shouting hallelujah
Haley of Carrots for Michaelmas, “How I Almost Became the Smug Mom”
Let’s all repeat this over and over to ourselves, OK? I’ve been lucky to receive very little (obvious, explicit) mom-hate, and I’ve tried so hard not to be disapproving of what other people find works. It’s a lesson in compassion, for sure.
It won the Nobel Prize! And yet I only heard about it through Haley, though once I was looking, I found a copy in our church library and encountered a coworker at the library who’d read (and loved) the book as a teenager.
It was funny to read this just after the Anne books — a wholly unfamiliar book coming after a nearly memorized one, Catholic following Protestant, unflinching and melancholy after “light, and bright, and sparkling,” although both focused on motherhood (after all, my honors thesis carried the title, “Motherhood and Nurturing in Anne of Green Gables”). I’m not sure I’d say I liked Kristin Lavransdatter exactly —or at least that I liked Kristin herself — but I was totally absorbed and I’m still thinking about it. Medieval Norway is so unfamiliar it might as well be fantasy, yet Kristin’s deeply held Catholicism — even when she’s violating those beliefs — means Kristin and I have more in common than I share with many latter-day protagonists. And the book’s sometimes uncomfortable meditations about marriage and motherhood, as Kristin learns again and again that she cannot find perfect peace and redemption in those she loves, come at just the right time for me.
A bit belated: Shower #2.
Or: Lots of diapers, plenty of cake.
(And this time, I was disciplined enough not to eat myself ill.)
Why is it that obeying the requests of an employer is liberating, while working out of love to care for one’s family is oppressive? We need a different view in which freedom means the ability to care for “ourselves and of each other” and emphasizes the community of the whole family.
— “There’s No Paycheck for Motherhood,” by my friend Haley (for whom I occasionally contribute pieces)
This is particularly timely for me as I apply to and interview for wee 10- or 15-hour a week jobs with my shiny new master’s in preparation for Pip’s arrival.
Haley and I have talked about this before (as I have with anyone who will listen in the last couple years as I sort out my views). I think there’s a real value to being home and better able to care for the people around you, even if those people aren’t necessarily your children. There’s the financial incentive, of course — we eat out less when I am home to cook, and we save on everything from laundry to mending to groceries — but there’s also the human value of being able to help a friend pack up her apartment, make a meal for a stressed family, volunteer in your church or community, etc. These benefits only expand when you spend your days with your little one. It’s not the only way to live, of course, but it’s certainly not some lazy, self-indulgent or foolish option.
Working on 26 weeks.
This will probably be my last shot from this office, as the job wraps Friday and then there’s only a little training of my replacement to do. I’m looking forward to more napping time, but this has been a good job: a sort of work/study arrangement that’s given me a lot of opportunities in the last year plus.
I feel like the belly’s gone into turbo drive lately. My next midwife appointment isn’t until the 8th, but a weigh-in on a friend’s scale suggests I’ve doubled my weight gain during Month 5. I doubt this is a problem, as I was so slow to puff up, but it’s certainly been a big adjustment. Pip is now developing a schedule and moving pretty predictably: first thing when I wake up; whenever I enjoy a cold drink; at this quiet little office job. He is a stinker about refusing to kick for friends, though.
Incidentally, everything here is non-maternity doing double-duty, though the topmost top and skirt I bought recently. To learn more about my maternity clothing strategy, you can read my guest post here.
Reblogged mostly so that Haley can rest assured there is a Lucy in the Weasley family (as well as the Pevensies). I don’t think I knew that before. Killer name choice, H.
(via librarienne)
(Because Haley tagged me, and because I’ve been pretty quiet around here lately.)
1. The first rule is to post these rules.
2. Post a photo of yourself and 11 things about yourself/your life .
3. Answer the questions set for you in the original post.
4. Create 11 new questions and tag people to answer them.
5. Go to their blog/twitter and tell them that you’ve tagged them.
I tag: Beca, Shelby, Caitlin and my mother.
Watch time: 1 hr.
“Is the Nutcracker a robot? Does he have grappler hands? Drosselmeier has an eyepatch. It’s weird because he’s not a pirate. He needs to fix the Nutcracker with his screwdriver. He needs to tighten the Nutcracker’s hydraulics.”
Movies, as reviewed by a three-year-old.
I am always in awe when a friend lets me hold her new, squishy baby, but last week Haley let me meet and snuggle her new little girl, Lucy.
I feel with babies, especially little breakable babies (versus the strapping lumberjack my godson has become), the way a little boy feels with a real dump truck: he likes it very much, only he doesn’t know what to do with it.
Lucy is just a sweetie. Prone to puppy dog faces (as above) and puppy dog snuffles, and very patient in inexperienced arms. And when I woke up the next morning, my shoulders were only a little sore from the strain and terror of holding someone so fragile and lovely.
