motherhood: or - multiple identities. aka - who the hell am i?

(me - working my job job while also being a mom, while trying to be jodi jodi-triple threat).

yesterday evening my husband and i spent the greater part of it bickering. i don't know about what. i don't think he does either. we've both been spinning our propellers 100 million miles an hour non-stop since the birth of our son this past may. between work, school (for him), house work and mother/father duties, we're lucky if we catch ten minutes to bathe without juggling three other tasks simultaneously. (i can't tell/emphasize enough how much you can get done while brushing your teeth - emptying the bathroom garbage (although probably not the most sanitary example), applying facial moisturizer, feeding the cats, picking up the 5,000 baby toys/clothing articles/giant fisher price mechanisms, etc).

for a cool off, and because i needed tampons. (because yay! periods come back after you pop out a kid, most of the time lucky moms don't get the visit from their aunt flo for upwards of a year, but lucky me i scored the jackpot a fresh 3 months post-partum), i escaped for a stroll to walgreens. this was, of course, after we rushed groceries (mid-bicker), a full day of work, breast milk equipment break-down/clean-up and milk storage, dinner, baby garbage pick-up, and putting down a 4 month old who didn't want to go to bed (only an hour, this time). so, maybe 7:45pm? i finally had the 'freedom' to pick up tampons at walgreens. across the street. so i did. (and while i was at it, a bag of pretzels, a six pack of paper towels and eye makeup remover, because god knows when i'd be able to pick these necessities up again - ok, the pretzels weren't as big of a necessity, but i wanted them. IT'S THE SIMPLE PLEASURES, YOU GUYS).

as i was walking the half block away from my humble, yet chaotic and tension filled abode, i was struck with the realization that i hadn't seen night time in a long time. seriously. the night sky. the cool, crisp air and sounds the city makes. the twinkling street lights (because let's face it, them's the closest we'll get to seeing stars or any sort of constellations on western avenue in chicago). the glowing stop lights. the 'quiet'. ok, the city isn't quiet. but compared to a household of stressed out parents and a teething baby, it's the closest thing to quiet i get the luxury of experiencing these days. i couldn't believe it. that i couldn't recall the last time i had been outside - a) without rushing somewhere; b) in the dark. it was insane, the freedoms you take for granted.

i wished more than i could even bear to fathom wishing that i had the freedom to take a stroll to the river park, a mere half mile away. to stroll through/along the paths, winding along the river, to smell the smells, even of the stinky sewage system, and take in the sights of the changing leaves and swaying trees. but i knew i had a short leash. my husband was cranking away at his homework assignment, which his partner had abandoned all co-responsibilities of, eating away at his patience and mood even more than our already short fuses had demolished. i needed to get home so he could wrap up his work in case our little one decided he wanted to holler at us some more.

so i grabbed the necessities (tampons! what a treat!) and walked back home. it made me miss the days where we lived in (gulp) lakeview. our 'honeymoon' period. where we rushed to get away from our basement dungeon in wicker park and took the first place we could find a mere two weeks before our impromptu-ish wedding and wound up on the cusp of boystown, wrigleyville and lincoln park - not exactly our dream neighborhood, and not the most spacious of living situations, but it fit our needs for the time we were there. we were married and had no real responsibilities, other than our jobs at the time. nighttime strolls along the lakefront. holding hands. regular rounds of husband/wife duties (wink, wink). hands in chains, arms around one another's waists. regular record shop gluttony and non-stop treats (mini oberweiss kegs and pizza takeout boxes were a regular in our fridge, now it's plum full of breast milk, literally). 

i'm ok with the honeymoon ending. it's only natural, of course. and now, 'we're parents and our priorities have shifted. this too, is worth it. tiring, but so worth it. but sometimes, i miss the opportunity to just breathe. and take a walk in the evening. the first opportunity i've had to collect my thoughts and begin writing, for example, as i type this now, is in a hidden locked room at my work. tubes and funnels connected to my tits, whirring and pumping away at my breasts like a lactating cow. on the lap top. even carrie bradshaw can't beat this crazy, multi-faceted life. jodi today is not jodi five years ago. or jodi three years ago. or jodi two years ago. jodi one year ago recently discovered she was pregnant, so she had an inkling her life was about to change. but she had no idea to what extent.

