Explaining Christmas

My family raised me in a non-religious household, despite a Jewish AND somewhat Christian lineage. So we celebrated numerous holidays along with the rest of America, learning a bit here and there about the traditions that started them. And then I went to a private, Catholic high school where I got the bejezzus scared out of me the first time my peers collectively bellowed the appropriate chants during mass. What was this whole religion thing and am I missing out on anything?

Since then I have taken some classes about different world religions, attended synagogue, other churches, meditations and done some more readings. While I have deduced that an organized religion does not align with my beliefs, we have created a spiritual household where we pray before we eat, try to meditate, and regularly give thanks for the blessings we have received. Yet we still celebrate some of the religious traditions adopted by Americans, such as Easter, Hanukkah, and especially Christmas.

Now that Cali is 22 months and very aware of her surroundings, we are now finding ourselves explaining these traditions. I dig deep into the cobwebs of my memory to extract some story I can relate to her about about the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus, the three wise men and some myrrh. I then find myself adding a little bit more that I've lovingly picked up during my bout at UC Santa Cruz about how Christians traditionally celebrate Christmas, but that American companies have capitalized on the holiday and now people find themselves exploiting the spirit of giving they search for sales at big box stores like WalMart (that not only exploit the American worker with the highest percentage of worker suits than any other company, as well as lead to the demise of many small towns) and giving something that has no real thought or meaning to loved ones that has been made by children in China versus handmade by local artisans. Cali looks at me with a wrinkled brow and repeats my last phrase of "made by China." Sweet. Glad that is what stuck.

It's just who I am; I can't tell her just the standard American explanation of these happenings. I feel like I am not telling her the whole truth. So Cali is getting the regular description along with the DVD version of "the makings of." And so the Santa Claus figure has two explanations. 1.), because he freaked her out since she was scared by our postal worker who has white hair, a white beard, and only one eye and 2.), so she learns what the other kids learn about Santa. Telling her he is not real, but is a make-believe character to help us think about the spirit of giving helped mellow her apprehension of some white-haired, jolly man coming into the house unannounced. Further explaining that the postal worker with one eye is just a nice man who had an accident is NOT Santa also helped calm her. And once we went to our first Christmas party of the year where she received many presents, the whole "Santa brings presents and he is good" thing really stuck. Now she is waiting for the 25th day of December for Santa to come bring presents to good girls.

It's fun playing along, yet weird deciding what to say. And so I have embarked on this journey explaining what I know to my daughter in the most gentle, truthful, and playful way I can. (Though it does leave me dreading the talk about "did you ever drink at parties, Mom?")

Tantrums and the two's

Shizer! My daughter is good at a lot of things. She is just under two and she can already draw faces, say the ABC's and count to 20. I'm impressed. But what she is really good at is throwing a tantrum. In fact, if colleges gave scholarships to toddlers based on the passion they show in a tantrum, my daughter would have a full ride and a master's degree paid for.

No one believes me though. They see those hazel eyes, those adorable cheeks, and the cute "I want that, please" look that she has been practicing regularly. When I tell people she's a screamer, they think I am crazy. And for the most part, she is a good girl. But once in a while, (or should I say once a day), the "please Mommy" and "no, Sweetie" end in a whirlwind of screaming, thrashing and ear-piercing "no's" that leave my husband and I no choice but time-outs.

And so time-outs are a regular happening in my household. We count to three and then say "Okay, you can have some time for yourself in time-out." As we bring her into her room and place her in her crib we try to explain why she is having a time out. We leave her with a few books and dolls and tell her we will be back in three minutes after she has some time to get out her anger. We explain it's okay to be angry, but not everyone wants to have it be part of their experience so she can do it by herself. And while it pained me to do it at first, listening to the helpless cries and yelps, I now find that she quiets faster and listens more when we ask her if she needs a time-out. Previously our tactic was to sit close by and be there for her, but she would just hit, thrash and continue on for over 15 minutes. When she starts to freak out, we now say, "that is not how we communicate in this family. What do you need and what is a better way to ask?" Since she has a large vocabulary and knows a lot of sign language, she can usually explain the problem. When she whimpers, we reiterate that whining is not an effective way to communicate or get what you want. Simply ask nice and say please.

Maybe this is too disciplined or too loose... I don't know. But it works for our family (so far). And I prefer it to being hit or the ear-piercing screams (which had oddly seemed to contribute to my husband's hearing loss more than his pre-baby guitar playing).

