pedi-cure?

Today, I got a pedicure for the second time in my life. The first time was four years ago, when Hannah was about to graduate from sixth grade. She wanted to get a pedicure before the graduation, and when I brought her in to the nail place, the receptionist asked if I wanted a pedicure, too, and I thought, why not?

Today's decision was more pre-meditated. Two people--my sister (who I get to see tomorrow--yay!) and a dear friend both mentioned getting pedicures within the last week; my sister put it in the context of taking care of herself, and my friend said that she felt reborn afterward. I felt I could use a little of both. I definitely have not been focusing on self care since the baby's been born, and I am feeling the repercussions of this deeply. I am tired and achy all the time, and am really not doing anything to remedy the situation. My feet, especially, have been paying the price. Every morning, it takes them a while to get going. They are stiff and sore and heavy, as are my hands when I wake up. This concerns me greatly--I worry about arthritis, I worry about potential loss of movement (although I hope I'll always find a way to dance, to write.) I finally set up an appointment to see a foot doctor in a couple of weeks, but I wanted to do something else to take care of myself, something to thank my body for all it's been doing, my body that feels like an unfamiliar home these days. Something, too, to celebrate Entertainment Weekly calling Delta Girls a "best new paperback." If that doesn't call for a pedicure, I don't know what does.

I was worried I wouldn't find a place open on the 4th, but the first place I called, a place I've noticed a few blocks away, said to come on in.

Soaking my feet in hot water while sitting in a massage chair was lovely. I loved the foot and leg massage. I said yes to a bunch of extras they offered--foot mask? Bring it on. Leg waxing? Sure; my legs, which I only shave sporadically, had grown pretty weedy. The only thing I didn't agree to was eyebrow waxing. Three different women asked if they could do my shaggy, untouched brows. Looking at the thin lines above their eyes, I had to say no.

The pampering brought up a lot of stuff for me. Feelings of guilt, of unworthiness. Feelings of vulnerability, of exposure. Feelings of missing my baby and husband, my big kids, too. And feelings of missing my mom. With the baby, I don't get a lot of time to just sit quietly with my thoughts, and my brain quickly filled with a wild rush of emotion. I thought of how my mom used to get pedicures, how that's something she and I never shared together, since I generally shy away from such indulgences. I found myself wishing that she and I could have gone to a spa together, wishing that I could talk to her about having my second pedicure. Every song that came on the radio seemed to be about missing someone, and each note just about tore my heart out.

The women there took great care of me. When I told them I had a seven month old baby, they turned more tender; my scruffy feet suddenly made more sense. I spent much of the time there holding back tears; I probably should have just let myself cry, but I didn't want to have to explain. As soon as I got in the car and called Michael, though, the tears began to flow.

I know I need to take better care of myself--go to sleep earlier so waking up with the baby doesn't take such a toll, go to the chiropractor, etc.--I just hope I'll be able to do it without guilt. Maybe as my pearly green toenail polish (which looked better in the bottle than on my feet, I must say) starts to chip, I'll remember that I need to do a better job of keeping myself whole.

Hannah took some pictures today

Here are a few of my favorites. :)

milestones

Today would have been my mom's 71st birthday. We reached the six month anniversary of her death over the weekend, as well, so it's quite a charged time, full of grief and remembrance. Our own series of memorial days.



It's hard to believe that it was just one year ago that Michael and I made this video to honor my mom's 70th. I'm so grateful that my dad encouraged me and my sister to do something extra special for our mom's birthday (my sister put together a gorgeous album of our mom's younger years.) We took a brunch cruise around the San Diego harbor to celebrate, and even though Michael got a bit sea sick, I remember it as a festive and delicious day. I'm glad her last birthday was a good one.

I have been meaning to write about our new house, and I will with a later post, but I do want to say that every day I feel sad that she'll never get to see it, and every day I feel grateful for the work we're able to do on the house thanks to her thoughtful foresight.

May this post be a virtual candle to honor her birthday and share some of her light.

Asher, sleeping

Asher recently started flipping over onto his tummy to sleep. I was worried about this at first--I keep hearing that babies should sleep on their backs to reduce the threat of SIDS, plus the second night of tummy-flipping, we were staying in a hotel with a big marshmallow of a foam bed and I was worried his face would get swallowed up--but my sister assured me that once babies start turning over on their own to sleep, they're ready for it.

I love watching Asher sleep (I love watching him awake, too. I just love watching him, in general.) Since he was born, his arm has been a barometer of the depth of his sleep. He will often fall asleep with his arm sticking straight up, perpendicular to the bed, as if he is hailing a cab. As he descends into slumber, the arm lowers to the mattress, sometimes with such incremental, controlled slowness, it looks like he is doing yoga, or maybe even a Noh dance. It is amazing to me that a baby's arm can have such controlled and graceful movement, especially while it's fighting gravity. Sometimes, though, his arm will drop to the bed with a sudden thud, and the thwack of it will wake him back up.

