Quadrants of Insanity

(Photo courtesy of Lunch in a Box)

There are times when my husband hints that I have taken on too much. When he says this – I typically don’t reply other than to exchange a bewildered look. After 11+ years, he knows me right !?! What exactly on my Type-A plate is optional !?! But here is the brief summary of my plate: I am a wife of one, a mommy of two under three, a promotions manager of six brands, and a grad student of one mere class per each semester. I don’t even dare put amateur photographer or wistful poet on this list. So in my defense, culling myself down to four states of being is quite conservative. Right !?!

“Wife” and “Mommy” are clearly requisite roles. “Manager” and “Student” could be debatable until the moment we realize how questionable (psychologically rather than financially) my offering as “Wife” or “Mommy” would be without them. Beyond any grand ideas of self-fulfillment - it is very important my boys know what work ethic is and have examples of educated women in their lives. And so it seems, I remain fully committed to my quadrants of insanity.

So, at what point do I need to recognize that I am “falling short”? And what help is appropriate to ask for? It is a lot easier at work to identify the things that fall outside the scope and value of my role and simply outsource those tasks. Is it because I have a clearly defined job description? Or does it matter that I have an objective criteria that my job performance rating and compensation is based upon? Or is it simply having access to resources that I can delegate certain items to?

At home it is safe to say that I am not as aware of the nuances of my job description. That’s if there even is one. And as for job performance – whose evaluation matters most? My own? My husband’s? My kids? Anyone else’s? And I think this is the very crux where I begin to fall short.

You would think my own evaluation would be the most compassionate but I have always been my own worst critic. So yes, while each morning I prep fresh bottles and lunches for the boys – I sometimes feel badly that I am not packing them into fun little bento boxes with radishes shaped like mice. I think about how the house should be cleaner or better decorated. Rather than takeout, I think about the elaborate dinners and homemade desserts that I should be planning for the week ahead instead. I think about how if I were only exercising more, I would be slimmer, better dressed, and healthy enough to keep up with my life. I think about how much better my school assignments could have been if I only started earlier. And despite being in an Ivy League graduate program, every once in a while I pause to consider if I am failure for not pursuing my MBA. But I quickly comfort myself that there is still time to look into that Yale program after graduation. And as for work, am I even where I am supposed to be? Is this a career I simply fell into or one that I truly choose? Is this the best work that only I can do? And most often than not these answers fall on the shoulders of no.

While my husband can respect at least what I try to do everyday – I think he is still baffled that I do things a certain way. He says I need to stop aiming for perfection and I ask where the corners I can cut are. We talk about how to make my load easier but we never find anything too ripe for dropping. Is the only solution to adopt lower standards? Yes, Ismaeel and Siraj seem to have their basic needs fulfilled but do they feel their allotment of playtime is adequate? Or are my days too long or filled with more emails than time for “angry dinosaurs”. Would they even notice shorter and less fragrant bubble baths?

As for anyone else’s assessment – the relevance of judgment becomes pretty murky pretty fast. On one hand, it is nice to sound off and get advice on structuring your days or how cooking every night is even manageable. But what does it even matter when the things someone else does well are simply because those are the areas that are most important to them? It is very easy to not understand why something is on your plate. Or to assume that the buckets of your life are nothing more than selfish pursuits. Perhaps I don’t need to give myself a glowing evaluation each day but at least I can commit to knowing what is on my plate and the reason it is there. And hell, maybe a cleaning service isn't such a bad idea to look into after all...

Loveless Motherhood

Before motherhood, I had no clue what to do with a baby. As the youngest of my immediate and extended family, I was never really around anyone littler than myself. I have never babysat nor held one without wincing or from the safe (but socially awkward) distance of a long-arm extension. I didn’t even know where to begin making those ridiculous googling noises in return. And their wobbly bobbly heads… I wondered why parents didn’t simply keep them home until their little necks were strong enough.

Thankfully, there was a wealth of resources to get up to speed during my pregnancy. My parents showed me how to place a diaper on Mitchell, my Fabulous Frog, with the warning that my own baby would not be as compliant nor still when changed. And essentially everything else came online. BabyCenter provided me with pregnancy tips long before I had to search for bathing instructions, growth charts, or vaccination debates. How to nurse and store my milk came from Medela. And scattered far and wide across the web, were endless product reviews to inform me about the various gear my baby simply couldn’t live without.

I was appreciative that so much information was available. I couldn’t imagine if I had to shamefully ask each and every one of my queries out loud. I took immense comfort in anonymously trolling through the messages of advice, exhaustion, pride, and even rage. I figured if I only read enough - I could muster the confidence to at least not drop my baby. The only lingering question was: would I be able to love him? Despite already relishing every little kick along my pregnant way, I feared that if I were to need a c-section I wouldn’t release enough oxytocin to properly bond. I feverishly worried I would be a cold and mechanical mother.

These ideas made my husband think I was insane. He thought it wasn’t possible to not love your own child. And he seriously couldn’t understand why I would waste energy fretting about this. I didn’t think it was so far-fetched. You feel a connection or you don’t. And even more frightening, if you don’t, there is no online tutorial to help. I imagine plenty of women suffering from post-partum depression (PPD) struggle to feel closer to their babies. How many of them would admit this to themselves let alone their families? Would I? Would I simply pretend to be a great and loving mother until the day I snap?

On June 14, 2007, Ismaeel was born on a sunny afternoon in NYC (without the help of an epidural or c-section). It was uncanny how much he resembled my own baby photos. We couldn’t stop staring into our matching brown eyes and as he clutched onto my pinkie with his entire little hand, I had no doubt that I deeply and truly loved him. I was relieved to see the same feisty moves from his ultrasound days and laughed that I didn’t realize I have known and adored him all along.

Still, I don’t regret my pre-natal paranoia. While I didn’t suffer from PPD or a lack of bonding with my son, I now realize motherhood will require me to put my ego aside, often and without hesitation. Even though there is plenty of online support, it doesn’t absolve me from asking for help or speaking to my partner about the things I fear and struggle with. I can only hope that embracing this newfound accountability will strengthen my marriage as much as the bonds between me and my sons.

And yes, even on the days I snap, I love them all without question.

Seriously, Another Mommy Blog !?!

Ok. Before you start yawning and fearing the onslaught of gratuitous baby photos… I vow to make this a critically minded and relevant forum for all visitors.

As a Columbia graduate student trying to complete my masters in Strategic Communications, I have been tasked with trying to find my place in the blogosphere for the next nine weeks. And as a mother of two, it seems nearly impossible not to take my toddler and infant with me.

I am full aware that a quick search for “mommy” on Technorati yields 1,903 related blogs out of 1,187,661. Normally, I don’t aim for being the 1,904th person to arrive at any scene. But as I talk to my family, friends, co-workers, and fellow students, I realize that beyond the selfish need to preserve my children’s milestones or capture my adventures in Manhattan – parenthood isn’t an individual’s journey. With each birth, a collective exchange begins where stories of wisdom (however loosely defined), mayhem, and mischief are traded, if for no other purpose than to have a lifeline back to sanity. Hopefully, with this blog I can continue being in love with New York City (and my children) while also avoiding having to be fit for my own straightjacket.

So please, join me on as I embark on this digital adventure. And who knows, maybe in a just few postings you will be begging me for those baby photos.