Ok, so when I started this blog, I had no interest in making it what a friend of mine deemed "one of those mommy blogs." I'm all for posting every day about what amazing new milestone your precocious child is up to (Grif is up to nearly three feet at this point), or the latest in mommy accomplishments (yesterday, I managed to go home sick and take a three-hour nap), but I guess the term "mommy blog" still leaves a funny taste in my mouth. Because yes, I am a mom, and I do blog (often about being a mama), but there's something somewhat pigeonhole-ish about trying to classify what I do here...which, to me, is really all about writing -- about life and love and hopes and dreams and everything else that crowds my mind.
But this one is about motherhood, and not just mine this time. Grif is just over a year-and-a-half old. Nineteen months to be exact. No longer a baby, he's a boy now....and no one in my life, none of my closest or dearest friends, has had children since I had Grif. Until now. My dearest, soulmate of a friend (for those of you following along, you may remember her as the real life coach I mentioned a blog or two ago), my gorgeous, beautiful soul of a friend is pregnant. And when she told me -- over the phone and too many miles away -- I was overcome, overwhelmed, overjoyed.
To hear her say those words, "I'm pregnant," resonated so very deeply with me. I immediately burst into tears, nearly uncontrollable sobbing. I couldn't speak, I was so happy. All I could do was cry and tell her how very, very, very happy I was for her -- my heart was so full. My heart is still so full -- so full of joy, joy, joy for her. I immediately thought of my own pregnancy, and where she was at this point in hers. I thought of my crazy delivery, and silently asked the universe to please make hers easier. I prayed for the safety of her child -- repeating the same mantra that I pray over Grif four and five times a day, "please help this baby be healthy, safe, strong, smart and good." I thought of how we decorated Grif's room, and pictured her doing the same with the love of her life in their apartment in New York -- what colors to choose, what bedding, furniture, books, clothes....
But mostly I thought of how motherhood had changed me -- how I feel differently about children in general, how I truly didn't know how much Grif could alter everything in my life while still leaving me the same woman I always was. And to know that my dearest friend was about to experience all of this for herself truly knocked me flat. My heart burst open knowing how fully and beautifully she will embrace motherhood, and I come near tears again just thinking of the time soon to come when I will get to see her pregnant, get to meet her child, get to see that sweet child grow up within the circle of her heart. I repeat, I was overcome then, and am overcome again now thinking about all the things that Grif has brought to my life -- motherhood being just the first. I had no idea -- how could I have? And to know that she is about to feel all these same things...I sigh again with happy tears in my eyes. Oh my sweet friend, I am so very happy for you. From one mother to (now) another.
For those of you who may not know, I did a 60-mile walk about a year-and-a-half ago. Yes. You read that right. Sixty miles, over three days, in the heat of a Chicago summer, raising a ton of money for Susan G. Komen and breast cancer research. It's a great cause -- and an even greater challenge -- one that truly changed my life, spiritually, physically, mentally. My friend Steph P. and I trained for over six months to get ready for it -- meaning we walked. A lot. And then walked some more...I loved every minute of it (ok, I could have skipped the blisters, but that's another story). But walking that much? I loved it. Every single step of that spring and summer of walking, walking, walking. I've not felt that fit in a long time. And it was just from getting out to take a walk.
The winter following the 3-Day, I got pregnant. And the following summer left distance walking a quickly diminishing option as I got rounder. Last summer was my first summer with a baby -- and again, walking was not a priority so much as cramming in every minute I could with both of my guys. This past winter and spring, hot yoga and pilates have been my focus, thinking that as spring and summer arrived, I'd get out and start walking more (again). To date, that has only happened once. Until last night.
I wasn't feeling good yesterday. Feeling not so great about how I looked, how I felt. I hated what I'd chosen to wear to work that day, exasperated with my hair, not at all happy with my body. Feeling down and out and dull. Normally, this would spur a night on the couch to hopefully recharge, renew and just get rest for once. I had every intention of doing this. But instead, I took a walk last night.
I took a long, powerful, liberating walk. All over my neighborhood for nearly an hour. I didn't want to stop -- didn't want to come in from being outside and walking. I felt like I could walk for hours (and might have if it hadn't gotten dark at 9:00). And I felt good. Strong. Fit. Happy. Good (yeah, I said that already, but that's just how good I felt). And bewildered why I had let this simple and effective workout tool go so long unused and undone and unloved.
I took my iPod (something I didn't use when training for the the big walk). My iPod is a funny animal -- I don't use it all that much, and have a huge laundry list of songs I want to add, so when I do take it along for something like last night, I get caught up in what songs my Pod randomly chooses to play for me -- it's like it just knows what I need to hear, at just the right times....and because I don't listen to it all the time, these little gems still surprise me....
