mama monday: tick-tock, biological clock

I was out with a lovely young lady for lunch today who asked me when my biological clock began to chime.  She, concerned that she wasn't as "baby crazy" as her peers, wondered if it was normal not to want to pop out infants in multiples during her early 20s.

I assured her it was.

Last week, I joked that my friends were once convinced that my biological clock was digital.  It make no sound, it sounded no alarm.  For years, while girlfriends dated, engagified, married, pregnacized, and baked cookies, I dated, wrote, worked, traveled, and ate out.  I didn't really "climb the corporate ladder" as much as I dramatically cascaded along bookshelves on a wheeled one, like Belle in Disney's Beauty & The Beast belting out a musical number.  I wasn't opposed to children, I just didn't have time for them.  They weren't a priority, and neither was domesticating.

On my 25th birthday (to the day), I felt the urge to go home, home to Toronto, like a migrating bird.  I wanted to nest close to my family.  When I met up with Andrew I experienced the unnerving sensation of being with the person the I was going to be with for the rest of my life, which added to the drive to settle down.  But once we were two years married and looking to start a family did I begin to suffer the phenomenon of Everyone-Is-Pregnant-Itis*.  Pregnant bellies bulge everywhere I go.  They bump me on public transit, they delay the elevators, they waddle throughout the supermarkets, they post ultrasound pictures on Facebook. 

I am convinced that the "settling down" chip, implanted in us from birth, implements whenever and however it is made to - each according to its host.  Some people make effervescent younger parents, either on purpose or by surprise, and some become refined older parents, again, not always according to script. 

When it does, all of a sudden, things like this will make you all quivery inside:

*  Similar to Everyone-Is-Getting-Married-Itis, which generally strikes those looking to find a special someone.

mama monday: change the world

I've made a shortlist of the worst things (that I can think of) to wait for:

1. Waiting for a method of public transportation, outside, when the weather resembles Voldemort's return to power.
2. Waiting for your turn at a government subsidized office when turns depend on complex letter/number system, like Bingo, and the letter/number system does not progress alphabetically nor chronologically.
3. Waiting in line at an amusement park for a ride that your peer group chose by democratic vote, wherein you were of the minority group, in the blistering sun, having eaten very little.

Waiting to get pregnant (to be pregnant? to turn pregnant?  to pregnacize?) is definitely up there and follows a strict mathematical increase of vexation whereby the axes are represented by "amount of time you are not pregnant" and "amount of time you've been thinking about being pregnant, including contemplations about, dreams about, poetry about, and blog postings about".

Unlike other experiences in waiting, however, I find that this one is difficult to explain.  In fact, other than disappointment, the waiting period is generally pleasant: life is good, I have a fantabulous husband who loves me to bits and makes me laugh, friends surround and support me, an amazing extended family, a great house, and many aspirations for the future.  Compared to examples 1, 2, and 3 above, the actual waiting process involved with parenthood is benign.  A baby would only be the addition to an already agreeable existence.

Simplistic, maybe, but also true.  So why not focus on what we have instead of what we're missing?

When Baby Gaz makes his/her debut and makes us parents in the process, will he/she want to hear that we were excitedly planning for his/her arrival while making the most out of every opportunity?  Or will he/she have an image of Mom and Dad weeping and complaining their way through the months before he/she was born?  I don't want whining to be a family trait.

Jon, new dad, wrote this in his blog just before the birth of his son, Noah:

...many of the characteristics, habits, mannerisms, modes of speech, and even culture that my son will learn are already in me.  The lifestyle of fatherhood began long, long ago (not too long ago, I’m only 25 here!) and continues to grow and deepen as I do. What I’m getting at is the effect my life has on my son’s life even before he is born.

I want to live life now in a way that positively affects my family to come.  If I want them to live in a world with less hatred, I'm going to start loving people more.  If I want them to live in a world of possibilities, I'm going to stop limiting myself.  If I want them to live in a world of hope, I'm going to cultivate it so they'll have a harvest of it when they're born.

I want to make my children proud.

---

“Be the change you want to see in the world.”

(Mahatma Ghandi)

"Once you bring life into this world, you must protect it. We must protect it by changing the world." (Elie Weisel)

I'm starting with the man in the mirror

I'm asking him to change his ways

And no message could have been any clearer

If you wanna make the world a better place

Take a look at yourself and then make that change

(Michael Jackson, Man In The Mirror)

mama monday: healthy competition?

Too many of the blogs written by women trying to conceive only focus on the negative.  Not being pregnant YET.  Not having a family YET.  Not being a mom YET.  The competition with other women who are pregnant can be particularly vicious, which is something that has never made sense to me. 

I'd assume that if one is so keen on babies that one would celebrate babies wherever they are, in any circumstance that they are. 

Pregnancy isn't the only stage on which girls have showdowns.  It's found everywhere from home ownership to home decor to marriage to weddings to relationships to fashion to careers to education and alllllll the way back to the playground.  Girls can be mean.  And usually to each other.

