Allow Me to Introduce Myself

This blog isn't the only thing I've neglected lately.

That bay on the right?  The one turning his better side to the camera?  That's him.  Sam has been nothing but a pasture ornament for... over a year.  It feels like forever.  He's right to show me his backside.  He's entitled to hurt feelings and treating me with an air of disdain.

I don't have time for him these days.  He is meticulously cared for, of course, but he isn't ridden and I can tell he misses having a job. 

It's not just that I need to manage my time differently (though I could always do a little better), it's that there's only so much time in the day.  It's hard to admit I can't do everything, but... I can't.  And I have had to pick and choose.  He has lost, and I admit I've lost some of myself in putting him aside.

Motherhood is blessed but hard.  Being a working mother is without a doubt the ultimate challenge of my life.  I fill my days with work, with babies, and the few minutes left over is spent trying to conquer housework.  I love my family, but it becomes a grind and I do feel depleted.  So!  I'm working on learning to leave the house dirty and fill up my spirit instead of a bucket of mop water. 

A few times lately I lunged Sam, and I swear I started to feel the stirrings of my horsewoman's heart.  It was an amazing feeling.  

On Mother's Day I asked for nothing more than two hours, uninterrupted, with my horse.  It took me the whole first hour to get Sam cleaned up and assemble some dirty, cobwebby tack.  I lunged him, and he bucked and kicked and bolted around me in a maniacal circle.  When he settled he was lathered but pliable and content, and I dared to climb on. 

It was familiar, and strange, and triumphant.  It was just him and me.  I could do nothing more than sit in the dappled sunlight, pat his neck, and breathe.  I didn't even really think at all.  I just sat as a near stranger on his familiar back and silently asked him to remember me and the partnership we used to have.  I communed with him and my innermost self, the one that used to ride until my legs quivered and I sweated through my jeans.  The one who chased knowledge and skills by riding any horse I could, the one who loved to jump and learn new skills and work together with my horse, every day.

He was calm and happy.  I was peaceful and hopeful. 

When we'd had our fill of our quiet time, I hopped off and untacked.  I asked for Beep to join me so I could have a helper for Sam's bath.

The guys came out to keep us company.

 

And my baby girl and I scrubbed our beloved horse clean, and spent some time with our friend Sam.

A Girl and Her Deer

My baby girl is what we call an 80/20 person.  If she's 80% sure a decision is the right one, she's comfortable with the 20% risk.  She's quick and decisive, sometimes impulsive, often tangential, tenacious, and thoughtful.  

Inspired by an idea, she'll immediately fling herself into a new activity, and she rarely needs time to regroup or assess anything.  Beep rarely hesitates and is nearly always convinced she's right.  About everything.  

Her way of being is not mine.  I'm a 99/1 person.  I come to decisions more deliberately, need time to examine them from every angle, and assess the pros and cons.  Still, I don't find her way of being entirely foreign.  I get her.  Even when I can't intellectualize her feelings to understand my most productive response, at a molecular level, I understand.  I do spend a lot of time thinking about her, and her wonderfully agile mind, her swinging moods and her growing needs.  I certainly don't always know how to best parent my three-year-old, but I still feel a molecular assurance in the way we relate.   

I suspect as she grows and learns we'll see her toddler-fueled impulsiveness fade to spontaneity and her penchant for mental side trips replaced with a drive and focus for the task at hand.  

Most revealing to me are her quieter moments, when she maintains an intense concentration for long periods of time.  A favorite activity right now is assembling puzzles. She prefers to begin with all the pieces face down, then  turn each piece over one at a time and quickly fit it in place.  She becomes absolutely absorbed and will continue as long as the puzzle lasts. 

Beep is finding the world to be a large and fascinating one.  She loves the sky, the moon, the trees and animals.  She's understanding how to predict weather by the heaviness of the clouds, and she looks for colors in the sunset and satellites in the night sky.  She delights in finding the moon in the afternoon and is mulling over the root system of trees.  Our animals are much loved (and very bossed around), and Tabor is her special friend.

Several days ago our resident doe, Tabor, gave birth to her baby (babies?).  Since then our little deer has been staying close to the house as is her custom following birth.  For whatever reason, Tabor is always tolerant of Beep's flailing, running, and screeching approaches.  Even when she's feeling skittish and Cabbage and I can't get close to her, Tabor will usually let Beep pet her back, pat her head, and even rub her ears.  They have some kind of understanding.  I remember when I realized Beep and Sam had their own relationship.

Beep understands Tabor has a new baby and is excited to see the fawn.  She is, however, surprisingly patient with the idea of waiting to see the baby.  This is helpful as fawns are usually kept hidden for some time, so we often must wait days or weeks to see the new crop of babies. 

When Tabor came wandering by the other day, she settled in the yard just outside our front window.  Beep was playing inside and watched her for a few minutes while she continued with her game.  Finally, though, she gave in to the allure of some time spent with her deer.  She abandoned her toys, climbed onto the living room trunk and communed.         

Milennial Motherhood

My son is now almost seven months old.  At his age Beep was somewhat serious and cautious, more of an observer of people and things.  She is an old soul and even in her silly and obstreperous toddlerhood has remained steadfastly rooted in the ages.

Bean's soul is as bright and young as they come.  He's gregarious, giggly, and equally friendly to those who admire his dimples.  He's a very different child than Beep. 
 

 

We are raising them through babyhood in much the same way.  Both are held often, put down rarely and kissed constantly.  Our strollers sit neglected in the garage while the baby carriers are worn constantly.  We decline the high chair at restaurants and the baby's car seat is empty except when we're driving.

I crave the time with my babies, and the days spent apart (while I work) are hard to stomach, some days more than others.  Mondays are hard.  

With Beep, laughing together is a balm to my soul, and reading her bedtime books fills my yearning for her.  With our sweet Bean, nursing him soothes my mother's heart.  To have the privilege of nursing him at home I plow my way through four breastmilk pumpings a day at work. 

After more than 440 pumpings with this baby alone (not counting Beep), saying I am sick. of. it. is an extreme understatement.  Pumping is inconvenient, uncomfortable, never-ending, yields little, and is generally a disruptive pain.  I liken it to having my teeth cleaned. Every day, four times a day.  

But what I am not sick of is holding my baby boy close when I sit down to feed him myself, and seeing him smile in anticipation.  I am not tired of knowing I am his mother and the only one who can feed him this way.  He needs me, and I need him.  So I invest the time and effort, and I sacrifice my comfort and convenience, and I choose to work really hard at pumping breast milk five days a week.   

Because at the end of the day, after I turn off my office light, drive, pick up the babies, drive more, and finally sit down with him, there is comfort and love embodied and closeness.  There is this.