Sean Mullins started it all off with, "Yeah but ain't it a blessing to do what you wanna do..." Wry smile on my face, eyes on the setting sun, all I can think is yeah, I'm working on that one...right now as a matter of fact....
Tribal Dance makes me laugh somewhere in the middle. Holy cow, how long has it been since I heard this? Made me walk faster -- a lot faster. With a huge smile on my face. "You've got to move it, feel the temperature...get into it..." Yes indeed I do. Am doing....
At the end, Madonna helps me finish strong, comes on and says, "The more that I wait, the more time that I waste. I haven't got much time to waste, it's time to make my way." How true. Time right now.
Bono thrills me as I stretch and cool down with "And so she woke up, woke up from where she was lying still and said I gotta do something about where I'm going..." True beyond words.
Those randomly chosen songs last night -- these here and so many others -- made me walk faster. Farther. More confidently. Some brought a bounce to my step. Others a tear to my eye. Others were just vibrant reminders of times gone by. All made that walk absolutely amazing. Good. Great. Just what I needed really. And more importantly, they made me eager -- crazy -- to get out there and do it again. To get out there and just walk. And feel as fulfilled and powerful and strong as I did when I finished. And maybe, just maybe (ok, probably), start the journey toward another 3-Day next year. Care to join me? Come on, let's go for a walk.
It's interesting to me how I have a love/hate relationship with my professional job (dare I say, career?). Outside of the fact that I truly love the work I do (I've often said that I'm a good editor because I love doing it, but the reverse is just as true), I love it that I often can steal away a few minutes or a half hour to write a little something here (steal being the operative word). It's when I'm at work that I have the most contact with a computer and the Internet -- I find it hard to motivate myself to sit back down at the computer at home after I've been pounding away at one all day at work (hence another reason why "the book" remains unfinished). So naturally I love it when my job allows me just a few minutes of downtime to put down some of the words that so often circle in my head. I love it when I can actually see the words churning out and know -- just know -- that I'm a good writer.
Yet I hate it (absurdly) when the events of the past few weeks -- the um, well, work -- have kept me so busy that I've been silent here. So although this will be quick (perhaps not short, but quick nonetheless), I was overwhelmed by the absolute need to break the silence and get something current out here.
I love my job for the past few writing projects I've done. Who knew that I could actually grow as a writer when writing copy for a client? I should clarify by saying that the most recent client was, in fact, ourselves, and that I've been writing (or rewriting as the case may be) the majority of the narrative that appears on our soon-to-be-launched new company website. I've loved taking on the ultra-creative, super-hip, highbrow and intelligent nature of this. I love it that the higher-ups trusted me to do this -- and even more, that they showered me with praise upon its completion. I love doing the background work to find out what's really cool with other companies like ours -- that kind of research is what made me love the ad business all those years ago in college, when I used to cut out magazine ads that I felt -- knew -- were particularly brilliant, whether due to the layout or the copy, more often than not both. I love it now that I can recognize that same quality in my own work here.
Yet I hate my job because the incentives to stay here have just been dramatically increased -- a nice pat on the back, both in the actual, real singing of my praises from the "bosses" along with a good bump in pay -- it's been fun here. Good. Satisfying. Fulfilling. And that, of course, is the very reason why the "hate" part of the job relationship is so poignant right now. I hate it when I realize how much I love my job, and the people I work with, and even more, the actual work I'm doing. I hate it because my job is still 100% full-time, in-office, and that makes looking for something else so difficult. Which I'm doing. And I still want. Terribly. I hate it when they make me love it here...and that's said with a genuine smile on my face, but more than a grain of sad truth.
Because I'm still missing days with the boy. My precious, sweet, growing, crazy long-legged boy. He's running and climbing everywhere and everything. He's fearless. Not yet talking (in real words that I can understand, I should say, since he's definitely speaking, just in his own language) but that day is fast approaching. And with it comes the realization this bright window of his future is being thrown open -- these special years where he can go to the zoo for the first time, slide down a park's slide over and over, laugh out loud at the joy of getting pushed on a swing...and it's now more than ever that I want to spend as much time -- as many days -- as I can with him.
This see saw of emotions has been very much on my mind of late. I'm so thankful that my job is getting better, I'm overjoyed that I actually like it again. And I'm saddened to think that I'll have to leave it in order to gain the time I so desperately desire with the boy in these years before he starts school. But leave it I will, if it means even one more day I'll get with Grif. And when that day comes -- when -- I'll happily and thankfully take with me the memories of these good days here.
