hooray for boobies. or: the eye twitch.

It seems that I’ve developed a bit of an eye twitch. Today is Thursday, and I am still tired. The twitch began its involuntary trickery with my left eyeball early Tuesday morning.  My child is still not letting me sleep. He has a dependency on my breast. As in, he won’t sleep. Unless it’s in his mouth.  All night long. He is sick this week, so I’m too weak and tired to fight him off, which means that when I’m tossing and turning, and not sleeping and exasperatedly asking my husband what time it is in the middle of the night, I find myself secretly hoping it’s closer to the 6:00 am wake up time than not. In the past I’d pray it was closer to midnight, so I’d have a chance to sneak in a few winks. These days, I know there’s no chance at sleeping, so I just hope it’s later. It’s always earlier. 1:00 am or so. The twitch, as my good friend Dr. Google tells me, is a sign of chronic sleep deprivation and stress. Imagine that! A year of sleep deprivation is all it takes, my friends, until your physical appearance takes on the inner insanity and craziness one feels internally due to a lack of quality z’s. 

So yesterday, I took a ‘me’ day. Monday, my head was killing with a migraine. Tuesday, the eye twitched. Wednesday, I handed off the kiddo to my in-laws without revealing my evil sinister plot of staying home in my pajamas, eating ice cream in bed, and SLEEPING. Which I fulfilled. I slept from 7:15-11:30 am. I hadn't looked at a time that late on my cellphone since I was gestating the little monster. I woke up, inhaled a Trader Joe’s salad, followed it up with some of my husband’s stashed mint chocolate chip ice cream, (it was the least I could do, seeing as how he gobbled up 50% of my chocolate stash I thought I had so cunningly hid on the bookshelf in the living room), and laid back down in bed for another hour or two. Sprawled, diagonally, even. The sleep was heavenly, but I did not wake up feeling like a miracle took place. Fully rested, it seems, will take more than one day of playing hooky. I think it was enough energy, however, to make it through the next day. The next week. Keep on trucking. But as soon as my husband and son walked through the front door of our apartment yesterday evening, the twitch came back. And another sleepless boob stolen night awaited me. So the twitch is in even more full force today.

I feel like a creep. Who does that? Twitches their eye? I wish I could turn it off. But it refuses.

I love my kid. He’s my everything. But you guys already know that. Or at least anyone who reads this blog, follows me on Facebook or Instagram does. It’s all I ever post about. Or take photos of. It makes me feel really boring. But let’s face it, the kiddo’s cuter than me. And he’s more interesting (at least to me) than griping about boredom at work or my lack of social life. I can’t believe it’s already been a year. He turns one in 18 days. I really don’t know how I’ll survive the process of weaning from breastfeeding. The kid’s absolutely insane. He won’t sleep unless my breast is suctioned in his mouth. Not feeding, not drinking, just suctioning, or pinching. Like one of those plecostomus fish. Holding it hostage. Whining and crying if I dare remove myself to try and get some sleep. Another cool trick he’s taken up recently? Fingering my belly button. Have you ever had to bat away persistent tiny claws, hellbent on digging and scraping in your belly button? It’s absolutely terrifying. But is it worse than ‘changing the radio dial’? (aka titty twisting the nipple not in his mouth)? I don’t know. Both really, really suck. But it keeps him quiet and subdued. My husband doesn't always get it. He thinks the kiddo would need a bottle, and I’m just complaining about our son’s never ending appetite for milk and how tired I am. But the kid is not hungry. He is not even drinking! He’s just an asshole. But I love him. God how am I going to do this. But it’s time. My body is saying it’s time. My supply is going extinct. My eye is twitching. My body is changing. So, sorry, little guy, but your whole milk diet starts today. 

My hope is that I publish this post today, and can look back on it 4-6 weeks from now with a deep sigh of relief. A feeling of victor and accomplishment. The end of the road. The light at the end of the tunnel. We will all sleep through the night like restful little babies. My breasts will once again belong to me, instead of a mean, twisting and break dancing, masochist.

In addition to the goblin turning one in a couple weeks, I’ll celebrate my second mother’s day as a mom. The first, of course, being day 3 of induction, day 1 of his life. This year, we’ll host a Yo Gabba Gabba themed birthday party, as an excuse to give the boob sucker toys and cake. A couple weeks later, I’ll turn 32. That’s insane to believe, as I don’t ever recall turning 31. I think I was hiding in my in-laws living room with a tomato faced screaming alien, while the rest of the family ate BBQ. But I’m not sure. I just remember feeling very sad and invisible and not knowing what the hell to do. The last time I celebrated my birthday, I was hungover, freshly 30, on an airplane from Minneapolis to Chicago, following a weekend with my close pals in the Twin Cities. It was a fun weekend, sure not to be topped within the next decade. This year, I’ll be content sleeping. Maybe dancing. But that may be asking too much. Evening babysitters are hard to come by, especially when the usual round of volunteers would be guests at said night out.

Another aspect of craziness is that I always envisioned 32 being the designated mark of an adult or benchmark of ‘old’ or responsibility. Reason being, my mom gave birth to me when she was 32. So I always thought the years prior, (despite her having already been a mother since the age of 17), meant that that was her life, her time to experience adulthood without the heaviness and finality of being a grown up, grown up. And here I am, now. 32, just around the corner. 

Realizing nothing is different, yet everything’s changed. 

I’m married. A mother. Working a full-time job, downtown Chicago. A car owner. Wanting nothing more than to own my own home. Looks like I bought into the game of domestication. Settling down. I always thought I’d be a wild one, free spirit. Doing things differently. Chasing attention, fame even, something somewhere off the beaten path. Proving everyone and everything wrong – and right. But I’m here. Where I’m at. And I’m pleased. I’m happy. I’m proud.  And just so, so, tired.

I don’t want an eye twitch. I really don’t. But if it’s the trade-off for having bred and raised a kooky, cute kid, I’ll grin and bear it. The kid finally got a tooth. One. Everyone kept saying, 'oh, he still doesn't have a tooth? Just wait, when he gets one, they’ll all pop in at once.' Nope. Not the case. But that’s ok, I like his tooth. We named it Bobby. I only kind of feel it on my breast. Thanks, Bobby.

I’m at work right now. And I've had a mug of iced coffee. And a mandarin for breakfast. And I've done all the work that I can without input from others at the moment. It’s a real struggle, on days of corporate hostage, when I know there’s a million household errands that need to be completed, or a snug, warm bed waiting for me just a 45 minute train ride away.

