musings of a melancholic: bowie andromeda

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Happy 5th Birthday, Goose.

To my one and only daughter on her 4th birthday. Let's continue to worship the great questions together, yes?

At 10:17 pm, my Bowie Andromeda will have successfully completed her 3rd cycle around the star we call Sol on this pale blue dot we call home.

Happy Birthday, chicken.

I could spend a lifetime trying to write about you, me, and this mother daughter thing we have going on. God, I hope I get the chance.

BAM 3yr old by candacemorris

As with most families this time of year, as with most trees, and as with most accessories, we are in transition. Our wonderful FT nanny has moved on and we've placed Bowie into a great Spanish immersion school a few miles from our home.

I don't know if you know this about me, but I have a tendency to imagine the worst. However, I recently realized that this isn't just me! Apparently the human species is hard-wired to anticipate threats. It's left-over vigilance from a time where predators ruled our existence and staying alive depended upon staying alert, wary, sharp, and careful.

My therapist brought this up in counter-argument to my dubious reaction to the power of positive thinking. I see it working for many people, but I assumed that in order to feel positive, one must entirely ignore the negative. Otherwise, it would be self-deceit, and that is one thing I cannot abide.

But what if the focus on positive thinking could simply be an effort to balance the scales between our evolutionary tendency to see the worst and a practiced skill at finding goodness?

As the first day of school approached, and my dread increased, I determined to think well of it. And this is the kicker:

If I have the power to imagine the worst
I also have the power to imagine the best.

Instead of playing reruns of Bowie weeping as I walk out the door, what if I played reruns of her happily painting pictures, engaging with her teacher and sleeping peacefully during nap time?

It turns out I didn't need to worry. That entire first week, I said goodbye happily (as they take their emotional cues from us) and she waved saying, "Mamma go to work." No tears, no problems.

Well, other than the crazy person that has replaced my child. Preschool has aged her overnight. More complete sentences, more surprising emotions, worse sleep (where I hear her yelling, "It's BOWIE'S!" for over an hour), and crazy mood swings. She's transitioning into a new version of herself, and that's so scary for me.

Why?
Because I like my baby. My sweet, observant, independent, intelligent, easy-going, compliant, quiet baby.

This replacement model scares me because, and here's the god-awful truth:
I'm afraid I won't like her.

Then I realized that being a Mom is all about embracing every personality change your child encounters. They will be deeply influenced by their peers and environment, and I am there to guide her through her own self-making. It will restrict her sense of self-determination and awareness if I am attached to an old version of Bowie.

But how do I do it? I have a hard enough time not grabbing on for dear life to older versions of MYself. But the way to self-evolution is through the proper mourning of what was. Just allow the grief.

Allow myself to be sad at loosing my baby. Just feel it and feel it big. She's watching how I handle grief, so maybe I could do it for her.

But the second week of school. Oh weary heart. Every single day she's been upset. Yesterday and today, she had to be pried off my legs and I had to leave with the image of Bowie reaching for me, mouth agape with cry so big it couldn't be released yet, and the feeling of my heart choking me.

Bowie at school this week. I picked her up and she didn't want to leave.

Yesterday, it ruined my entire morning. Though I tried hard to visualize her having a great time, the image of her in grief affected me for hours. I was more prepared for it today, but it was even worse. I stood outside the classroom for the longest 5 min of my life (determined to have a new image to stew on for the morning, an image of her happily schooling). As she wined down, I left.

Then I lost it. Like royally, surprising my own self. As I took deep breaths and tried to calm myself, I realized that I was in grief too. Perhaps, just like Bowie, I needed to let it out. I needed to not be pawed at or distracted. I just needed to feel it.

So I cried the whole way home, I cried when I saw Joel, I cried when I made myself a cinnamon roll, I cried when I sat down to my computer. I let the tears be grief instead of letting them spin into fears of Bowie feeling abandoned or alone.

Then I read this.
(Parents: the single-most helpful blog I've read about parenting toddlers.)

"When the children in our care are grieving a loss, our job is to facilitate that loss and simply let them grieve. Infants demonstrate the authentic expression of their feelings when given the opportunity. If we can give them the space and time to express painful feelings instead of arresting their cries, and if we can steady ourselves to work through our own discomfort, then our children can be reassured that their true responses are accepted and appropriate. Children thus can continue to experience loss naturally, learn to deal with loss capably, and know that loss is survivable."

Bowie is just learning about life. Learning to let go, and that it's safe to do so. This lesson will hopefully give her the emotional skills to let go later in life, even and especially when it's not safe to do it. When it's scary, when it's risky.