Illustration: "Wahhhhhh" copyright 2009 Sara Zimmerman

I used to have a memory

Pre-baby I had a memory. And I thought I had a good one. For instance, I could juggle a hectic day filled with phone calls, to-dos, and deadlines and not miss a task and then rock out in my band with over 30 memorized songs. Now, post-baby, my memory has gone to the dogs.

I didn't really notice it for awhile. I thought the arguments with my husband over who said what and who did this and that "remember?" were reminiscent of the same ones we've had year after year after year. It only came to my awareness recently when I joined the band again.

I mean it's one thing when you ask the guitarist "how does this song start again?" But it's another when you have to ask prior to EVERY single song. I have now realized that I have to result to my drummer back-up plan of using notes. I use notes all day long with my graphic/web design/illustration business. In fact, my husband even linked my iCalendar with my cell phone with notes from my email so I can't loose them (no more excuses). So I think the song notes will help. The only issue is that drummers rarely write music notation so now I have to remember that.

Compromise

I think back on it now on how concerned I was that my child not have any pesticides enter through my bloodstream. Oh, the good 'ol days. That was back pre-recession. Now I do my best, but can now only afford to buy organic so much. At first I felt horribly guilty, that I was feeding her poison and was contributing to farmland soil degradation, etc. But as someone I respect so much told me, "aim to do things at the standards you want 80% of the time- any higher than that will drive you to insanity." So, that said, as novel as organic American cheese is, we're now settling for regular cheddar. And as a past acupuncturist argued: "conventional cheddar is better than organic American- one is milk-based, the other is oil-based." All in all, this whole motherhood thing has taught me a lot about making compromises: that 1.) sometimes my high standards have to be shelved so our family can actually eat and 2.) it's okay be choosy about the compromises I am willing to make so that I can still maintain integrity but also have some fun in the meantime.

Weaning

"Am I pregnant again?" The thought raced through my mind last week as my hormones raged and I yelled with insurmountable anger at my husband. I had heard that my hormones would go a bit bonkers when I stopped nursing, but I had no idea how bad. And neither did my husband, hence why he decided to push my buttons after a long day of working. So I worried that maybe the explosive anger was due to a different boost of hormones. Yikes!

I wrote a friend and asked her about weaning and the roller coaster of emotions that goes along with it. She confirmed that my heightened sadness, hastened anger, and crying "because I love my daughter so much" was something she too had experienced during this time. To reiterate her point and to help prevent me from wasting money on pregnancy tests, she sent me a few links of blogging mommies who too had similar experiences. After reading, I felt a lot better.

But, two weeks later, I still feel a bit sad. I'm sad mainly because my daughter has grown up so darn fast and I will never get those 20 months, and all the love and cute experiences, back. Still flushing out hormones, I project the future. I imagine her at 13 rolling her eyes at me in embarrassment saying, "Moooooommm!", like I did to my heart-broken mom. I imagine her driving off in her first car, leaving me worried when the minute hand passes curfew. And I imagine myself watching her go off to college, all grown up and independent, no longer needing me to help in any way, shape or form. Ultimately, that's how it goes. But I definitely have loved this time of watching her mimic how I brush my hair, dance around to silly songs, and give me the biggest hugs known to humans. I guess all in all, I am the one that is growing up too, learning to be not only a helper and teacher to my little angel, but guide her along the way and to be okay with it as it is dealt. Nevertheless, I think these couple of weeks of sad spells is my body's way of accepting this benchmark in our family life.

Yosemite with a toddler

"Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy!" From the back seat, my daughter quickly yells out my title again and again, in a whiny, high-pitched voice that pierces my ears, sending shivers down my spine. The amazing speed at which she can sling together the "mommies" is purely astounding, yet stirs up the nastiest frustration known to woman. "WHAT?!!!" I angrily mutter in return at my bored daughter, who simply wants to get out of the car and the uncomfortable car seat restraints. From the driver seat, my husband looks at me as we both sigh and think to ourselves, this is going to be a looooooong trip.

