Track thighs

My youngest baby is four months old on Tuesday and I am starting to come to terms with the baby weight. Not his, but mine. I gained, oh somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 pounds, and I was already 15 pounds overweight. Apparently, according to the health experts my ideal weight is between 112 and 145 pounds. As of about a week ago, I am at 186. Now, I was 212 when I gave birth, so I'm not doing too shabby. Still, the inches of fat on my belly and thighs (and everywhere else it seems) are starting to make me insecure. I mean insecure in that i-don't-want-my-husband-to-look-at-other-women way. And this is silly. Really silly. My husband loves me. Loves me AND finds be physically attractive even at 40 lbs over the legal limit. What more can I ask for, right? But after seeing Beyonce shake her rump enough times, I get that itch. It's like I wish I could just lazer off the extra parts, and leave the Beyonce curves. I actually have some good curves, they are just a little curvier than I would like them to be. And you know, it is motivation, all of this booty-shakin on TV. I even hear a song on the radio and feel the urge to run off some of those pounds. It is just.....so....sssllllooooowwww. But, you want to know what is really ridiculous? Life is not about looking pretty. It really isn't. Although I did catch my eye in the mirror the other day and thought, "Oh, I am cute!" Like I said, it is way too late. I gotta get some sleep.

Blog Block

So, my frustration is that the only time I sit down to write it is far too late, i have been up with the babies as they wrestle through sleep, and I am too tired to remember any of the witty things that my kids do during the day. The truth is, they are really, really amazing. They do things I never thought little kids did, that I don't remember doing. They act more grown-up than most grown ups, and they definitely have more common sense. Akeem just wants my uninterrupted, undivided attention all of the time, and he insists on eye contact. He knows that I am not really watching or listening half of the time because someone else is talking. He is two and he knows. You know, I have to remember to tell them how they just amaze me.

Eyes of Innocence

My two year old, Akeem, is beginning to feel the strain of having a new baby brother. His favorite word is "no" and he frequently "falls out," as we call it, on the floor as soon as he cannot do what it is that he wants to do. I wish that I could give him the gift of undivided attention some days. But, as any mom of multiple children knows, that is utterly impossible. There are just not enough hours to the day. My husband recently joked that he was talking to God about adding 8 hours to the day. He said he had it under control. Part of me wished it were a reality, part of me wonders why we are struggling to buy time. I am home with my kids most days of the week, and I have managed to give them each a bit of individual attention throughout the days. Some days, I am sure that i will explode from the yelling and arguing that seems to erupt from every possible situation. Other days I marvel at them; watching them explore the world. We forget the curiosity of childhood as we age. We do not remember the sheer pleasure of everything; of just playing. Of running in circles in the grass until we fell to our knees, landing face-first with the green smell of the outdoors seeping into our nostrils and our skin as we laid on the ground, trying to catch our breath through giggles. Perhaps I do remember. If I close my eyes I see the sky twirling overhead, feeling not sick but wondrous watching the clouds circle above me. My brother tugging at my arm, ready for another go.

Some days I am afraid that I will ruin these moments for my children, when I am exhausted and caffeinated, yelling or crying or both. When I overreact to the slightest fumble, when they spill juice or accidentally get toothpaste in their hair and on their shirt and in between their toes. Or poop. (That's a blog for another day). And then they apologize profusely, not because they are afraid of being yelled at, I don't think, but rather because they see when I am becoming undone. They realize the moment when it is no longer fun for me anymore, and I wish I did not have to say that I know it worries them. And rubs off on them. Leila, oh my darling. I see her repeating my behaviors. Not so much my behaviors now - I think I have become unglued far less recently. But for at least a year, it was several times a day that I felt I couldn't manage life for another moment. And I see her getting so frustrated and feeling that she can't do anything anymore...and I know her emotions because they are my own. I want to make her understand, yell at her that she doesn't have to relinquish control. Tell her that it is alright to let go, but letting go so that she can hold tightly to what really matters.

I have to tell myself the same words over and over, sometimes just so that I begin to believe in my own strength. I have to show my daughter that she must have confidence in herself. I have only just realized that this means teaching her by regaining and renewing confidence in myself. Seeing my beauty and my struggles, my strengths and my vulnerabilities.

It is for you, my dear ones, that I live.

First Entry

Three weeks, two days, and counting.

At this point all I want to do is drink lemon ginger tea and dance wildly in a body that is not my own. In my mind I am moving and shaking all over the room with the freedom only my husband and kids seem to harness. Why is it so far from my reach? In reality I am sitting and sitting. Wishing I would allow my feet to move and my body to bend into rhythm and melody. What is it that forces me to remain still even as I am compelled to relinquish control of my inhibitions?

I suppose the real question concerns the metaphor. What does my physical inhibition have to do with the mental and spiritual state of my mind right now? Why is my self-reflection so empty? I want to give myself so many things but I don't know how right now. I think I would hate to be the person reading this right now. Who needs more fuel for depression? Ugh. But I think for me, at this time in my life, this writing might be the first gift I have given to myself in a long, long while.