(boob break - time to dissassemble the stanley kubrick space odyssey resembling apparatus that provides my son's sole life source).

ok. so i'm back. anyway, i guess i'm just writing this because it's the first time a fluid series of somewhat sensible thoughts have popped into my head for days. (i blame the french press starbuck's blonde roast, sitting to my left, just waiting to be dumped and cleaned of its soggy grinds). 

i guess i should apologize to my husband. i mean, i know i should. but for what, i'm not sure. and how does one who hasn't slept or thoroughly enjoyed one's full day in months provide a sincere sounding apology, anyway?even when you mean it, something as simple as saying 'i'm sorry,' it comes out sounding flat, robotic. forced. (because the only emotion i feel capable of expressing is anxiety, when my son is screaming or whimpering in the middle of the night).  especially when you don't know what you're apologizing for? (other than being a snippy, stressed out mess, who doesn't even realize when she's being unreasonable). is that sufficient? i don't know. it's seriously like my mind races a million miles a minute, always thinking of something else i need to do. like right now, at my cubicle (the boob machine has since been put to the side until the next 'milking,' scheduled for 1:00pm, sharp). i'm thinking about how badly i need to rush my lunch break. run, on my hobbled knee (more on that later), to state street, approximately 2/3rds of  a mile from my office, to the over priced express store, in efforts of buying a pair or two of presentable slacks that will fit me for work. due to summer, i got away with wearing pencil skirts and dresses to the office the past month and a half since i finally had an excuse to wear clothing since holden joined us. now that it's starting to transition to fall weather, i realized that none of my work pants - even my skinny-jodi-hasn't-fit-in-these-for-four-plus-years pants don't fit me anymore. i got dressed this morning in an outfit that was too tight for me before i was pregnant this morning and realized i had to change because it looked like i was donning hot pink and black garbage bags. and not in a flattering way. even my fucking socks are stretched out from storing my sausage feet and log cankles, every pair - bunching around my ankles. it's the effing worst. most people would say - fantastic! you're losing weight! i wish i could lose the baby weight that easily. and i won't lie - it;s a great 'side effect' of breastfeeding. but i keep this in check in the back of my head.

'side effect.' because i know damn well as soon as i detatch that 17 pounder off my breasts, those extra 8+ pre-pregnancy pounds will come back with a vengeance, and likely invite some of their grubhub induced friends. but i don't want my kid sick. so i'm going to keep this 'no wine for me,' diet up through at least the winter, for the kid's sake. (and i guess my waist line's). but even losing all this weight - doesn't mean i have a confident bikini bod. any woman (that's normal and not megan fox) who's birthed a kid, knows your body is never the same. everything is just, loose. and i don't think it would be that difficult to tone, firm up - had i had the time. or able body. somehow, in between being held hostage on my couch and bed and cubicle, i managed to sprain my knee. no idea how, just did. i know this because i was urgent care bound on labor day - the only day i had 'off' from work, due to my super tender/painful knee. x-rays proved it wasn't a fracture or anything, but i was given direction to see my primary care doctor (which i don't have, because i don't get sick) to make sure i didn't pull a ligament or something. it's feeling better now, but it's also bound in an ace bandage 18 hours of the day and doped up on my mom's smuggled 800 milligram ibuprofen (because guess what, breastfeeding moms can't even use the prescribed external joint pain ointment i received from the ER doc).

damn. i sound like a complete woe is me case right now. and as you can see, can't effectively finish any thought i begin. that's ok. that's me, these days.

i should really clarify - i'm not depressed. or even sad, really.

for the most part, i feel genuinely fulfilled. i have a great job that allows me to work from home one day a week and lets me leave to go home on time, allowing me to juggle the million at home responsibilities that come with being a mom. it also foots our bills and allows my family and i to live comfortably.

my husband is a great partner. sure, there are many areas we need to improve upon. but i think that comes with any relationship 4+ years in the making, and add the stressor of first time parenthood of an infant, and you lose every iota of your self being and independence, which i think would even be prioritized over couplehood - so unfortunately, our next 3 day getaway for a couple's retreat to mexico is going to be put on hold for a bit. we're strong folks, we can do it. but i'd be lying through my teeth if i said i i wouldn't give anything in the world (aside from my son, 'ha, ha'), to crank up the romance dial a couple full spins, even for 3 hours on one night. (hey, anyone wanna babysit????) but vincent is a fantastic father. he brings joy to our son and has outshone my expectations (that i always knew he could fulfill) with our baby boy, so since holden is my number one now, v's fatherhood card is my  number two. 

even though we couldn't relocate to a bigger pad this year, we do have a nice, sufficient apartment, in a safe and convenient neighborhood. yes, we have to figure out our 3-5 year plan soon, because i don't think the city will be the best long term fit for holden to grow up in (schools, people, i now completely understand why my mom raised me in what i deemed boring village of 789 - the only school fees were a $7 'towel fee' for phys. ed, and $1.50 lunch tickets - not to mention, i could safely walk to/from school predator free). but for now, we're good. we have storage. we have a comfy sized bedroom, in which our little burrito babe snuggles with us.

i'm relatively healthy. ok, i'm healthy. i just am pissed about having a mystery bum knee. but considering my scares with breast cancer among other bullshit in the past few years, i'm grateful that all is good for now.