I continue to envision that my daughter will follow in my and my husband's footsteps of being outdoorsy, and in love with nature, extreme sports, camping, and the peacefulness of it all. And at 19 months, with her fondness for wiggly creatures, climbing anything semi-vertical, love for dirt, and general ease with being in a backpack for miles upon miles, we decided to take her along on our 5th year wedding anniversary trip to Tuolomne Meadows in Yosemite National Park. Yet with two hours to go and miles from the park entrance, I was already willing to turn back. The repeated shouts of "mommy" and melt-downs were almost enough to abandon the trip altogether. However, somehow we placated her needs with unusual toys of straws, cups, and string while the thoughts of granite, the smell of pines, and clear blue skies somehow helped us through it.

As rock climbers, my husband and I had been to the climbing-mecca of Yosemite many times. In fact, it was where my husband proposed, where we got married, where we hiked with our daughter when she was 6 weeks old, and where we took her camping for the first time when she was 6 months old. Yet, ever since my pregnant baby belly grew beyond the safest point of my belt on my climbing harness, both my husband and I have not really climbed. It's one of the things we haven't yet figured out how to do safely with a toddler as well as without a babysitter. So this visit to Yosemite was more to be among the granite and to enjoy the scenery with our baby girl.

After finding a level camping spot for our truck where the three of us would sleep in a make-shift bed under the shelter of an average camper shell, we enjoyed some overly cheesy quesadillas followed by some decadent chocolate. We attempted our regular bathing and nighty-night routines with so-so substitutions of baby-wipes and reading the same few books over and over by headlamp. Cali slept next to me on a 3/4 length Thermarest in my old winter mountaineering sleeping bag rated to -10 degrees (I didn't want a repeat of our camping trip last year where her little hand sneaked its way out of her bunting in the 35 degree weather. All I could think about was frostbitten fingers on my little baby!). Luckily she fell fast asleep when she hit the sleeping bag (must have been all the whining!) and we soon followed. For the next few nights, we slept in this arrangement, I nestled between my hubbie and daughter cooed by the swooshing sound of restlessness in sleeping bags and the deep breathing of my daughter.

"Mommy?" Cali woke us up nice and early somewhere just before daybreak. Sooooo glad were not in a tent- there's no reason for the rest of the campground to wake just because Cali is hungry. After a morning nursing, I attempted to dress within my sleeping bag where it was 30 degrees warmer than outside. If you have never tried changing clothes within the confinement of a mummy bag and low ceiling of a back of a truck, you may not understand just how difficult this feat is. After 20 minutes of twisting, grunting, and gratefulness to my regular stretching routines, I finally managed to get on enough clothes to make the 45 degrees more bearable, let alone a few strained muscles from the contorting. I layered Cali to the point it looked like we were going to the Arctic. In our layers, we played with dirt, ate some breakfast and started on our hike for the day.

We hiked from our campsite past Lembert Dome with Rob carrying Cali in an old-school Kelty backpack and I with a full pack of snacks and drinks. Ohhhhhhh. Lembert Dome is so beautiful. It was somewhat painful to skirt by this gorgeous granitic dome knowing we weren't there to climb, simply to hike and admire. After I wiped the jealous drool from my mouth, we hiked towards our second destination of Young Lakes. The September weather was absolutely perfect and Cali was extremely well-behaved during the roughest of the trails' ascent. After a few miles, she dozed off and we could hoof past the streams and meadows to an overlook of Ragged Peak. When she woke and had enough, we stopped for lunch amid the sweet pines and beautiful boulders. It was beautiful! It was so fun watching her run around, dancing with the pin needles in hand, grabbing sticks, throwing rocks, and telling us everything she knew. Despite our attempts to discourage Cali from touching marmot droppings, and the need to turn back sooner than planned due to some pre-blisters forming, things were going smooth. That was until we started back.

When we would stop, we all had a blast. Cali especially loved the granite and would hop, skip and dance on it. At the Tuolomne River near Glen Aulin she splashed and played in the beautiful waters. It was fun. And then it was time for the long hike back. Any outdoorsy parent will know that when you are miles into a hike and your kids starts freaking out, you have two options: 1.) continue the hike in a quickened pace and try to distract her with songs, pointing out familiar objects, or feeding her snacks OR 2.) submit to the shrilling demands and let her down to walk at a ridiculously slow rate where 3 miles feels like 16. We opted for option one AND two on both of our 2 days of hiking and despite our hearing loss and the frustration of resident animals accustomed to silence, we were able to hike over 17 miles. To lessen the melt-downs, we stopped regularly to play in the pristine water, let Cali hike small portions of the heavily-used trails, and hiked at a cheetah's pace when she was asleep in the backpack.