I wish I had some sort of warm, meaningful theme or message to tie this post together. A conclusion. But I’m learning more and more, each and every day, that parenthood, adulthood, whatever this game is – it doesn't have a start and finish line. There is no feel-good lesson to have learned, like in some 30 minute sitcom, at the end. It just is. And keeps going. And you either have the strength to keep going, stay positive, or you don’t. but it doesn't define you. So I guess I shouldn't feel too badly for not having some enlightening boom factor to wrap up this post, either. But I do miss writing. It still comes naturally. Maybe someday, I’ll be able to come home and chase the passion. That is, when I’m not chasing a 20+ pound goblin around.  Til then, here’s to hoping my next post is a victory cheer. The end of an era. The freedom of my breasts.  The independence of the nips. Hooray for boobies. Ok, you get the picture. Til then. . . 

spring fever - an 11 month update on crazed motherhood.

one feels a certain sort of heaviness, when observing and/or snuggling their child when asleep. the exhaustion, the frustrations, the anxieties, they all seem to melt away and are magically replaced with this unspeakable bottomless channel of unfiltered admiration, adoration and deep love. a love like they've never known.

i say this now, because he's finally asleep. his tiny toes are curled up under my upper left thigh, his little arm curled up onto my torso. his messy blonde head laying just two inches from my elbow. who knows how long i have to attempt to type before he rises once again.

it's been a rough week. last week everyone (minus me) in my household was sick. the flu. a stomach bug of sorts. dad caught it first, then the little guy. then my poor mother in law got it when it was her day with the little one. 7 loads of laundry in four days. (5 sets of bedding). it was fun. and then once everyone seemed to have a clean bill of health - the REAL teething began. i mean, homeboy has been teething since he was four months old (now 11 months next week), but now it's real deal, cry cry crying, awake ALL hours. i haven't had as many 1am/5am parties since i was 21 living in wisconsin dells. but these parties are sober. and pretty much suck. it's just part of being a parent, i suppose. but man, what i would do if i could trade places. me be the puker. me have the insane oral pain. i wish i could take all the discomfort and suck it up and just be in hell. but i can't. instead, all i can do is make WOOP WOOP sounds and leap hurdles over my kiddo's head to distract him into laughing fits. or have such insane dance parties to MGMT, like this morning's, where he doesn't bat an eye after bashing his cranium into mom's face, nearly resulting in a black eye for him and a fat, bloody lip for mom. (seriously. he didn't bat an eye. i nearly however, burst into tears). instead, we used frozen bags of milk to apply on our wounds, and quickly resumed the living room boogie session, this time to some britney, bitch. 

more yo gabba gabba. some gerber brand cheeto snacks. more dancing and tickle fests. mom checks her work email (because she is working remotely, after all). frequent son grabs mom's boob out of her shirt breaks. because, this kid of mine is no longer nursing, he's straight up treating me like a kegorator and is filling up his tapper on an on-demand basis. one more month. . . 

but today was a good day. i've been fortunate enough where the little bugger is on his second nap of the day, which is unheard of as i understand it, for the entire week. he's finally catching up on some z's. we even got to take the absurdly expensive luxury stroller out for our first mother/son jog this morning. let me tell you, that stroller is a goddamn cadillac. the BOBs are totally worth the hype. AND I got to run 3 miles. but dude, pushing a 20 pound stroller with a 20 pound human in it? either my endurance completely went to shit in the last week and a half i had to take off due to crumby weather, or it's a tougher workout. that's good, though. i need some training and to bust my ass a bit. my first 5k of the year is right around the corner here in ravenswood, with the older bro the last weekend of april. we'll see how it goes. following our run, we had a bath and then while chilling on the couch for another yo gabba gabba binge, holden promptly vomited all over my crotch. so, that was cool.

i'm just so fucking grateful spring is here. my kid is no longer a weird alien baby. he's this person. this full fledged, little boy. getting baby boners. having boogers on his face. constant dirty fingers. babbling full sentences, grunting and HEY'ing, pointing, waving. walking (albeit, still holding onto shit), all over the damn apartment. standing on his own. laughing. petting the cats. pulling their tails. mad drum solos on the pots and pans in the kitchen with dad. he's simply so much fun. (when he's not making me go goddamn crazy crying, screaming, whining and refusing to sleep). 

meanwhile, my life as an individual is going smoothly enough. my job is a job. any complaints i think in my head sound ridiculous when i try to say them out loud, so i keep myself in perspective and am grateful for the opportunity i currently have and am happy to be able to provide for my family. like this week, for example. i bought a mother fucking car. i've lived in chicago 9 years this july. 2 years in, my last car sputtered and croaked on hwy 90 coming back from wisconsin. when i learned the 89 camry required a new transmission, i said fuck it and never looked back on my days as a car owner. public transit, walking, biking all the way. fuck cars. rentals if necessary. but then an old acquaintance from highschool who sells cars for a living reached out with a reasonable deal. even offered to deliver it personally all the way from my hometown to chicago. the pricetag matched our tax return, and while we've been able to get by just fine bumming rides from whomever pities us, or zip carring it, or bundling the babe up like an immigrant in the colder weather - i finally sucked it up and admitted i'm an adult, a parent, and it's time i fucking suck it up. so i did. the car's nothing super fancy, it's 15 years old. very simple compact car. but aesthetically, there are no dings or scratches. only took a quarter of a tank of gas for the 3 hour drive from wisconsin, which is unheard of. and it'll suit our needs for groceries, doctor appointments and trips back to wisco just fine. other than that, we'll still be hoofing it up and relying on the ole cta. (gotta build up that babe's immune system somehow, amiright?)

but yeah. weird. i have a car. i'll admit, i still haven't driven it further than the half block drive from the bank parking lot down the street where it was dropped off and the baller parking spot i scored in front of our apartment. i guess tomorrow will be our first 'family spin.' man. am i a yuppie now or what? what's next? the suburbs? (ummmmm. shit).

now that it's spring, i'm elated that me and H will get some exercise in. strolls in the park, friday/saturday jogs. trips to the perfect cup - last summer's daily coffee jam. and if all works out, vin and i may even have a date tomorrow night. we haven't gone out for drinks together in MONTHS. for valentine's day, we did manage to sneak out to check out the new sushi joint in the neighborhood, but it was BYOB and i was a boob and forgot the wine. so yeah, looking forward to getting my tips on and remembering what it's like to be a wife, with a significant other, vs. a partner in crime chasing a little shawtie around. 

the handsome one is still softly snoozing beside me. we're all curled up under the super soft fuzzy comforter my mom gave me for christmas, surrounded by a mountain of pillows. the radiator is hissing (although unnecessary), and the wind is quietly howling outside the window. my work day is complete, and i'm still on an adrenaline high from our earlier run.