and of course, my son. you didn't think i would skip over him, would you? it's crazy. four months, five days ago. my life changed forever.mother's day, 2014. how fitting. best gift ever. i mean, of course i knew it would. and he's the main reason for waking up in the morning. he's my everything. 100% dependent on me and vincent. he's beautiful. when co-workers who've never as much as said 'good morning' to me 6 months ago now ask me how my son is doing, i can't help myself but ramble on and beyond the expected 'great' response. homeboy is healthy, happy (when he's not teething or getting his immunizations - yikes), and is shining more and more every day. whether it's his focus on new toys, firmer grasps, louder sounds, new movements, or further engagement with social interactions, he's blossoming into his own person - finally. words can't really do it justice. if you're a parent, you get it. if you're not, you probably have a good idea, anyway. if you're a cat or dog person, just magnify it times a million, and you'll have an idea of the heartstrings a little you can invoke. i love my holden. so very, fucking much. everyday, i push myself beyond my boundaries to make sure i can provide the best home and life possible for him. even when i'm running on no sleep. and the little sleep i do manage to accumulate is interrupted, because the heat's not yet on in our apartment and there's a draft in our window and H sleeps better in the crook of mom's protective arm, nuzzling my breast and/or chin. i'm probably 30X more likely to develop scoliosis 'sleeping' at the contortionist like angle/positions i'm in these days, but it's the instinctive mama bear coming out of me. i just love him so much. and i do love sharing his (what i deem) adorable progress pics blasting all over social media (sorry guys). 

but i'm also a real person. and so is my husband. and so is my son.

real life isn't a fantasy. and it's not perfect. and it's not easy. it's hard. fucking. work.

so, i guess in my historical writing fashion, my voice can tend to be on the pessimistic side. i don't' mean to just vent and complain. or whine, or whatever. but sometimes, it's healthy to just put everything out there in words. get my voice out, heard. even if it's only for my own benefit. it's so easy to broadcast the positive - the smiley pics. poke fun at the videos of H crying. show off his new 'dancing' moves. 'look at my baby boy's!'

but it's a little bit harder to showcase the reality of the situation. the loss of self identity. all this week, i've been blasting the pixies discography on my iPod on my morning commute to work. it's the one of very few albums that i don't associate with any past or current relationships, my son, jobs, or any other part of my life, except me. it's music for me. and it's kind of 'hard' music. at least, just distorted and rough around the edges for me to feel ok to seethe a little bit. if not the pixies, nirvana's 'never mind'. or sleater kinney's 'the woods.' these albums are enough for me to exhale deeply and know that i have at least 45 minutes to myself and my thoughts, where it's ok to just sit down and not rush around doing 18,000 things at once. therapy for mom, i guess.

writing this is kind of like that, too. makes me feel human again. reminds me who jodi robin root was/is, even with her new surname and life responsibilities. i'm discovering now, the challenges and reality of balancing multiple identities. 

corporate/professional office program manager jodi. 

boob wielding/sing songy/diaper bag slinging 'holdie's mom' (my user name for kim kardashian's hollywood - i wish i was kidding) (jodi). 

bill paying, household chore co-partner, supportive as i can be, (but not always the most romantic or sympathetic) wife to vincent. i'll admit, work's needed there - on both our ends, but i do love my husband tremendously, even if i have trouble showing it on some days.

between these three roles, i somehow try my damndest to stay in communication with my supportive girlfriends, both in the city and out. turns out that text messaging is the only rope tethering me to these relationships, and i'm fortunate as hell to have understanding ladies in my life. every now and then i'll even hit the jackpot and one will come over to visit me and the screamo creature - so that's role number 4: friend jodi. (i miss you guys!) 

that leaves my last hat - jodi's jodi. i'm finding it harder and harder to remember her and hang out with her. but i think she's the core to the rest of these identities. so i'm doing my damndest to not forget her, and dig her out. even if she only appears for an hour a day, seething to the pixies on her iPod commute. being amazed at the liberation she feels on a night time stroll to the local drugstore. taking a 10 minute nightly bath. she'll come back, someday. but for now, mommy & corporate jodi have to take reign. 

hopefully, wife jodi and jodi jodi will hang on for a bit - as they're the real fire/core of my being. i guess sacrificing their on-air time and driving them behind the scenes is really the fuel to ensuring mommy/corporate jodi can exist.

life's tough. but it sure beats just going to work and coming home to an empty apartment every day and drinking it all away into an oblivious blur. (although i'd be lying if i said that most days this didn't seem like an exotic vacation - just one, rough bender).

month 4 - this is an update. 

maybe i'll just make time for some more 7:45 pm trips to walgreens. that's the closest to serenity i need. tampons and pretzels - the simple things.