At the end of the days, we visited Tenaya Lake for swimming, snacking, and playing in the sand. Then we'd brush off and scramble up these perfect granite slabs. Cali impressed us by throwing a tantrum so she COULD go climb some more. That's my girl! She climbed up a climber's descent, which was something like a class 3. Rob climbed hovered over her as she climbed, monitoring her moves and recommending easier paths. She stopped in a few huecos (or "holes") and would just stare out to the floor 150' below. It was magical.

And that summed up how the vacation went. Things went smooth, and then there'd be a melt-down, some quiet time, then we'd be back at it, doing something amazing. In efforts to maintain authority and not succumb to a pre-two year-old's temper tantrums, we tried to calm her with distractions, changing up our activities, and mellow discipline. Though it was a bit stressful and was far from the "relaxing" vacation we planned, we found a way to all exercise outside together, enjoying the sights of Yosemite. (Though next time, I may beckon Baba and G-Pa for some babysitting so we can have a go on Lembert :).

A Mother's Love

Sometimes it blows my mind how much I love my daughter. I know, sounds cheesy. But really- people told me that I would love her like nothing else and I just blew them off thinking they were being overly dramatic (Mom, sound familiar?). And then, Cali was born with a calm expression on her face and I saw those little eyes, fingers, nose, and feet... I felt so much love for her that I could hardly contain it.

I thought I knew what love was love before. I mean, I love climbing, music, playing drums, painting, contemporary art, the colors orange and manganese blue, chocolate, my husband, good friends, my family... the list goes on and on. These things and people make me feel good and thinking about them makes me feel love. But then Cali came, and showed me an entirely new, almost alien love, that surpassed any ideas of what I thought a mother's love could be for a child.

Oh, there's times when the whining and temper tantrums make me want to put in earplugs and isolate myself behind shut doors. But the love never disappears: it's that intense. And then she does something adorable like blows me kisses, or says "Mommy's amazing," or inundates me with a slurry of hugs and my heart feels like it grows a few cubic feet during those seconds.

I am so grateful for that love- it makes me a better person and I get so excited thinking about being with her. And tantrums aside, she makes it easy, being such an incredible person at just 20 months of age. Thanks, Cali, for showing me how to love unconditionally like this.

Illustration: Babe in arms, by Sara Zimmerman Copyright 2009

Sleep... what's that?

When my baby belly protruded into the Earth's outer atmosphere, strangers felt secure enough to give me mothering and baby advice knowing I was very pregnant, not overweight. Tagging along with the unsolicited commentary was always something along the line as, "get your sleep now." What? This made no sense to me at 3 months pregnant when I got to sleep 8 hours a night like I always had, nor did it at 8 months when BabyZ kicked me religiously through the night preventing me from a sound slumber. Get my sleep now? Yeah right- it'll be better when this kid's out of me and not kickin' through the night.

I had these silly ideals that somehow my parenting experience would be remarkably different than everyone else. I thought this mainly because as artists/musicians, my husband and I were unlike many people we knew at that time and chose to do things more alternatively/ non-traditionally than many of my pregnant counterparts. So I figured the advice given from strangers with assumed non-similar traditions would not apply to me. Little did we know that infants don't know the difference. All they know is eat, sleep, poop, coo, play and repeat every few hours. They don't care if it's 2AM or 4AM and if you are trying things naturally or traditionally, or if you have to wake up early the next day to work or if you are sick, or have a horrible headache or just need some creative, alone time. All they know and care about are their needs. The rest is beyond their world or concern.

The first year challenged our sleep regimen, especially without relatives close by. We worked with attachment parenting and parent directed feeding practices in the first year trying to extend our baby's sleep (and ultimately ours). Cali did best co-sleeping with us. I, however, didn't sleep too well. I had the new mom's heightened awareness of movement and noise as well as a bright night light on so I could wake up and see her breathing throughout the night. We finally decided to move her into her own bed at 5 months when she started waking at 2 am and began singing. That's when we all started sleeping a bit better. Then my husband and I negotiated a schedule, switching off early morning wake-up calls with other bartered duties. And since we both had little work at that time, we often were able to "catch up" with a nap when she napped. But "catching up" never amounted to much because it only sewed 5 hours into 7 hours, or occasionally 7 hours into 9. And rarely would the 5 or 7 hours be 5 hours of straight sleep; they were more like patching a few hours here and there together.