Like the letting go she'll experience should she have to drop off her 2-year old at preschool.

Steady girl.

crm

Prologue:

Dear Bowie,

I've not written a letter to you since you were 13 months old. Sit down with a big mug of something peaceful and drink it in, my baby girl. It's a long one.

Mum

Dear Bowie,

Recently, we've been visiting public pools, learning to swim. At first you were trepidatious and clingy, but then you began to kick!kick!kick! fantastically. Though shivering, you laughed and bobbed up and down with Mama. You kicked as Daddy helped you glide across the top of the water. You clung to a red bouncy ball for dear life, and you didn't want to get out.

You love water. I admit that I love this about you, in part because it's also a love I share. Last weekend, you determined to go in Gpa's fish pond. You loved it, and we all gathered about watching and enjoying the summer air on skin.

It's a great time of year to be born, if I do say so myself. Everyone should try a summer birthday, just once.

I just read last year's letter that I wrote to you. I expressed a lot of fear about the loss of my baby and how I was dreading the inevitability of your independence. But like you, I have grown up a lot this year. Motherhood feels more and more natural as you integrate into our life, as we become more complete as 3 humans sharing a soul-space.

I have been reading a book called "Brain Rules for Baby," and it's got me thinking about social intelligence. Since it's the main focus of how I am interacting with you these days, I thought you might like to know where I am coming from.

On Happiness:

The majority of parents say that the biggest goal for parenting is, "I want my kid to be happy." Humans have spent years and years attempting to define what the word happiness really means. Well, scientists have come to the conclusion that a truly happy human is a connected human. That is to say, a human's personal happiness is inextricably derived from her relationships. Yes, your relationship with yourself, but even more so - your relationship with others.

This makes sense to me. Our very DNA decided long ago that collaboration was better than competition. A single celled organism knew it had no chance of survival alone, so it decided to mate. And mate, and mate, and mate...and billions of years of this mating produced us. The human body - the walking quintessence of collaboration and connection. All temperament and personality traits aside, all humans need connection to other humans.

This has become my focus for you. But how do you teach a child how to be a good friend? There are a lot of practical applications that I am still discovering, but the ideals as stated in "Brain Rules for Baby" are two-fold.

1. Emotional Regulation:

A person must develop emotional intelligence before they can be socially smart. They must learn when and how to express their feelings. Many people who were never taught to do this (for indeed it is a lesson to be learned, ideally from your parents) are again and again miserable creatures with toxic relationships. So instead of trying to talk you out of feeling badly, I try to model sitting with how you feel...with naming it and not obsessing with trying to fix it. You cannot regulate emotions if you cannot name what you are feeling. This is much more difficult than I imagined, since being a parent means protecting you.

2. Empathy:

Again and again, the word empathy continues to find its way onto my parenting radar. It is the cornerstone for teaching a child almost everything. Sharing, potty-training, self-control, etc. For us, it has been a focus in sharing. Instead of intervening and snatching a toy out of your hand (even though I just told you that 'we don't take toys from our friends') in my attempt to enforce sharing, I simply let you and your friends work it out. When you refuse to share, I try to model empathy. I explain that I understand not wanting to share, and that it's hard to give your toys away. I ask you what toys your friend can have. Instead of me controlling you, I try to find ways to empower you. Sounds great, yes. But, this has lead to you getting toys snatched from you and crying. Your heart is broken, it's obvious.

You are an easy student. You had already begun your own emotional education by acting out sadness. You put your lip out and say, "Sad." Then you say "HUG!" Then you say, "happy." I have no idea who taught you that, but it's achingly beautiful to behold. Your baby, the hose, the kitty, your friends, Mamma, the stool - all of these have been deemed sad, then hugged, then made happy.

But that is now. We've been through a lot in a year. You've gone from baby to human. Where once you needed everything from me, and I needed to be sure I wasn't getting lost in you -now you need less and less from me and I can't even find the place inside where you don't reside.

______________________________

A Letter of Journal Entries

______________________________

I've spent hours with my journals, highlighting whenever I spoke of you. Though I didn't write you monthly letters this year, I found myself writing of you in my quiet time. The following represents excerpts of your progress throughout the year.

Bowie Andromeda
13 months old, July 2013

July 2013:

"Have I begun to miss Bowie? Last night, as I began to wander from the social gathering mentally, I began to dream of Bowie's silly grin and when I go in and wake her up. Her sweet cheeks, her pathetic "ohhhh." I am not eager to return to the work of a toddler, but I miss the personality of Bowie."

