ve got plenty of those, unfortunately, and the enneagram results were pretty spot-on in encapsulating them.

For example, as a Three, I am described as being all about external approbation (which I am).

“People of this personality type need to be validated in order to feel worthy; they pursue success and want to be admired…They are often secretly afraid of being or becoming losers.”

Bingo…but there’s more…

“Because it is central to the type Three fixation to require external validation, Threes often, consciously and unconsciously, attempt to embody the image of success that is promoted by their culture. Threes get in trouble when they confuse true happiness, which depends on inner states, with the image of happiness which society has promoted.”

Too true not to hurt. I hate admitting this about myself but I compare myself to everyone over everything! I know I shouldn’t. I know no good comes of it. I know it only makes me miserable. But. I. Just. Can’t. Help. Myself. Now, for example, I’ve been thoroughly bugged for weeks at the realization that I may be making less than my peers. Sure, it’s always nice to make more, but I know full well it’s not about that. It’s a pride thing. An “Achiever” thing, apparently.

Meanwhile, parts of being a Four ring too true for me as well. The part that says…

“Fours are emotionally complex and highly sensitive. They long to be understood and appreciated for their authentic selves, but easily feel misunderstood and unappreciated.”

…sounds just like me on any old day when I’m trying my darnest to explain and re-explain the current inner workings of my over-analyzing brain to my unsuspecting victim (usually my poor husband). Also, 

“Rather than look for practical solutions to their difficulties, Fours are prone to fantasizing about a savior who will rescue them from their unhappiness.”

Yet another pathetic but true fact about myself. Now that I’m helping my parents out with a financial snag, I’ve been daydreaming about everything from getting a sudden inexplicable and obscenely enormous raise to a new, inexplicably high-paying job to my billionaire boss just throwing some money my way with no strings attached. 

I can’t complain much about the daydreaming though, because at least it offers me a break from what I probably do most of the day—worrying my silly little head off. I worry about my relationships that are or aren’t working out, money and whether there’s enough of it to go around, the house that we may or may not find…you name it.

“What all Sixes have in common however, is the fear rooted at the center of their personality, which manifests in worrying, and restless imaginings of everything that might go wrong.” 

And lastly, there’s the side of me that’s a One—the Reformer—which is all about my incessant need to be right and to make everything else right.  

“Ones are serious people; they tend to be highly principled, competent and uncompromising. They follow the rules and expect others to do so as well.”

This sheds light on my fixation with what SHOULD be. And how I feel duped and shortchanged when life doesn’t go the way it ought to if the universe were completely fair. (News flash: It ain’t.)

Anyway, I am realizing now that I’ve used this blog post as yet another opportunity to further pick apart my already over-analyzed life. And I know that if my friend Kat ever came across this, it’d be something we’d pore over at length over coffee and hot chocolate. It’d be a long discussion and truth be told, very little—besides maybe even more confusion—would come out of it. But that’s what we do. And as I told her over lunch today, maybe there’s just no fighting who we are. 

This is a love story. 

I once had a friend. We met even before we started big-girl school, and some years after that, we became best friends. Looking back, I’m not really sure what we meant by that back then. But I do remember almost everyone in class having one best friend. I guess that’s what counts for validation when you’re 10. It was official proof you existed. That no matter how dorky, nutty, eerily quiet, or weird you were, someone—your best friend—got you. 

She got me. 

Plenty happened in the many years that followed the 4th grade, but that much remained true. We met lots of different people. And then we ourselves eventually became very different people. She grew up athletic, outspoken, diligent, and frank, while I just further developed my own personal brand of introverted loopiness. And yet, we still got each other better than anyone else. I guess that’s what happens when deep down the both of you were, are, and always will be prudish, over-analyzing goody-goodies well on their way to grandmotherhood (or nunny bunniness). 

It’s hard to recall all the details of a friendship that spanned almost 2 decades, but I do remember a lot. I remember starting our lunch breaks with a visit to the school chapel. I don’t remember what we prayed for, but just that that’s what we did. I remember how overzealous she was with hot sauce, so I never let her touch my pizza slice. I remember we thought being put in different classes would be the end of our friendship. We later thought the same about graduating and moving on to college, and then again about working. Wrong again, thankfully. I remember how her first job sucked so bad, she came over my house on almost a nightly basis to cry about it. I remember that venting about my mother only really feels right and guilt-free when she’s the only one who can hear. I remember that Sunday night she called to say her boyfriend had been cheating on her. I remember breaking down with her when she asked me if she should still take him back. I remember her at my wedding. She said she was lucky to have a friend like me. She said that. 

That was less than 2 years ago. But there’s now significantly less to remember. We hardly talk. There are no visits, no phone calls, and almost all contact is reduced to the most basic of pleasantries. 

The saddest part is that we’re not even sad at all. Maybe it’s because it happened so gradually. Maybe we’ve finally become too different. Or maybe it’s because, like all female friends, we have had this incessant need to compare our lives to each other’s and it’s finally all caught up to us. Whatever the reason might be, it is what it is. All the great memories of us together may not be enough to reverse that. Not that they should either. I mean is the friendship still alive if all that keeps us together are memories of better days?

In a few days, she’s moving away and only God knows when I’ll see her again or what hanging with her will be like then. As a goodbye gesture, I wrote her a note congratulating her on the great job opportunity waiting for her abroad. And I took the chance to acknowledge what’s gone unsaid between us. A few days later, she sent a text message assuring me that there was no negativity on her side of things and that she’d reply to my letter when she’s no longer as busy with all the hassles of the move. I do not know what response to expect—or if I should even expect one to begin with. She doesn’t leave until next week, but we both know she’s been gone for a long time now.