The chance we'd get to indulge in anymore sleep aligned with weekend visits from Grandma. And since she took our shifts in the morning, we'd try to maintain our marriage by heading out after the last breastfeeding for late night rock shows. But since those nights started late and ended at 1 or 2AM, we would really only get a handful of sleepy hours before it was time for the morning nursing. And so it was until the first year came and went, and we looked at each other as if we had just emerged from a foggy haze of a different reality.

Now 18 months old, my daughter sleeps regularly from 8-ishpm to somewhere around 7am for her first morning breastfeeding. My husband and I still switch off on morning baby time so the other can get an extra hour or so of sleep. And though it doesn't sound like tons, due to white noise and ear plugs, we get more sleep than our neighbors with newborns. And now, I truly love and appreciate when my head hits the pillow and my body sinks into my Tempurpedic- it is like sleepy heaven! And though we get more sleep now, it still doesn't prevent us from reminiscing about when we used to sleep in together and when whether or not going to late night concerts was determined more or less if we had the cash and liked the band, not on who would be taking the morning shift and whether they would be able to do so on 4 hours of sleep. And it doesn't prevent us from contemplating whether or not to watch a movie, hang out, have "stay-at-home" date night, play music or go to sleep. Yet at least we now feel like functioning parents versus parental, zombie figure-heads weaving our way through a sleepless maze of weird baby-decisions with fluctuating lifestyle changes. That said, my advice for the preggo mommies out there reflects that of those outgoing strangers who gave it to me: Get your sleep NOW before baby comes.

Managing the To-Do's (& September's List)

My daily to-do lists used to have the tendency of being a bit overwhelming, making some people shiver at their mere appearance. But to get through them, I had to be determined and dig right into the lengthy lists that wrapped themselves around me, engulfing my every move, thought and action. During the day, I would work hard to check off those intimidating boxes and during the night or in between tasks, I found myself thinking of more things to add to that cursed list. That is how it was, however, until I gave birth to my daughter. Prior to that blessed event, the to-do's and their nasty lists took over my life. I worked hard to keep them at bay, but all of my hobbies and responsibilities required regular attention if I were to stay involved in them all.

Adding Fun Tasks To-Do's
Back then, I started by only listing the essential boring tasks that fostered income, keeping the electricity on, and food on the shelf. But my huge love of fun and entertainment were slowly getting pushed to the side. That's when I read a tip about adding your fun and regular daily stuff to your day's tasks. By each task having similar check boxes at their side, it gives your fun stuff the same importance as your other mandatory to-do's. So I added other things, like "take a shower," "go on a bike ride," and "practice drums." Once the fun and regular stuff were added, I was able to check off more and more boxes during the day, which in turn gave me a sense of accomplishment. And soon, I became addicted to seeing how many boxes I could get checked off in one day.

Okay, Adding Too Much Fun
Just like any other person (who doesn't have a maid, bookkeeper, or personal shopper), trying to maintain a household takes a lot of daily to-do's. But then, add some to-do's of an artist, musician, athlete, and entrepreneur: that's where your already-full day becomes so much fuller. I would rush from doing quick stretches in the morning, to walking the dogs, to having cereal, sitting down to work in my home office, sneak quick calls or emails to friends and family while eating a pre-made lunch, rush for a swim in the river (or snowshoe out back if it were winter), make some phone calls to prospective clients, do some more work, go on an after work mountain bike ride, then come home for band practice, eat dinner, watch some tv, work on a painting and sleep, only to repeat it the next day (just typing it all now makes me feel overwhelmed!). And just when I realized that I needed to cut a little bit out for the sake of having some "down" time and my sanity, I had my daughter.

Managing the Manageable Daily To-Do's
After I had my daughter, I cut all of my activities in half, (no, make that a quarter), which greatly reduced my to-do's. At first, it was against my will, but those little eyes and that great big smile made it all worth it. So now, instead of a 2 hour bike-ride with my hubbie and friends, I now ride 20 minutes by myself. Instead of 4 different fun activities for me each day, I now aim for one and try to integrate my daughter into it or do it when she naps. My overall to-do lists may still be many pages long, but they house my overall to-do's for the year, not day.