Bowie Andromeda
14 months old, August 2013

August 2013:

"An interesting concept came up in therapy last week. We were discussing Bowie and how's she scaring the shit out of me right now. Exerting her will and showing her independence. She has increasing powers of dislodging my guts; I cherish her more and more. It's unnatural to have a premonition that one's heart is in danger, and still persist in loving. So here I am with my heart bleeding out, and then I hear myself want space from the person threatening to expose me.

It began many weeks ago when she started presenting more of herself to me and I began to resent the new work of keeping her entertained and the mind-numbing repetition of parenting/discipline. I thought I must not like her. Well, if I have the power to dislike her - Fuck. She has the same power. And that's when it hit me newly, that we will have two distinct and different personalities with absolutely zero guarantee that we'll get a long. I think I mistakenly equate getting along with one's parents as a sign of their abilities as a parent."

Bowie Andromeda
15 months old, September 2013

September 2013

"Bowie won't stay put these days. She wants to be where I am, discovering what I am doing, tasting what I'm eating. What a delightful phase, actually. Only weeks ago, I didn't like it. I couldn't find myself time in her new goings on. But I've adjusted. Joel says it's his favorite so far - she's questioning and curious and expressing herself (and LOVES Dad right now, incidentally)."

Bowie Andromeda
16 months old, October 2014

October 2013:

You took your first steps at your friend Greta's house in mid-October.

Bowie Andromeda
17 months old, November 2013

November 2013:

"I'm now always looking forward to seeing her. That little lady is now stuck in my gut."

"She is climbing up on the couch by herself this week. She loves to snuggle the cat, kiss her, try to pick her up, and torture her. She loves to push 'no' even more and it's shocking to me how quickly I became enraged after a few hours of this. She thinks time outs are a game. Test, test, retest...I see her brain doing it. I know it logically, I know it when I step back. I was so frustrated today and when Joel came home, I went to my teeth cleaning with pleasure. When I returned, I was able to handle her volatility with compassion and gentleness. Just step back."

"If I return to full time work, I will mourn the loss of our mornings together. I've learned to tame the productivity beast I wake up with and can ritualize the morning. Bowie is most resilient and independent during this time as well - this gives us both free time. She wanders about, typing on the old typewriter, playing with her toys, signing for me to help her with books or climbing."

Bowie Andromeda
18 months old, December 2013

December 2013:

How easily and deeply you laugh
Your obsession with and preferences for books. You will bring us the same book to read 6-8 times. We will then try to pick a new one, and you will heartily cast it aside if you don't approve. Sometimes when the house is too quiet, I'll go searching and find you in your room sitting on your rocking chair, reading to yourself. Currently, it's: "Llama Lama" books, "The Going to Bed Book" (despite your disdain for the 2nd to last page?), "The book of 100 words," "Moby Dick," and "Jane Eyre."
You've begun to pretend with dolls. Real babies used to make you nervous and you cried when they did. Now, when Phoenix comes over and cries, you pat her arm and say "Mou-Mou." You repeat this throughout the week with your dolls, but concerned about MouMou. Your sweet spot has always been apparent, you are snuggler with a gentle soul.
You are so curious. You love to watch me make coffee or brush your teeth with my sonic care or see what the heck I am always look at on my phone.
No matter how cranky or sad or upset our day becomes, it can always be reset by going outside. Just the mention of it is enough to get your attention.
I marvel at how much you understand and how clearly you can already follow verbal instructions.
You love to water the plants.
You love to say "Abbey" and "kitty."
You are verbally aware, mimicking and repeating everything - and you recently impressed me with "applesauce."

Bowie Andromeda,
19 months old, January 2014

January 2014:

"Bowie's been so good at understanding directions. Just now, I asked her to go find her books behind the couch. She looked that way and went over there, found a plastic puzzle piece and brought it to me. I then pointed at the puzzle under the other couch, saying "this goes with your puzzle under the settee" which she went to promptly. It surprised me."

"Joel and I took B out to dinner. She did so well. She sat well while eating and ate a lot! Suddenly she's a little girl - preferring ketchup and wiggles."

Bowie Andromeda
20 months old, February 2013

February 2013:

"I hear my husband speaking praises to Bowie as he gives her a bath. I hear the shower gently pelting the bath water, a new routine of hers...to sit in the bath but run the shower. Playing in warm rain. Joel encouraging, laughing, instructing her..."what to relax?" He holds her afloat in the water on her back. She recently looked up at him intently and quietly whispered "Papa."

Sandhurst Co-Op Preschool

In February, you started Co-Op preschool. I was nervous the first day because I wasn't sure you were ready for it socially. But you stood in the middle of circle time and smiled at each and every mom and child there. We went every Thursday morning until Summer came, and while you loved the 2.5 hours of singing, socializing, and especially snack - you fell asleep on the 10 min car ride home nearly every time. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say the stimulation of people tends to exhaust you. Boy howdy, can I relate.