his eyes are open, now. wide and baby blue. guess that means i best sign off before he starts contributing to the post. til next time - he's smiling at me now. heart - melting. 

snowstorms, sesame street & sleater-kinney

fifth largest snowstorm in the history of chicago. (monday). is this how i will recall this time in my life? the days blend into the weeks into the months into the hours into the i'm still not sleeping. my son - my baby. he is a miracle (my miracle). he's turned my life upside down into a tilt a whirl of sleepless nights and endless joys and stressful free time that's not really quite so free anymore. he steals my  heart, yet makes it clench. i nearly burst into tears last evening as i not quite but almost force fed him guava pears. the tears weren't from the food, which actually brought him some relief, but the impending pain from his captive uncut teeth. the tears in his eyes, the pitch in his cry - it was pain and i couldn't do anything about it. except join in. (which i almost did, but not quite).

instead, i tried to put him to bed nearly two hours too early. it didn't work.

so instead, we watched more yo gabba gabba. and danced to some juliana hatfield in the dark, unlit kitchen. sang him some grizzly bear softly in his ear. swayed and rocked. and went to bed, tears caught in our messy heads of hair and sank into deep exhaustion in the shared queen bed he's so subtly consumed in the past months.

this morning - the snow. it was still there. piled up, feet of it. in the streets, the sidewalks. my mother-in-law got stuck after picking up my son. her van stalled in the middle of the street. so mom (me) copped an unexpected extra two hours of sesame street, while continuously stealing glances at her iphone, wondering what time she'd finally have to depart to the office. two words of the day. fairy school. baby bear's dirty shirt. a couple milk breaks. and then it was time to go in - the office. again. even with a string of remote work from home days, the heaviness was still there.

trudging. tired. sesame streeted out. not looking forward to another day of corporate politics and meetings encouraged to 'collaborate creatively,' yet not really speak my mind (or what i at least think i'm supposed to say). work. not enough caffeine in the day. wondering what's next. coming home. it's snowing (again). heavily. my son didn't come home to me until an hour later than usual. then he nursed, and went straight to sleep. thankful, now, of the mini sesame binge we got to sneak in this morning, or we wouldn't have had anytime at all together today.

still so tired, though. some quiet time while my husband continues to work. at 7:19 pm. listening to music, shredded cheese residue stuck under my fingernails from the makeshift pita pizzas waiting in the turned off oven.

this week has been so hard. is it the seasonal blues? is it simple menstruation? i don't think so. am i just tired. the crashing of super woman - days and days. weeks and months. office hero. motherly duties. loss of me (or am i just hiding).

in two weeks, i will have a chance. to have a drink and wear some lipstick. feel pretty, and be a girl. go see a feminist rock show with some friends. sleater-kinney. the last time i listened to one of their records as regularly as i do now was the summer of 2005. i was in a new relationship, although we were long distance over the months of june-august. i listened to the woods in a tiny tin can bedroom, with a broken sliding piece of plywood, disguised as a door. in a makeshift trailer park. in the parking lot of a water ski show. i was in a relationship, without any of the perks of a partner, who was far away. my friends were long gone, graduated from the likes of trailer slumming, and i worked a job i had burnt out on years prior. i was a fresh twenty-two. 22 years old. too old for this shit. but the woods. it was the ideal summer soundtrack to an almost grown up former wild child, who preferred the company of her one hitter in the tin can bedroom than the swarms of horny 18 year olds who somehow managed to piss their beds on a nightly basis (mickeys), those who lived alongside me in the concrete jungle gym.

i did have one close friend, that summer. two, if you count the finnish girl. but jenny, who i knew for years from the summer job. never close until that year, and whenever i think of sleater kinney, i think of the woods, and i think of that one hitter and i think of cheap beers and i think of her, jenny. we suffered together, missed our significant others whom we were separated from for the summer. we loathed our employers, but laughed quite a bit anyway. the highlights of those three long months, so long ago, were the evenings she would spend the night in our campy lot, vs. driving the 18 miles back to where she was staying that summer. it meant we could act like assholes, always laughing at some inside joke, invisible to even us at the time. cut yo dick off. tapio. yr the best lil boi in the werld. (i'mnot). sprained ankles and black hard pizzas. drinking in hotel parking lots. sneak smoking pot at pirate's cove. never enough lil wayne. i was so sad, yet so content. that summer.

now here it is, 10 years later. who hit fast forward? so much has happened. so much has changed me. i'm not that lonely little stoner anymore, although sometimes i wish i was. i met so many. loved even more. hurt and cried and dusted myself off. drank too many. became my own person, my me, my own skin. and now i sit here - on my couch. in the midst of another snowstorm, listening to corin tucker yowl from sk's latest album, 'we win, we lose - only together til we break the rules,'  it's ironically cute, hearing this girly anthem, thinking on my friendship with jenny. because oddly enough, it's motherhood that's brought us back together, a decade forward. casual friendship strengthened by the bond of insanity and love. raising our families in different states, united through technology. god bless the text message. and sleater-kinney. and our goddang babies, as tired and insane as they make us - producing that little slurpy dirtball baby boy snoozing in the crib in the next room over was my greatest accomplishment to date.

and it's still snowing. but if two years down the line, someone mentions the mostly wild winter, with that huge snowstorm on super bowl sunday in 2015, i'm perfectly content, remembering my sleep deprived madness, monotony of the day to day details highlighted with the joy of my baby boy's goofy, lopsided smile, and my friendship with a girl named jenny. with sleater-kinney, banging around as the background soundtrack.

two weeks today, and a modern girl, i'll be.

corporate hostage. (or, a bunch of ramblings about momhood and music).

today is one of those corporate hostage days. holiday weeks are always rough enough to stay focused, but i have a hunkering this week will be 3 times more 'for show' than usual. surprisingly enough, i was able to knock out 90 minutes of work this morning (even more surprising that i had 90 minutes of work to do in the first place). but the rest of my duties? benched until the rest of my team returns from vacation - apparently i haven't mastered the art of telepathy yet, so the rest of my stuff has to wait until january. out of my team of 8, one other dude joins me in our otherwise empty and quiet office. ok by me, it's just more quiet than usual, and i'm trying to find ways to occupy the next 6.5 hours of today, and planning for the next two days of this workweek, until another 4 day weekend awaits me. i'm not complaining. i know i have it made.

but as a mother. it's like - whoa. quiet? and i'm getting paid to just sit here and be on call? whoa. ok.