My daily lists are now more streamlined, thanks to some advice from a life coach. They're more practical for someone who has a lot on their plate but can't think of only themselves; you know, someone like a mom. I list my intent for the day (work some, play some), my actual have-to's for the day and only one aspect of a long-term goal (finish logo design, go on bike ride, play with daughter, call about hanging new art shows), and some things I want to have happen (bring me peaceful people in my life today, bring me a nice person that can help me get a lower APR on my credit cards, attract the perfect agent for my children's book). Then days later, I go back to that list and record the result. Oddly enough, I get more of my daily to-do's done because I have streamlined them per the day. This keeps my thoughts focused for the day versus letting my eyes wander to the hundreds of tasks on my overall yearly list that get me panicked and sidetracked.

Sample Monthly Business To-Do's:
In a separate note, blogger Modite asked people to submit their September to-do's to share and learn from another. Here is an example of what my slimmed-down monthly to-do list for my Art, Illustration and Design business now looks like (note: there is nothing for fun, for my household or for my daughter on here, simply business):

• Blog once a week with at least 4 Twitter and Facebook updates through the month
• Get 2 more design and marketing clients
• Start learning Flash (to make animations for my clients)
  
• Email client list regarding new designs, referral program, partnering with new web programmers, etc.
• Complete 2 large artworks for upcoming art show at Dragonfly Cuisine
  
• Submit press release and email blasts for late month art show at Full Circle Movement
  
• Create an illustration a week to accompany my blog posts
• Update recent illustrations my website
• Review my Google AdWords account

(I won't even add all of the other things that I'd want to put on the list! These are just the most practical for me to get done this month).

All in all, it's all a juggling act that takes a lot of practice and determination to get things accomplished. However, the pay off is worth it to me because despite the crazy dance of organizing madness in odd to-do list formats, I get to both have a roof over my head, do something I love for work, have a great hubbie and daughter AS WELL AS get to go enjoy the outdoors on a regular basis with my family.

Illustration above: To-Do, copyright Sara Zimmerman 2009

Cravings! Did you say Organic American Cheese?

When I was pregnant, my cravings were incredible. I wanted it all: bitter, sour, sweet, salty and I wanted it now! I did my best, however, to adhere to my food beliefs as much as I could.

My food decree started during my days at University of California, Santa Cruz. The courses and on-campus meals guilted me into eating mainly organic and vegetarian (eventually becoming vegan) to where tofu, broccoli, and rice milk ice cream were my major food groups. I was only "saved" from this meal planning by an acupuncturist who "prescribed" me to eat red meat as a cure to stop my lightheadedness in tae kwon doe class. Since then, I revere animals and the environment (I mean really, 4 years of being around vegans and a degree in Environmental Studies from UCSC will grind that info into your soul!) yet my body does better when I eat meat and dairy (sorry PETA!). I do my best, however, to be selective about the companies I am supporting, their practices, and try to buy organic and cage-free as much as I can knowing that my dollar speaks for itself. And when I became pregnant, I held to my food decree as much as creatively possible because it was no longer just a political statement and health choice for me, but for my unborn baby who would be the recipient of any food pesticides or hormones.

But my unstoppable hunger and cravings led me to add 40 pounds to my slender build during my pregnancy. And for me, a 5'3" athlete and body-conscious gal, that 40 pounds felt like 1,000, making me achy and incredibly uncomfortable. Yet the aches weren't enough to squelch my desires for the large quantities of different flavored foods. My husband would cook and I would mechanically shove the food into my mouth. I ate and ate and ate until I could eat just a teeny bit more. After awhile of eating the same organic food over and over, I soon needed something new to satisfy these cravings. The only way I was able to adhere to my "organic" quest AND satisfy these bizarre hormone-induced desires simultaneously was with Safeway's agreement to carry more organic foods, including Horizon's Organic American Cheese.

Leave it to Horizon to come out with an organic American Cheese. I mean, really, what semi eco-conscious, comfort-food loving, pregnant gal was on their marketing staff the day they voted on Organic American cheese? Well, that oil-based, dye-infused, overly-packaged Organic American Cheese found my soft spot. In fact, I must have downed over 10 giant packages of this cheese during my gestational time (that along with organic hot dogs, organic dark chocolate, organic yerba mate, organic ketchup, organic ice cream, organic pickles, and all organic fruits).

Now it seems somewhat gross to devour that much American cheese, but at that time, that's what I needed. And I was beyond stoked that someone out there was feeling the same way I did, making the dream of Organic American cheese a reality. Kudos, Horizon, for making an organic line of comfort food for hungry, hormonal preggos.