Bowie Andromeda
21 months old, March 2013

March 2014:

In March, I somewhat suddenly returned to work. Once again, I was nervous about the transition and once again you reassured me with your secure attachment and resilience. You loved your new nanny, Jenna, from the beginning and we are all doing much better for me being at work, despite the emotional wrenching I had to go through to leave you with someone I didn't know as well as I liked. It was a very rough time for mamma, and I will spare you the pro/con list I made in my journal.

Bowie Andromeda
22 months old, April 2013

April 2013:

"Bowie is fun lately. My patience and ability to enjoy raising a toddler is grown and I like that feeling. I bought her a chalkboard/magnet board and she loves it. She recognizes the letters 'B' 'Q' and 'O.' She knows shapes too. Square, triangle, circle, diamond, and crescent (she calls it moon, of course). She screams 'NO' a lot and dislikes sharing, so I'd say she's right on target. She's insane about wanting to be outside these days. She says "ahsigh!" and looks for her alien rain boots. She loves those boots*."

*see boots below

Bowie Andromeda
23 months old, May 2014

May 2014:

"I DO IT!"

"B is remarkable, we love raising her together. She makes us continually proud. I can see where she will struggle in life, but those ares of struggle are also gateways to her own soul, how she will know (and hopefully learn to love) herself. I would be doing her a huge disservice to save her from struggle - if I even could."

Bowie Andromeda
24 months, June 2014

June 2014:

You have so many words, including 4-5 word sentences. At your 18 month old appointment, the doctor asked how many words you had. At that time, it was around 50. I have now given up counting.
You did the cutest thing a few months ago. You have a mobile of planets above your bed, and we periodically review them with you. You can identify 4 of them without hesitation, but back when you could only say 'earf,' you also asked to hold it. The planets unhook from the string, so Daddy gave you the earth. You demanded to sleep with it, and when we entered your room the next morning with you still sleeping, you had the earth tucked tightly up into the crux of your arm.
You show a solid attachment to the people in your life. You love your aunts and uncles and know them all by name, often asking for them throughout the day.
You love and hate loud noises, fascinated by them, but often comforting yourself against their intrusion, "It's okay, I got you, I'm right here."
You know all your colors, can count from 3-5, and did your first big job in the potty.
Hearing you say "Andromeda" or "hellicopter" (budertopter) or calling me 'Candace' or demanding to be naked is the cutest thing in the world.

I could go on and on for my interest and noticing of you. Perhaps every parent feels awed by their child, but what's truly remarkable is watching a human child develop in your care. It's the greatest experiment of our lives.

Love Forever and Always,

(I mean it. "Just try to get rid of me" as Grandma Denise used to say):

Mum

At 10:17pm, Bowie Andromeda Morris will have completed her 2nd cycle around the star we call Sol on this planet we call home.

Happy Birthday, B.

BAM 2 yr slideshow by candacemorris

You learn the lessons of one season. Hell, you damn near master them.
The seasons change.
You forget not the lessons necessarily, but the urgency of them.
So you pick up something you've not wanted nor needed for the latest era,
and reacquaint yourself with
yourself.

All
lonely
gritty-haired
magic hour
versions of yourself.

Maybe not the now you needing it at all,
but for nostalgia sake.
For acceptance of a written, closed novel.

Who and what you used to love and want to see
changing all the times around the clock.

in everything,
a turn.

{crm}

Hey Lady Munchkin. Dear Chicken. Hi Baby,
Pour yourself some hot tea, this is going to be a long one.

My favorite little scientist, what have you done with my baby? You've replaced her chubby cheeks with curiosity and spunk. You've taken her small cry and morphed it into a loud decree of self. You've honed some sort of sixth sense of immediately noticing items you aren't supposed to touch. You've become less reserved on the playground, though you still seem to prefer your own company. However, you are fully at the interaction phase, so you can play independently less and less at home. Your toys and parents easily bore you.

Today I woke with a longing. My being is moved, pushed into a deeper understanding and affection for life. I missed my mother as I sat and wrote and watched you play...watched you shove books into my lap, demanding a read. I've been struck again lately with the dual nature of life. Recently, your Aunt Kelly received the news that her cancer had returned and our entire community spiraled into a panic. As we endured the longest week of our lives to date, a week waiting to learn if the cancer was treatable (it is!), I began to notice how resentful I was of this suffering while simultaneously noticing how I feel entitled to pleasure and run from pain.