so i'm trying to wrack my underused brain and try to get some writing out, since i know it's not like my home environment is tranquil and peaceful. or stimulating. home = put the baby in the box. the jumper. the playpen. the diaper pad. he shat. he's hungry. daniel tiger. let's walk him around. dad - your turn? repeat. i love that kid, though. as the end of the year approaches, it's that time where i pretend to get all deep and insightful and shit and reflect on the past 365, who i am, who i've become, what i should do differently in the days ahead, how to improve upon myself, my life, goals, etc.

goals. ugh. what a downer. goals suck. i'd rather just do the shit i want. i can plan, sure. but goals nauseate me. maybe that's just because my annual self appraisal review at work is due and that's the absolute last task i feel like embarking upon. i'd rather be pregnant for a full day, 8 months, even. then do that stupid terrible review. but i digress.

obviously, this was a pretty big year for me and my family. i had a baby! my career took a backseat in my personal priorities, and now motherhood trumps all. and it's pretty awesome, no regrets. and after getting tipsy on 2 beers yesterday, i splurged and booked myself my first professional back massage for later this week, so there's that to look forward to. my 'treat yoself' gift for sleeping like a masochistic contortionist every single night to make sure my tit is within suckling grasp for the little piglet who refuses to sleep in his crib.

people ask me how i'm doing. how i've been. and i feel like all i ever have to say is the same thing. 'well, holden's good. still no sleep. it's great, though.' and then they ask about work. 'work's ok. it's flexible which is good.' are you still in chirp? 'kinda, yeah.' and that's all i really have to say about anything. honestly, the past two months i looked forward to christmas. just because it was an event and it was something with a set date, and it was an excuse to dress my son up in ridiculously adorable little old man outfits. now that that's passed, i put an insane amount of money on my credit card for an upcoming evening in wisconsin dells the first weekend in march. we'll take a family vaca to meet a good girlfriend of mine and her family. our babies will meet. we'll take them swimming. eat pizza. and i couldn't be more excited. so that's my life now. spending two+ months eagerly awaiting a swimming pizza family date. and being so fucking excited.

so why bother changing who i am. who i've become. what's to improve upon? what goals do i need to set - other than maybe more frequent family vacations. i don't know. this new year's deep thinking stuff is over my head now that i'm a grown up. sure, i still battle my own personal afflictions and conflicts. who doesn't? but the difference now is that i'm hardly one to really air any dirty laundry, as mundane as it could be - because that's not in the best interest of my son. i can't complain, so why should i? i shouldn't. so i won't. so instead, pizza. and waterslides.

but damn, that makes for one seriously boring blog post, doesn't it? i suppose instead, i could reflect on the musical selections i enjoyed in 2014. i can't really compose a top 10 list of 2014, for a multitude of reasons, mainly that i don't think i even listened to 10 different albums this year, released in 2014 or otherwise. but there were tracks i enjoyed. or older artists i really dug. maybe i could do a music spotlight? maybe that shit would give you an idea of how motherhood has really bored me down, MOMMED me, if you will.

there's no rhyme or reason, method or preconceived thought put into this list. but if you're still reading this now, you're obviously really bored (probably also another peer corporate hostage), so what the hell.

Run the Jewels - RTJ2
I never listened to the first release from Killer Mike and El-P. And quite honestly, I wouldn't haven't listened to this release either, had it not been released for free online and continuously plastered all over my Facebook feed. But enough peers with reasonable music taste cred continued to endorse it, so I figured what the hell. At first listen, it was too aggressive for my liking. Too many 'eat a dick' references. So many dicks. Every track, it seemed, talked about dicks. Dick - what a strong word. Not penis. Not dong. Not weiner. (ha, can you imagine? rick ross or some other heavy duty hardcore rapper going on about weiners? ok, i am lame now.) So the kinda feminist side of me was like, ehhh, I'm in my 30's. I don't need to listen to this--but the production did seem sleek. And as I continued to give the record a spin and a re-spin on my iPod commute, I found the album really slowly growing on me. It was aggressive. It was angry. And yes, it was a pair of 40 something year olds rapping about their lives, or probably some social consicious crap. I don't care. Content has never really driven why I've been drawn to specific hip hop releases or not. Slick beat? Smooth rhymes? Ok. Jodi 5, 10, hell even 3 years ago, could have written a concise and thorough analysis with research as to why this album was on her top preferences for the year. Jodi now is too tired. Seriously. So tired. So instead, I'm rambling about liking an album I really honestly have no personal connection to, other than the fact that sometimes I just need something loud and angry on my morning commute. Something to supplement the permacup of coffee attached to my right hand. And that track with Zach de la Rocha from Rage Against the Machine? Holy nostalgia. I love me my 90s, and Zach is still that angry dude. Close your eyes and count to fuck is a fucking tight track. As are several others on this record. So maybe this is even my fave album of the year? I don't fucking know, but this was definitely worth the free 99 to download.

Spoon - They Want My Soul
They say ('they'= everybody) that once you own one spoon album, you own them all. And in a sense, they're correct. Lead crooner Britt Daniel has a very distinctive voice, but not a whole lotta vocal range or fluctuation. AKA - all his shit sounds the same. But it's so fucking good, that I don't give a shit. Just b/c homeboy's vocals all sound comparable track to track doesn't mean that every release Spoon puts out there is solid gold, because it's not. (Transference, anyone?) But I didn't think this Austin based indie rock staple could issue another album as strong as 05's 'Gimme Fiction', or another record after 07's 'Ga Ga Ga Ga' that could peak my interest. So when I heard a new record was dropping this year, after only being lukewarm to Daniel's collaborative effort with Wolf Parade & Handsome Fur's Dan Boeckner Divine Fits, I didn't give a shit. Hunting out new music was more of a chore than a leisure this year, and I didn't really feel like boring myself with another 12 track of generic alt rock more suited for the NPR crowd than me. But I guess I am the NPR crowd, now, so I don't even know what I'm getting at there. So when my brother was visiting one day this summer, and we were conversing about new music, I asked him if he heard the new Spoon record as it was a common ground band of ours. He repeated my intro above - ie, once you have one record, you have 'em all, but I was bored. So I did something out of character and actually downloaded the new record. For full price. On iTunes. What?  Well, it turned out to be one of the smarter and better investments I made in the last year, because with tracks like "Let Me Be Mine," "Rent I Pay," "Do You," "Knock Knock Knock," and the album's moniker, it's a really solid fucking album. And I listened the shit out of it. Probably one of the only releases that kept me sane throughout the three months of maternity leave i endured earlier this year. I don't know exactly what it is about the record, but since procuring it in early August, They Want My Soul has been an easy go-to-favorite for my morning downtown commute.