Now that he is sleeping on his tummy more, the arm-as-barometer isn't happening as often. I'm going to miss it when it's no longer part of his sleep repertoire. It's funny how I'm already nostalgic about Asher's babyhood; I was at a store today and sighed when I saw the three month clothes. It all happens so quickly; I can't believe he'll be six months old soon (and he's already wearing 9 month outfits). My sweet slumbering boy.

My two sons

Mother's Day

What a bittersweet Mother's Day this was, so soon after Michael and I both lost our moms. We wanted it to be a meaningful day, so we had our soul sisters Nancy and Jenn and their older daughter Britt, and Michael's sister Mette and her two boys over for breakfast and a tree planting. Michael had dug a 4 1/2 foot hole the day before, and we dropped the placenta from Asher's birth at the bottom (Nancy and Jenn had been storing it in their freezer for us. We originally had it in our own freezer, but Hannah refused to eat anything in the fridge while it was there.) I said a few words about how the placenta had nourished Asher and now it will nourish the pear tree we were about to plant, and thus nourish and mother our new home (and all of us) in the process. Jenn had bought the pear tree for us shortly after Asher was born, and it had been sitting forlornly in a pot in our old front yard for months; it looks much happier now in the soil (which we enriched with the worms and compost from our vermiculture bin.) I hope we'll be able to take good care of it--I haven't had much luck with plants in the past, but this one is very important to me.

Later in the day, Arin came over (so good to be with both my sons--the big one rocking copious facial hair, the little one rocking his first two teeth! My girl was off gallivanting with my sister and her family in Toronto; her flight gets in later tonight--I am excited to see her and learn more about her adventures.) Arin helped me unpack some of my mom's paintings in the basement and we brought the one above up into the living room. My mom had titled it "Death and Transfiguration"; each letter represents a loved one who died (her parents, six of her brothers and one of her sisters, all connected with bloodlines on the canvas, and a young love). I had never noticed before that the letter G, for her mother Gertrude, is covered with gold, metallic paint, while the other letters are all more of a matte mustard color. It felt meaningful to discover this detail on Mother's Day--my mom was very close to her mom and considered her her guardian angel. It makes a lot of sense that she would make her mom's initial shimmer. That glitter takes on extra meaning for me because the book I'm working on about my mom (more in my head at this point than on the page, alas) is tentatively titled Golden--the title has nothing to do with the painting, but now the painting makes it feel even more apt.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I miss you.

RIP Jette

My mother in law Jette passed away tonight, two days after a catastrophic heart attack. I never could have fathomed that Michael and I would lose our mothers within four months of one another. Both of our mothers could be difficult women, but they were our mothers, and they loved us, and we loved them, even in the midst of complicated relationships. When you have a mom, it's as if someone is standing between you and the cliff's edge; being a motherless child, you have a better view of the abyss. I am grateful we are here to shelter one another, to give each other the love and support and nurturing we need to turn away from the cliff, feel the sweet ground beneath our feet holding us up.

I have to admit, it took me a while to warm to Jette. I adore my former mother in law and miss her terribly, and Jette was nothing like Patricia. Jette could be cantankerous and opinionated and intolerant and fearful, and I often had to bite my tongue around her. But my heart started to open to her over time, especially recently. Jette had really turned a corner in the last couple of months, had started to be more positive and active in her life. She began an email correspondence with me about a month ago, and through those emails, I could see a side of her I hadn't seen before, a lively, thoughtful side--her humor really came through, and her love of language and literature, and her deep love for her family. I am so grateful I had that window into her spirit (although I did catch glimpses of it before. She always lit up around Asher, and he lit up around her, too--he always smiled and laughed when she shared Danish rhymes and songs. And of course she raised a beautiful, wise son.)

Michael has been amazing through this whole painful experience, strong and philosophical and tender, letting himself feel the whole gamut of emotions he needs to process. He feels some peace knowing his mom is at peace now, and knowing that her life ended on a high note. And like me, he is so grateful we have Asher to help us get through this time of grief. After my mom died, a friend told me that Asher was born to be a healer. It certainly feels that way now; he brings us so much joy, even in the midst of the most wrenching experiences. He was like that even before he was born--if I started to feel worried because I hadn't felt him kick for a while, he would give me a good jab, almost as if to let me know he was okay. Of course I don't want to saddle him with the burden of always being there to reassure us--he is here to walk his own path, not bolster ours. I hope it will take him to amazing, fulfilling places. He is four months old today, and has another cold, which is worrisome, but all in all, he is such a robust, thriving, happy, hilarious boy.

Michael said something today about how with our mothers gone, we have to really grow up, to become our fullest selves. A challenge I know we are up to, even though it feels a bit scary, and very sad.

Rest in peace, Jette.