The worries of a mom, then and now

Worry. I think I could have earned a PhD in "worry" during my pregnancy. I exercised my brain down Worry Boulevard, contemplating every possible "what if" and horrible scenario known to woman. Why waste time spending energy on imaginary circumstances when I could just be enjoying the present, you ask? That is my exact sentiment now as I look back at that terribly anxious, worried period. But back then, I was so far engulfed in the sea of worry that it was hard to see the ocean through the waves.

Why was I Soooo Worried?
Up until then, I had spent the last decade pursuing athletic, art and music dreams, leading a fairly care-free life. My only real responsibilities were bills, a marriage, dogs and a few plants. Yet I came from a family of caring people who also exercised their fair share of worrying. So when I became pregnant and unsure about my future, it only seemed natural to worry.

I had already made some interesting decisions and mistakes in my life which led me to worry that I may not make the best parenting decisions. I knew I wanted to be the best Mom ever, providing the best and healthiest choices for my child. But what if I made the wrong choice that would affect my baby's health? How could I purchase the safest, eco-friendly baby gear on our limited budget? I hadn't spent much time around babies in years so how would I know what to do and furthermore, how to distinguish if it is wrong or right? Additionally, from a selfish perspective, I wanted to remain an athlete/artist/musician, maintain the fun lifestyle my husband and I created in the mountains, and ultimately remain distinguishable to my pre-baby self so that when my child grew up, I still had my own life to keep me occupied. Additionally, I hadn't a strong faith in the world at the time as it was, so my cynicism and doubt mixed with my raging hormones to create the ultimate list of worries.

Let the Flood Gates Open!
It all started with my missed period. Oh crap! For three years we had successfully used the natural family planning method. I had been diligent, taking my morning temperature and recording changes in my body year after year, in effort to avoid hormones (which made me bonkers) and un-pleasurable barrier methods. That was three years until I got sick, stressed-out, and didn't take necessary precautions required by my method during such life and bodily changes. And so my husband and I embarked on our new adventure of parenthood earlier than we had planned. And like many men I know, he sandwiched his bit of stress for this unplanned journey between two slices of "calm" and "reasonable." I, on the other hand, took on the attitude and unpredictability of an off-balanced banshee and the worries and paranoia of an overprotective mother bear on sensory-heightening drugs. So my training for my Olympic gold in worries began.

The initial worries were like every other pregnant mom: What vitamins should I take? Which doctor should I use? Will that beer I drank before I knew I was pregnant affect my baby? But then the worries began to vortex, amplifying themselves to be bigger and more intense: How will I teach my baby about sex? Will there be safe water to drink for my baby in years to come? What if there is a draft when my baby is 18? What is a safe car for my kid to drive at 16? The more I worried, the more the worries came. With each worry, there was another tailgating behind it that was more horrific and was aimed further into time than the previous one. Will this carpet omit harmful carcinogens into my baby that will turn into cancer years from now? What if someone kidnaps my baby?What if I die during childbirth and my husband is left to raise my child alone?

When I reflect on it now, I realize it was sad that I couldn't just wholly enjoy being pregnant and instead focused a lot of energy on these morbid thoughts. But at the same time, I am oddly intrigued with how quickly I generated this internal library of worries in a mere few days (too bad those worries weren't money-making ideas!). That said, the worries continued to easily flow through my mind throughout my pregnancy (and ultimately into motherhood). And since my pregnancy and parenting credo is based on doing things as naturally as possible, my worries also included the outcome of non-traditional choices: Midwife and home birth or obstetrician and hospital birth? If hospital, natural birth or epidural? All organic and natural bedding and clothes or the less expensive option of hand-me-downs? Disposable diapers or cloth? and ultimately: How will all of these choices affect the health of my baby?

All in all, my worries were my effort to control the uncontrollable and to be as prepared as possible should something go horribly wrong. By being in control and prepared at all times, I assumed I could avoid any pain and sadness and would be able to provide the "perfect" life for my child. I mean, how could I possibly live with myself if I made the wrong choice and my child was left to suffer? That thought haunted me.