TV on the Radio - Seeds
Another surprise for me. After eagerly awaiting the release of Nine Types of Light, only to be totally let down, I figured there was never going to be another 'Return to Cookie Mountain,' or even 'Dear Science'. And I'm right about the first assumption - there'll never be another RTCM. But Seeds, an impulse $5 buy on Amazon, actually is remisiscent to the poppier glitz jams found on DS. It's hardly fodder for any major publications top albums of the year, but as I stated earlier, I'm hardly the music critic I once was. For a lesiurely listen, this album was definitely worth the five bucks. The first six tracks on this record are a solid listen - with first single, "Happy Idiot," almost worth the five bucks alone. Opening track "Quartz," "Careful You," and "Could You," are all solid tracks, so the first half of the record is nonstop go go go. Perfect soundtrack for bouncing a non-tired little boy to sleep in your kitchen, half mad, running on fumes of the long day past. The second half of the album isn't bad, by any means, but the songs begin to blur together, giving off TV on the Radio syndrome, where everything just sounds harmonious, expensive, overly produced and good - but the exact same. Maybe good background music, but nothing demanding your attention, begging to be repeated or sticking out in your head like the first half. Like I said, totally worth the five bones, but not likely something I'll revisit a year from now.

The Jesus Mary Chain - Darklands
Obviously, this album wasn't released in 2014. And let me be upfront in my disappointment for all you so called 'friends,' who have known me long enough to know that what really makes me tick is80's and 90's cult alternative, and never once recommended this staple to my must have collection. I mean, seriously? How did I get by for so long without every pining and obsessing over this dark, broody Scottish quintet? Of course I knew the single everyone else knows, just like honey, but it wasn't until a couple weeks ago I decided to stream my iTunes radio station 80s alternative and found that the station was plumb full of tracks from the 1987 album Darklands. And how much I loved it. It made me angry at my younger self, who thought she was so indie cred, listening to the Dandy Warhols for so long in the 90's and 2000's, when obviously, they were and are a major TJMC rip-off. This morning, even, with my iPod on shuffle, the intro to Just Like Honey (not from this record, I know) started with the bump - ba-dump percussion intro, I skipped ahead (on shuffle) to a Deerhunter track, that had the IDENTICAL opening intro. I even skipped backwards to the JMC track again to make sure, and yep- total ripoff. So they obviously influenced a good majority of today's indie bands without most idiots like me being completely oblivious to their greatness/influence. But that's changed now. I feel like a dork, thinking I was so knowledgeable on a music scene I obviously still have a lot to learn on, and like an even bigger dork for onlyl learning more through iTunes radio stream - but whatever. This album is dark enough to get me through never sleeping, and matches my not depressed but not 100% happy all the time b/c the baby is a vampire and sucks all my lifeforce outta me days where I need a little comiserating. It fits right into my Depeche Mode/Tears for Fears/Cure/Echo & The Bunnymen/etc. mood playlists. Makes me feel normal. And resentful for all teens and youths who spent the 80s wasting their tastes on crap like Inyxs like my older bro, instead of tapping into the real greats. Thanks, Jamie - for passing on your love of Huey Lewis and leaving it to your kid sister to school you on the Pixies. But yeah, if you haven't heard this record yet - 2015 is your year to kick yourself in the ass and do so. It's fucking good.

Taylor Swift - 1989
This isn't a joke. And yeah, it's one hell of a transition from the Jesus Mary Chain. And I realize by admitting and listing this album, I am a sucker. But I'm also a mom, now. And Shake it Off is really fucking catchy. Even though I'm sick to death of it as it's my 7 month old son's favorite song (guaranteed to stop a melt down in its tracks every time), I still can appreciate it. Other than that ungodly awful fucking 'breakdown' or rap bit she does at the end. Fuck that. Seriously. No. But the album itself is surprisingly good. Even Pitchfork thinks so, although they didn't go so far as to admit it outright, just by naming two of the tracks on their top 100 songs of the year list. Ha. So this album was given to us as a xmas gift for Holden, who unwillingly and unknowingly suckered both his 80s/90s snob mom and death/black/gloom/scaryfuckingshit metal loving 'i hate pop music' dad into fans. What the hell, right? But if you listen to the album once, you'll see that it's catchy. Listen a second time, the songs will linger in your head. A third time? and you're screwed. You'll have to admit it's actually good, and you like it. Unless you have better taste than me and my family, which is very possible. But whatever. I think it's funny. I fully admit liking pop music, I get a kick outta the fact that my son and husband do, too.

Other releases that got more than a couple spins this year include Beyonce's self-titled - which I know was released in December of 2013, but still had a lot of spillover in the first half of the year as my prego diva soundtrack; Haim was on repeat from later 2013 as well; Veruca Salt's 'American Thighs' received a lot of play in anticipation of the July 12th concert I caught with my cousin at Lincoln Hall - the one and only show I made it out to this year - and ohmannnn what a drunken dream that show turned out to be. . . ; and a late record that surprised me as an impulse whim was the Charli XCX record. Total bubblegum snotty girl pop at its best and worst - some of the tracks like the Vampire Weekend featured "Need Ur Luv" are fucking catchy as hell. Perfect baby rocking in the kitchen music, which is pretty much every night.

Music. I miss hunting for it. I miss talking about it. I miss listening to it. I never thought I'd be one of those people who you'd ask, 'what are you currently listening to these days' and would say, 'eh nothing new, really'. I always thought those people were insane. Turns out, those people had families. And more important things to do than impress random hipsters with bar music chat. Although, I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss a good night out at the Green Eye or The Whistler, fancy overpriced craft beer or bourbon concoction in hand, half in the bag rambling about the next big thing. There's always 2015, I suppose.

At this point I've succeeded in killing nearly 90 minutes on the clock and the first coffee of the day is wearing off. I think I've accomplished a sufficient ramble for the day, month, year, although we'll see if any more caffeine inspires the old rusty wheels in the noggin another day this week. Wednesday at 3:00pm is still 48+ hours out there. . . .

when i grow up.