Later that week, I read the following from Pema Chodron:
"Pain is not punishment. Pleasure is not a reward. Inspiration and wretchedness are inseparable. We always want to get rid of misery rather than see how it works together with joy. Inspiration and wretchedness complement each other. With only inspiration, we become arrogant. With only wretchedness, we lose our vision. Feeling inspired cheers us up, makes us realize how vast and wonderful our world is. Feeling wretched humbles us. The gloriousness of our inspiration connects us with the sacredness of the world. But when the tables are turned and we feel wretched, that softens us up. It ripens our hearts. It becomes the ground for understanding others. Both the inspiration and the wretchedness can be celebrated. We can be big and small at the same time." When Things Fall Apart, page 61-62.

This hit home so dramatically. In the wake of the inability to breath for the worry I had, I also noticed a deep softening toward others, my family, and all living things. I was full of life.

I've also been thinking about motherhood a lot. About honesty. About the hardships. About saying them aloud. Wondering if you will be hurt that I was honest in talking candidly about motherhood.

I have to tell you that one of the factors imperative to enjoyment of motherhood is space. It is very easy to fail into the habit of being your caregiver and only that. Those times have their joy and pains - exhausting to say the least. It is when I step back, go for a walk alone, take time to write in a coffeehouse with other amazing women, go to brunch with your Aunties, or even sit to write you this letter that I find the clearest, most accessible picture of my love for you, a love too often hidden in the midst of cheerio-covered floors and one million "Not for you, Bowie!" phrases. In the space of necessary reflection is the deepest satisfaction with my life. Many avoid reflection for this same reason, something inside of them knows they are unhappy. But my dear, we must be brave. We must face the honest selves inside of us.

What if me telling the truth of how hard it is to raise a child would never have to hurt you personally? What if me speaking out and destroying the stigma means other women do the same...so much so that you never equate the nuances of your personality with my ability to find happiness in raising you. What if everyone was saying that it's hard, no matter the child? And then imagine the power that could have if those children's children entered into parenthood without the societal pressure to love the job, therefore freeing themselves up to do it as only they would instead of trying to conform to some sort of bull shit standard. You don't have to love the work to love the child.

We must be brave and speak.

The other piece of advice I have is this. Make sure to invest in your life as well as into the life of your children. I've noticed how much easier it would be on my daily angst if I didn't try to do anything else but take care of you all day. I began to wonder if that's how so many mother's loose themselves, loosing the confusing battle of who to chose in any given moment. "Am I being selfish?" "Am I spoiling her" Back and forth, each day and task producing a different answer. I hear myself scream along with you, "What about meee!!!??" and a shame ensconced deeply in that voice. A voice that says this is your formative years, it's time to be selfless, it's your time. All these thoughts are true, but they are not all the truth. I am still here, and I am forming you. I want you see a mother fighting to preserve herself as a woman too. I want you to know I can't be a good mother if I give you everything I have.

I tell you this to fill in the gaps of your childhood as you look back and perhaps have memories of me sitting, reading, writing, crying. These were my thoughts this particular day as you played at my side.

And now to you. I have pages recorded of your new developments, loves, and milestones:

You love to be scared and laugh easily when Daddy chases you.
You obsess about books. It's your first word when you wake and your last before bed. You definitely have your favorites, requiring a read of 6-12x per day. I will sometimes find you quietly sitting on the rocking chair in your bedroom, surrounded by piles of books you've pulled down, leafing through the pages curiously.
You willingly dole out "squeezes" and are the most cuddly toddler I've known. It's not uncommon to spend 30 min with you in my arms, sucking your thumb, gazing out the window. You are very tender, often hugging your playmates or cousins of your own volition.
You are SO curious. You love to watch me make coffee in the morning. You love to brush your teeth with the sonicare. You want to play with my phone, camera, and xbox controller all the time. You love to open all manner of drawers and cabinets.
You are rescued by the outdoors. No matter how cranky or upset or sad our day becomes, you are restored to peace just by walking out the front door.
I marvel at how much you understand. I will give complicated directions and you will follow them exactly, shocking me a long the way. You will make connections I've never drawn for you - like looking at a picture of a clock then pointing to the clock on the wall.
You love to help unload the dishwasher and water the plants.
Your favorite repeated words are "Abbey" and "HiKitty" over and over and over.
You are so verbally aware! You are repeating accurate number of syllables and love to have me say words to you during the bath. Your most impressive word to date is "applesauce."
You are walking, climbing, nearly running.
You are still a good eater and a great sleeper.
Your favorite toys are legos and puzzles and the tupperware cabinet.