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.

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.