When I was a teenager, all I dreamed of was getting out of my ho-bunk hometown and becoming myself. Finding an identity which I had no idea existed. I dreamed of becoming famous - whether it be as a writer, a broadcaster, an actress, or maybe one day accidentally discovering I could sing - it didn't matter. Big city lights, exciting new friends, a college education and a sure fire path on to stardom - or at the very least, success, however that was defined, was what I had my mind set on. To make sure I accomplished these feats, I excelled through school, worked my little ass off at every after school job imaginable and participated in every extracurricular activity my farm town community offered. Forensics, theater, Spanish club, yearbook, track and field, National Honor Society, mentoring younger students, leading the community haunted house, class secretary, participating in the mock accidents used to train EMTs, hell, I was even the president of the non-drinking club. You name it, I did it.

I went to college. Continued to get good grades and work part-time jobs, never taking any summers or other time off. I eventually saved enough cash to move to the city, and here I am, 8 years and counting in Chicago. It's my home. I've built a pretty impressive roster of solid friendships, nabbed a husband, added some decent professional experience to my resume, and even dabbled in the 'show business' I dreamed of volunteering for the Chicago Independent Radio Project. It's been real. 

Have I attained the dream I so often pined over in my youthful years? Have I finally achieved the 'be' in the infamous 'What do you want to 'be' when you grow up' mission? Well, if you told 15 year old Jodi where 31 year old Jodi is, I'm not sure if she'd agree or disagree. I like to think she'd be pretty pleased, however. Very few individuals ever get to nail down their dream - whether it's stardom and fame, owning your own business and becoming your own boss, or becoming an astronaut, whatever. And I don't think the issue particularly lies with individuals not possessing the drive, or even resources, because I am a bit of a dreamer in that regard, but of knowing precisely what your dream is. I guess I never really knew what mine is/was. As far as possessing/not possessing the resources, I call it bluff - I myself, have a bit of a 'rags to riches' tale. I don't want to exaggerate, because I know many that experienced more poverty and less than ideal living situations growing up, but anyone who knows me can attest that I've been financially responsible and accountable for myself since I began bussing tables at age 14. My mom wasn't around very much in my high school years (she worked the night shift), and the home life was a far fetch from Leave it to Beaver. I'll spare the details, because they don't really matter. 

What I'm getting at is that I worked hard, and now I'm working a career type job with a respectable salary, holding my own in one of the largest city's in the country, surrounded with a solid network of loved ones, and am comfortable with my life. But back to the point at hand, am I famous? No. Am I even still writing? Not really - although I guess when I get hit by a thought and it doesn't immediately fall away, (like what I hope this rambling blog post manages to accomplish), I give it my best effort to document as cohesively as I can. But am I that 'be'? Am I even 'grown up'? I'm not sure. Maybe. Maybe not. But I'm here. And my day to day is like every other day. There's no major exciting points to peer ahead to in the regard of next career steps, or education, although the idea of getting my MBA is still out there. Some day.

But I have to step back and not take my accomplishments, as menial and 'boring' as they may sound to me, for granted. I am educated. I am skilled. I am able to provide a comfortable living for my family. Hell - this year alone, I managed to pay off the remainder of my student loans (which was a good chunk of $$), fund my husband's college tuition for his final three semesters (he graduates in 12 days), AND give birth to a baby boy. I think 2014 was a pretty accomplished year, if I may say so. The fact that I grew up dirt broke, and now am able to afford tuition for two college educations, medical expenses for a new human being, while still being comfortable enough to buy decent gifts for the upcoming holiday makes me feel like I 'made it' in my book. At least in the consolatory, I'm not famous but I'm still not doing half bad way.

But anyway. That's me, now. So all of those dreams I harbored. What became of those? How many years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds - time was spent madly scribbling angsty poetry or stories only to be stashed away in forgotten shoe boxes under my bed? Acting like a dramatic nut job in hopes of finding my place in the center of the world's attention? Singing deliriously loud and off-key, daydreaming of one day being 'discovered'? A lot. I was a pretty dramatic kid. And I guess I still can be. 

But it wasn't until the other night, when it hit me. That all of those dreams, efforts. The hard work. The sacrifices. The broken hearts. The hours logged, memorizing the angstiest of angsty songs, only to be sung to my shower head. The life I've spent the last 31 years leading. It's all led up to now. And on Sunday, November 30th, 2014, I for the first time, fully appreciated and understood the meaning of it all up until this point.

In May I had a son. Most of you reading this have either met him, seen (way too many - sorry, guys) photos on social media, or at least read about how terribly miserable he made me on my third month of maternity leave on this blog. It goes without saying, he's kind of my everything - I almost ended that sentence saying 'these days', but then realized, no, he's pretty much my everything for always. And that's a gift. He's my little dude and I love the bejeezus out of him, even when he's a jerk and screams at me for no apparent reason. But this particular post isn't about me reinstating my obvious maternal affections for my son. Or even about my son. But about me. And where I'm at. So now that I've put the disclaimer out that my little dude is my bb boy for lyfe, I can continue. 

Two nights ago was just a normal night, like any other. It was the last evening coming off of a four day holiday weekend, my fifth consecutive day with my son in a row. I was returning to work the next morning, and while I wasn't looking forward to it at all (because let's be honest, who is eager to get back to work after a mini-break?), I wasn't really dreading it, either - because it meant a real lunch break, and 8 consecutive hours meltdown-free. It was just another night. I lounged lazily on our lint balled maroonish brown over sized couch cover, Absent mindedly swiping my iPhone screen, crushing the candies, or sodas, or whatever the hell zombie puzzle app was 'engaging' me for the moment. I let my husband take a turn to soothe the baby, as he was a particular firecracker on this day. I'm proud to say (but maybe I shouldn't be?) that I've gotten pretty good at toning out the 'I hate this,' 'I'm bored,' and 'I'm angry' cries, so the fact that Holden was howling furiously in the kitchen, a mere 30 feet away, wasn't phasing me in the slightest. Won't he go to bed, I signed to myself. Candy swipe, sugar ball, crush! Shit the owl tipped over, swipe, swipe, retry. I'm out of lives. Holden continues crying. I glance at the time, it's only 6:12. Bed time is at 7:00. Tylenol for the  mystery teeth that will seemingly never appear, yet successfully manage to murder my son's mouth has already been administered. Frozen washcloth devoured. What does this leave now? Well, I'm out of virtual lives on all brainless iPhone games. Social media is only telling me that Nicole's still selling more jewelry, there's (still) a never ending supply of cat photo memes, some awkward selfies of friend's little sisters, and there are only so many mommy Huffington Post links I can continue to read. My outfit's already laid out for the morning, my work bag packed, and there aren't any more chores I can last resort attend to. He's still crying. It's 6:14.

