Hurled & Birthday.

I had a birthday on the 10th, and we found ourselves out of town for it. Aaron is trying to get licensed to skydive on his own, so I got to meet some of the people who do it on the regular. They were super nice people, and all day Saturday I hung out and got to see how safe skydiving can be. Aaron knew that if I was going to make a tandem jump I would arrive to the decision without pestering. On Saturday night I told him to text his instructor and let him know I was ready to go the next day.

So on my 32nd birthday I let a giant man strap me on himself and and hurl us both out of an airplane at 13,500 feet. Even Saturday I cussed when I said I wouldn't do it. But there I was, with my husband a few people in front of me doing his own jump. He's going for a license so he can jump by himself.

I watched everyone else get sucked out; at least, that is what it looks like when others exit the plane. The camera man climbed out the side of the door to film my exit, but we didn't move. Just when I thought we were good to go, my tandem master motions for the camera man to come back in the plane. We were stuck on the seat belt! So I got an extra three minutes or so to think about what I was doing. The plane circled around, we got untangled, and began to scoot to the edge of the plane. He then rocked us back and forth a few times and hurled us out over Suffolk. I shut my eyes until we were stable, and then I began to enjoy our view. After a one minute freefall, he deployed our parachute and we floated to the ground.

I could write on for pages on the total experience, but I will reduce it to this: It worked for me because I did not have to have any responsibility whatsoever. I raised my arms when instructed then lifted my legs at the end for the landing. I'm too much of an artist-type to be able to think about things while doing something so crazy. I wanted to see the world in a new way, and I did. Aaron loves to skydive and fly airplanes and now I know something new about him. I don't think I'll hanker to do it often, but I'd do it again. I'd encourage anyone who can be amazed by the invention of man, seeing life in a new light, and just likes to get a little crazy to do it. It's amazing that I did something not terribly natural but available because some other nutjobs wanted to jump from high places and live to tell about it.

I've got some things brewing for a new series of posts and details about our impending big changes. Baby girl is doing so well; gaining and growing. I can't get over it. I have the happiest baby ever.

Evolution.

I keep writing other things besides talking about Nantucket, a woman who exclaimed, "Oh, it's you! It's her!", a hippie widow friend in the spellbound town of Salem.

I am too exhausted to even recount the details I enjoyed the most within the last month. I am mustering the effort though to write at least a little bit of something, and remember the time where I would choose to write before I would eat or sleep. I loved that part of me, a small constant in the various selves I have been over the past decade (give or take).

I have been mulling over why I feel I have adjusted to parenthood so well. I mean, I think I've adjusted well. Emotionally, I have welcomed this new self. It's about the only new version of myself I have not fought. Why is it different this time?

Obviously, our Squish is very wanted and loved. We are able to provide for her and ourselves, so I don't have a lot of common external stress getting in the way of me enjoying this. If we didn't have any money or a safe place to live, if we couldn't afford formula or breastfeeding was an emotional drain, I might be struggling more.

That brings us to the very real and obvious stresses of our daily lives and disability. I mean- it's so there. My frustration comes out in horrible ways; unintelligible rage and confusion pouring from me. We were married a year before he deployed. Inside of that year, I went from my happy life in Roswell, Georgia to a happy but strained newlywed period in Mannheim, Germany to being completely shocked that I landed in Watertown, New York with my new husband. It had been a very tumultuous year for us both. Six months into a very rough deployment he was injured, so literally we have not had any peace our entire marriage. Every half year or so brings about another major life change. I desperately need some peace, but this feeling would exist even if Squish hadn't come along. As a result, I consider this part of my life as factual as our existence. It just is, so it's easy to remove it from the equation since I know it'll be there when I bring it back in. Or something.

So the reason this has worked and I haven't cried too many tears over who I am now is because I am a professional at this. I have stared at a few strangers in the mirror but this is the first welcomed stranger. Becoming a parent has been the most delightful surprise of my life. And let me tell you, most surprises aren't delightful.

But this? And her? Man, I got this. Even though I am so tired I can't sleep, I love it. Even when Aaron and I are struggling, I know how to listen to my Squish. It's not that she's saved me or anything like that. It's just... I've been through a few evolutions of self. This one feels like an old friend.

For the first time.

Where are we?

I have this post about the Nantucket Film Festival and the documentary still incomplete, even though it's been over two weeks since I returned. We've been in Alabama for weeks now as it is and yet, I can't find or make the time to just write about this cool trip I took with my Squish, where I met an online friend's family, went to the most privileged island in our country, and topped it off with a trip to Salem.

I am so drained. We are desperately trying to find land to build a house to make a home. We tried to buy a house but that fell through, as those things tend to do. Everything, as always, cost thousands more than we thought it would. Everyone has something to say about what we should be doing. Patience. Waiting. Faith.