I'd like to take this Mama Monday to celebrate the girls who aren't mean.  The ones that let other girls into their heart, no matter the cost, and keep them there.  The girls who listen as well as speak.  The girls who give the hard advice as much as the easy advice.  And here's to hoping I end up more and more like one of those girls.

Melissa and her hubby, Jon, gave birth to the littlest friend in our group on October 10, 2010 (10/10/10) at 10:15 p.m.  His name is Noah Contstance Börger and although we've been saying hi to him womb-side for 9 months, it's amazing to meet him in person.  He's very, very fortunate to have a mom who doesn't have a mean bone in her body. 

Mama's hello.
Papa's hello.

mama monday: dolce far niente

A few girlies and I watched "Eat, Pray, Love" on the weekend and delighted in all 38% of its tomato-freshness.  None of us are sure why it received such poor reviews (it's schmaltzy, romantic and fluffy...and that's exactly what we wanted) but we didn't let it ruin our opinion(s), or our enjoyment of treating ourselves to manicures and pedicures afterwards.  Sugar and spice and everything nice.

I would have been just as happy to watch the film on mute, so beautiful were the scenes shot on location in Italy, India and Bali.  One particular scene, set in Rome, stuck with me:

Find more videos like this on www.truveo.com.

I may have taken a course dropped a course in introductory Italian during university, and I may be married into an Italian family presently, but - let me assure you - dolce far niente doesn't come easily to me.  As, I expect, is the case for many of us. 

The baby-making issue raises its little head from time to time, reminding me (as many others have reminded me) to "take things easy", "just relax", and "rest yourself".  Perhaps babies have the good sense to avoid being conceived in an environment that lacks peace. 

Happiness is one thing, peace is something else.  I can be hostessing a party, reorganizing my day timer, attending a conference, or traveling to another country and be COMPLETELY HAPPY.  I feel fulfilled, energized, and alive.  But I don't know if I could say that I feel peaceful.  I kind of feel more like this:

(from Hyperbole & A Half)

When I looked up the expression that has stabbed me in the brain ever since I heard it, dolce far niente, which literally means "the sweetness of nothing", I found images that inspired me.  The phrase seems to have inspired many more, since artist after artist painted "Dolce far Niente"s and they all looked similar.  Peace, tranquility, rest, poise, ease.

Doing nothing.

2-in-1: wednesday wifersize & friday foto

Since it's been three weeks since my last post, here is both a belated Wifercize Wednesday and a Friday Foto.

Wifercize Wednesday Friday:
Poking around a blog I frequent (BUT CAN NOT CONDONE), I found a curious question posted on its community section:

If you have them, what are the three "nevers" of your life?

Ignoring the number of people that wrote "never say never" as one of their three...followed by two others (really?), I waded my way through until I found one that resounded: "Never marry a man unless you want your son to be just like him."

I had heard variations of this before - comparing a prospective husband to other influential people in your life, including your father, yourself, your male role models, etc. - but never in relation to a son. Fortuitously, since I did not know about this rule prior to marriage, I won. Andrew has so many admirable qualities and characteristics, I would be proud to have a mini-Andrew.

Understanding that people (even little people) make their own decisions and can choose differ greatly from their parents, and understanding even more than many of the flaws and generational garbage that Andrew and I have can and hopefully will be eradicated in their lives, I still believe in the power and blessing of posterity. In mulling over when and if it should be time to start a family (and, in essence, forever changing the two-person "us" factor of our first years of dating and marriage), I recently came to the conclusion that if our kids would be an extension, an amalgamation, of him and me: knowing him, wouldn't I see him in them every day? Wouldn't I, seeing them, love him more?


Friday Foto:
I'm happy to say I've completed a 10 year old goal. For those of you who commute via public transit, you will be familiar with the graffiti art displayed from Dundas West station to Keele station as the subway emerges from its tunnel.

At the age when I began to use the TTC I lived in the Beaches, in the east end of Toronto. My fascination with and ignorance of the west end was partially due to never exploring the city past Spadina station (that's where Kensington market was and, therefore, as far west as my teenaged heart could desire) unless it was from what I gathered from the window of a subway car, partially due to Old Mill station (I could spot the magical Old Mill itself, where my parents were married and which was familiar to me from old wedding photos), and partially due to this graffiti mural. I naturally assumed the west (especially between Dundas West station and Keele station) was a dark, seedy underworld of crime and violence, pitting itself against the majestic forces of Old Mill.

The trip from the Beaches to Kipling is long. You would not fault me for fanciful daydreaming if you knew.

Ever since those years I wanted to make the time to get off at Dundas West and document the mural on foot until Keele, but never did until recently. Unfortunately, the original mural that I grew up with has been painted over and this is a new incarnation.

There's something about graffiti - illegal (unless commissioned, which these murals no doubt are) and vandalistic - that transforms an otherwise drab city into a palette of colour. I mean, if you're going to break the law, there are worse things you could do.

From west (Keele station) to east (Dundas West station). Click on an image to see a larger version. Please try to ignore any obscenities. It adds to the colour!