I deep sigh and shuffle to the unlit kitchen, where my exhausted husband is pacing and rocking, screaming demon laid out in his arms, and gives me the defensive look of "I've got this, but goddamn it I'm exasperated,". I give a half 'hang in there' smile and trudge to the baby station and pick up the multi-colored Maya Wrap sling. I grudgingly slip it over my left shoulder and adjust the ring. I walk back into the kitchen, and give Vincent the 'gimme the baby, I guess' look of defeat. He appreciatively forks the kiddo over, inching him into the cocoon I've nested in the sling for the little hellion. Holden immediately quiets. Vincent rolls his eyes in defeat, and I'm both secretly disappointed and pleased. Disappointed that it looks like my night is shot until the little devil conks out, but half satisfied that he reacted to his mother's touch.

Alright kiddo, we're in this together, now. Vincent leaves the kitchen. The lights are still out. It's 6:17. Holden is snugly curled up on the right side of my upper torso, with his legs dangling on each side of my hip. I know that I need to start talking, and fast, to keep the baby appeased from having another melt-down. He's on the 'I'm going to fight sleep like a mother fucker, you can't trick me out of this, I'm pissed off but exhausted, but no, sleep, no--never ever, uh uh' bring of freaking out. 'Hey baby boy,' I quietly hum into his ear, softly bouncing around like a mama kangaroo. "Let's find some songs, you and me. Mommy thinks it's time for a dance party, whaddya say,'. He says nothing, but continues quickening his breath, letting me know my time is limited, so I better pick something good. In a frenzy, I make a half assed 'calm' iTunes playlist on our ancient original iPod that only works in our kitchen docking station, due to  faulty worn out wiring in the headphone jack. I don't even recall at this point what I've selected, but I hit Play.

First up, is Adele, "Rolling in the Deep." I never really got into Adele, a couple of her songs were more less guilty pleasures, but I figure her voice and the instrumentation has to be a decent start to getting the kiddo to unwind. It's not working. I decide to whip out my secret weapon, my off key vocal chords, and pretend to sing along to the every other word I managed to pick up. He responds. His head quits twitching from side to side, looking for anything to stimulate him in the kitchen. He rests his head on my right breast, sighs, and looks up at me, with wide, but heavy eyelids. Adele ends. Next up, Ani DiFranco's "Little Plastic Castles." Here's where it hit me, folks. 

Ani DiFranco was never as huge of an influence to me as say, Tori Amos or Fiona Apple. She was more of the cousin to my favorite female soloists, but I always had a sort of soft spot for a couple handful of songs from her 90's catalog, this particular track topping that list. I haven't listened to this song in years. Years and years. And my first instinct was to head to the iPod and hit Next, to see if there was anything better on the playlist. But instead, I notice he seems to be calmed by the soft acoustic opening intro of the guitar strums. So I bounce with him and sway a little softer and slowly than with Adele. And I sing to him. And miraculously, I know every. single. word. And I'm not even sure at what point it happened, but I lost myself. In the song. In the moment. In the music. In the intimacy, the special moment, I was sharing with my son. His eyes continued to get heavy, but as I sang - no longer in my self conscious screeching, but full-hearted, lung emptying song, I realized this was it. What I'm here for. What I've been working towards. I finally was living my life to the fullest. This was my moment. Having this beautiful, healthy, satisfied baby boy, snuggled onto my chest. Feeling loved and comforted by me, reliving my teenage/early 20s songs. Never did I expect in a million years  that I would ever have an audience, let alone, such a special one, to belting out the lyrics, 'I wish they could see us now, in leather bras and rubber shorts - like some ridiculous team uniform, for some ridiculous new sport - quick, someone call the girl police and file - a - re-port.' It was a moment. We were transfixed and it was magic. 

The dance and sing-a-long didn't end there. I think we finished up with some Final Fantasy, Okkervil River, Grizzly Bear, Beach House, Bon Iver - and of course Hozier because it's one of 3 songs Holden LOVES. (Seriously, between the theme song to Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, Taylor Swift's 'Shake it Off,' and Hozier's "Take Me to Church," this kiddo would be content never hearing anything else ever again. But that would drive mommy mad, it almost has.) I continued to croon and sway, and eventually the little man's eyes fell shut. We drifted to the bedroom, where I laid him out on the bed for his rocket-ship sleep sack and I wish I could say he dreamily remained asleep and gave us no problems and slept through the night for the first time -but of course that didn't happen. He woke up the minute his blonde messy head hit the mattress, alert, betrayed and pissed off, only to keep battling me for the next 25 minutes for a feeding and cuddle session, fighting like hell against the crib. And I'm beginning to be convinced that I'll never sleep through 8 consecutive hours of sleep. That there will always be a monster demanding my teet. But that's not the point.

The point is, all those years of my life. The earlier life. The life leading up to now. The different experiences - efforts, trials and tribulations - they were training. Even the angsty sing-alongs and angry poetry. The shitty ex boyfriends breaking my heart, ultimately teaching me what I do deserve. The crappy after school jobs, which only raised the bar in my expectations for a better life. All of it. It helped me get to where I am today, and taught me all that I know. So I could experience that one pure, untainted, real moment. Pure love. Bonding with another human being who knew me as his sole source of comfort, in that moment. Lost in song and dance and love.

It was something. And while 14 year old Jodi may not have realized it, and even 31 year old Jodi didn't know it until two nights ago, I finally had a taste of what it was I've unknowingly aspired to be, my whole life.

It was better than I could have ever dreamed.

it's happening (again).

my mind is whirring at a million miles per hour. my physical being, feels jolted. by electricity or some sort of urgency. in actuality, it's most likely an over measured french press with an abundance of more caffeine than is good for me (or anyone, for that matter). i thought i could slow it down with a heavy lunch (chipotle instead of my trader joe's salad). but that didn't help. i thought maybe chugging some water would dillute the caffeine in my being, but no dice.

so it leads me to wonder if the caffeine really is to blame. or if its just a thing i'm going through. or maybe, i'm finally having a nervous breakdown resulting from not sleeping 8 consecutive hours for the past 6+ months.

something makes me think though, that it's something else entirely. earlier this morning, david lynch and mark frost confirmed that they were bringing twin peaks back for nine new episodes on showtime in 2016. anyone can google the news release and find out all the exciting details (lynch is directing all 9 episodes! if the first season back is a success, more could possibly come in the future!), but it's more than the fact that my fave show of all time is coming back, hopefully to answer many of the open ended cliff hanger questions that have haunted myself amongst millions of other fans to the cult classic tv show. (is coop still stuck in the black lodge? did anyone survive the exploding bank? where's bob? will we ever get a glimpse of the white lodge? will bowie's secret character from fire walk with me ever be revealed/referenced?) i could go on for posts and posts about how excited i am for the return of this show. but that's not what this is about, i don't think.