Yet my worries and acts to be overly prepared did not shield me from the problems of pregnant and new-parent life, despite my guardian angels' efforts. I had some bumps and blips including uncomfortable pregnancy symptoms, a long home birth with minor implications, loss of work producing major financial woes, two neighborhood fires, the loss of my grandmother, a major split in my family, two childhood diseases, and two major relocations. And my worries? Though my terrible ones did not materialize, many others came true. Perhaps I focused too hard on them and brought them to fruition? Overall, living with such a burden of anxiety and stress thinking about what can go wrong was tiresome and prevented me from fully enjoying my wonderful daughter to the fullest.

Worry and Fear versus Calm Response
And now after much self-refection, self-help readings, non-denominational spiritual guidance, and lifestyle changes over the last year, I am proud to announce that my worries have greatly decreased. Oddly enough, so have the dilemmas. I sought guidance from a life coach/hypnotherapist who gave me daily practices and worked with me through some of my fears. Then I sought a non-denominational spiritual guide to give me some answers and healing techniques. Together, coupled with daily practice and support from my husband, I have lovingly become accepting of the things I cannot change. Now I'm focusing on what I want to have happen and the wonderful things in my life now versus the things I don't. I realize that all of those bumps in the road were invaluable lessons and I feel grateful for the education. I am spending any "worry" time with appreciating what I have now, especially my beautiful, smart, and healthy 18 month old, my family, friends, and environment. Occasionally I will get a whim of some disaster or epidemic and a waves of nerves travel up my spine. But then I counteract them with a deep breath, reason, and knowing that worrying about "what if's" won't help me to be the best mom I can be.

New parents and pregnant mommies can worry simply because there is no shortage of things to worry about in this world. And most parents will go the the Earth's end to make their child's life wonderful. But as I now know, worrying simply for the sake of thinking it will help is a useless investment of energy and time. If there truly is something horrible to worry about, now I simply decide if it is something that will really affect me. If so, then I do some research and weigh the options. I sit with my gut on making sound choices on how to deal with it versus reacting out of fear and panic. And if I decided that the worry is something sensationalized by the media and has nothing to do with my immediate life, then I just let it go. Who knows? This may not be the best way to act, but so far it has helped me enjoy my today instead of panicking about tomorrow.

Why this blog? (in depth)

In 2007, just when to-do lists couldn't get any longer, bills couldn't stack any higher, and my days couldn't be packed any fuller, I became pregnant. I did as any highly-emotional, pregnant gal who was over-worked, over-stressed and overly tired would do: I freaked out. I freaked out because I was worried how my husband would respond given our rock band was on the verge of booking gigs and how passionate we were for our extreme sports regimen. I freaked out because though we discussed having babies, we didn't have the money to raise a baby in fashion I had dreamed of. And I freaked out because as a control freak, this presented an entirely new world of worry and unknowns that I did not feel completely prepared for.

Needless to say, despite my nerves and uncertainly, everything had a way of working itself out in a brilliantly harmonious way. However, during my pregnancy, I frantically searched the ethers for information that was applicable to me: a pregnant extreme athlete, drummer, artist, introverted extrovert, spiritual, work-at-home entrepreneur, eco-loving gal with a fine taste for humor, nacho cheese, abstract art, dark chocolate, and live music. I found traditional books and some that addressed babyhood for parents who had a budget for a baby, but nothing that applied to me. I just wanted to find someone that could say: "Hey girl, I know exactly what it is like being in your pregnant shoes because I am like you and I've been there. So take it from me: everything is going to be fine." Instead, I had rich stay-at-home mommies, traditional western practitioners, and male doctors giving me their insights and "truths," making me feel like my alternative and natural choices were alien and wrong.

So here I am, almost two and a half years later still searching for that info and other like-minded moms, finding bizarre occurrences amid "regular" mommyhood experiences, and oddly staying sane (well, that could be contended) during the ups and downs of trying to be me and loving my dear daughter & hubbie among it all. As a result, I am hoping my non-linear, journal ramblings and varying artistic interpretations will help someone else know that: 1.) You are not alone, 2.) yes, you will get through pregnancy/motherhood, and 3.) you can still be yourself AND a good mommy. Love to the Mommies!!

Pls note: The posts of this blog are my journal entries about my life and mommyhood in general, not a medical prescription or sermon on how to live your life. Simply a form of expression and perhaps a call out for collective awareness. If any of this offends you, I suggest you stop reading. :) All art and text is copyrighted by me, myself and I. If you are interested in "reprinting" or any artwork, please contact me through my website at http://www.sarazimmerman.net.