And I'm just kind of at the point where blind, unfounded faith is all I have left because I can not possibly care anymore. This has been nearly three years of never being where we thought we would be at a point in time. Recovery. What goals would be met. Success. Failure. So many setbacks. It's not all been awful.

Of course not.

But it's not even close to what I thought we'd have going for ourselves. Hell, I thought DC would be home. We'd get careers, not jobs, build that kind of future. Now I don't even know if I'll finish my degree. No clue for either of us.

And yeah, yeah. God laughs at the plans we make for ourselves. Have faith. Just pray. Look at how far you've come! Well, if the standard is simply not being dead-then folks, you are setting the bar too low. We have further aspirations for ourselves than that. We can even have normal goals and dreams and try not to consider disability as a determining factor.

But I'll be damned if disability doesn't get more votes than the actual people involved. More say. More concern.

I'm bleeding out here and lately my only joy has been my utter surprise in the delight motherhood has been. I almost feel a disconnect with those who struggle with their new selves. I suppose I had to get to know a new caregiver self, a new kind of wife inside me, so getting to know myself as a mother is old hat, at least in the sense of finding a new side to my existence. I am no longer surprised at how surprised I can be with whoever I am these days. Squish is a happy, happy baby who does new things every day. Each morning she gives me or her dad smiles that could end war. Everything about her is sweet and sound and genuine hope that will not kill. Hope in your child doesn't hurt like the other hopes you can lose in your life. Literally everything else can and will take from you without giving back. All Squish has to do is let out a rare rolling giggle and my whole day is made.

Happiness is a choice but some days it's just easier to get lost in my daughter's smile than paint one on of my own for others.

Being Mom.

At some point, I quit washing AJ's clothes separately. I'm liberally using up the last bottle of baby detergent. I know the free & clear we use will be just fine.

I don't pump as much as I used to because I nurse her almost exclusively. For purposes of obtaining some sleep, Aaron will give her a bottle either early in the morning or middle of the night this week. But if it doesn't happen everyday, I know we'll be fine. I might be tired, but I don't have any complaints.

I don't bathe her every night on a schedule. In fact, I don't bathe her at night at all. Usually I'm tired and I just can't. She gets her baths late mornings. I am sure we'll get to that whole schedule thing soon, but for right now I know what to do around 8pm every night. She lead me to it.

And somehow, I'm the only one who didn't get the memo that I would become this attachment-y, organic-y kind of mom. I knew I'd wear her (which only recently became tolerable for everyone), and nursing has been great... but everything else? Occasional bed-sharing and some nights in her mini-crib in the bedroom with us? Feeding on demand 5 months into it? Researching her preschool education options, and wondering how I can determine her "learning style" early on? Please. This is all ludicrous. Really. Admitting I have a problem is the first step to recovery.

But there's not a recovery for this. I'm a mother for the rest of my life. I've really enjoyed getting to know this side of me. For a long time, I didn't trust that it could happen. Apparently, it's quite normal to think that you won't be a good mother before it happens and to be shocked when you are. I don't know how all this actually unfolds, I just know that one day I went from being really concerned to actually just doing it.

And it's the loveliest thing I've ever done.

4 Months. Plus.

You're getting this picture because I refuse to post one of the reason why I was drinking wine the other night. I also promised myself I wouldn't post poop pictures, because I didn't like that before I had the kid. Anyway, I was running to the shower with a baby wrapped in a disposable changing pad and screamng, "My baby is covered in SHIT!" It was actually running down her leg while she happily bounced in her play jumper thingie.

This parenthood thing... is not exactly hard. It's just new. Amazing, brand-new wonderful stuff. She's filling out and looking more like a chubby cherub baby every day. And every day she does new stuff. Today she started grabbing things I moved in front of her face. Everything is fascinating for all of us. 

No one ever tells you this stuff. The shit. Literally and figuratively. How irrational you become when it comes your kid, and what you want to do for her. Protect. Teach. Soothe. Encourage.

We had her 4-month check-up with shots today, and I surprised myself by holding her through it. I nursed right afterwards, and she was smiley in just a few minutes. I think the leg pain set in after a little play at home, so she's currently down after long cuddles and half a dose of Tylenol. I don't go for medicine even second or third on the list of things to try, but it was plain to see she was in pain. I didn't have to hear her cry for an hour to know where her tears were coming from.

And that's the beauty of motherhood to me- knowing these things with my gut. I didn't think it'd be like this... that I'd just know. I didn't think my magic would happen. I don't think giving birth equates to instant carnal knowledge, so for some reason I discounted my abilities. I just didn't think I'd get it.

It's the loveliest thing in the world.