instead, it was about this time, six years ago, that i first introduced myself to twin peaks. and the feeling of awe that overtook me, consumed me when watching this quirky mini drama classic. the deep feelings of 'despair,' and loneliness that were taking over my real life in my real world. how TP was my escape mechanism. feeling trapped, in the polar vortex of '08 before the polar vortex became a thing in 2013. surviving my first real break-up- and realizing i had only 1 friend in the biggest city i'd ever resided in. growing up, independently, and being really bummed about it. now, i look back at that winter, when agent cooper, shelly, norma, bob, and hell, even dum-dum deputy andy, were my closest allies, and i wish i could live it all over again. the sadness. the loneliness. and look back at 25 year old jodi and tell her, DUDE, seriously, it gets better than this. enjoy your me/alone time and this opportunity to find yourself. soak it all in. grow, grow, grow. it hurt at the time, but the months i spent between my scratchy sheets, alone with an orange furball, under the twinkling of brokeass christmas lights illuminating my bedroom wall, that cold ass winter was the turning point in my adulthood, from post collegiate wisconsin transplant to independent, youthful city jodi to big girl job mom jodi. the nucleus of my 20's.  i wish i could time travel and screw it all up and be sad all over again. why the hell i'd want to do that, no idea. but it sounds so appealing. ordering sarpinos hawaiian lover pizzas and knowing the characters in david lynch's screwy universe had it worse off than me.

i survived that winter. and came out a stronger woman from it.

now since i've heard the news of its upcoming return (but-how-the-hell-will-i-handle-waiting-2-years?! AND do-i-have-to-buy-cable-now??), i've had the haunting chorus of beach house's 'silver soul' on repeat in my head non-stop (it's happening a-geh-eh-ah-eh-ah-ennnnnn). which then just makes me want to re-read watership down (as that was the book club read in 2009 when i was obsessing over Beach Houses' Teen Dream) and rewatch the two seasons of twin peaks. all. right. now. beach house. twin peaks. watership down. warm blankets. acid washed jeans. bright red shorter hair than i'm even rocking now. even maybe pick up some fake glasses to feel more like authentic vintage jodi. i could go without the heart break and loneliness, although something tells me i'll never be lonely ever again, even when i want to be, thanks to my main lil man HRS. i yearn for the feeling of unknown, and conflicting comfort of discomforted solidarity.

i'm happy to have a family at home. and i'm happy to have security. and love. but i'm even more happy by the fact that i'm starting to find the pieces are slowly coming together, albeit slowly, and over gradual time, of me finding me again. the jodi's jodi i referenced in my former posting is starting to show glimmers of remembrance to herself. and if it means something as simple as rewatching an old favorite cult classic tv binge, sign me up.

i just wish the knowledge that all of these vices i yearn for are within my fingertips' reach would be enough to get the shaking to stop, or at least slow down. i guess i can't handle my blonde roast. or maybe, it's my subconcious telling me bigger things are on the horizon. familiarity of motherhood is kicking in, and things aren't going to be as tumultuous. my reigns are getting tighter. and the new experiences of this past year - both professionally and personally, are going to align and become more syncronized. and these hidden clues from my yesteryears will start to piece the whole damn thing together, and i'll find myself once again. my identity as jodi in her thirties has been in question, who she really is. and i know motherhood plays a huge crucial role in this transition of my fourth decade. it's these glimmers of my past, that are going to help solidify the missing identity i've been struggling with the past year.

delicious cups of coffee. it's happening again.

too much to be coincidence, is it? even if it is, it's a fun one.

or maybe, i just really need a nap. either way, thank god it's fall. 

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.

a working mom. (and her son)

well, i've been back to work for 2 weeks and 3 days. and guess what? it's not all that bad. it really isn't. turns out, a little breather from my H man has helped me regain my (non-mom) identity and has helped whip me back to being jodi more than i thought possible. that, and squeezing into pencil skirts, high heels and getting my 'aggressive way of getting the job done' (my boss's words, not mine) - my confidence is back.

sure, i have to wake up at 5:30/45, vs. my previous 7am alarm, and mornings are probably the most chaotic part of my day. i wake up, rush to apply my face and fix my hair as fast as possible as my husband and i compete for bathroom time. 10-15 minutes in the bathroom, tops. then i struggle to get my clothes, jewelry, deodorant, perfume applied, all while keeping an ear open for holdie's morning waking wimpers. i fly through assembling my breast pump. pack my lunch. get my work bag ready. get holden's outfit laid out. pack his diaper bag for grandma/pa's house. then i quietly tiptoe into the bedroom and give him his breakfast feeding in hopes that he stays asleep, so i'll be able to pump my access milk, clean/un/reassemble the pump and make the bed. all before waking him again - to get him dressed, lotioned, rediapered and in the car seat for grandma. all this in less than 90 minutes, not stopping once. it's fun. it's my new routine.

work itself is a walk in the park. apparently my brain is still in tact, and i already feel like the nucleus of my team again. it's almost too easy, though - compared to motherhood. people keep asking me how my return to work is/was - and at first i said what i was supposed to - 'sad.' and then once i realized how nice it is/was to have lunch breaks, use my brain and wear real clothes again, i said 'sad vacation' b/c it was so much easier, but i missed my man. and then i promptly built a holdie shrine in my cube, complete with holdie coffee mug and rotating screen savers, and now i say, 'it's fine.' because guess what? it feels good to make money again. and use my brain. and have people acknowledge that i look great because hell yeah, i lost nearly 50 pounds! i'm back to my prepregnancy birth weight? halleluljah breast feeding is all i can say to that. ima feed this kid with my boobs forever. well, maybe not blossom forever, but as long as i can upwards to a year. i feel great, holdie hasn't gotten sick once, and it's not breaking my bank. work has been super accommodating in providing a space to pump, let me work remote on fridays and not guilt tripping me into staying late for meetings that my boss typically would have in the past. plus, there's this empowering feeling of balancing professionalism/career along with motherhood. at first it was awkward, sneaking my black pump tote bag into the conference room and i'd get nervous people walking by would see the 'do not disturb' sign on the door, hear the whirring of my breastpump and feel uncomfortable. now i wear that bag like a badge of pride, and i don't care who knows that i provide the best possible nourishment possible for my baby boy, along with balancing the life of a corporate professional. it's my link to being holden's mommy while still being program manager jodi. it's the yin to my yang.

so yeah, work's going a-ok.

but enough about me and my transition - let's talk holdie! the little bear is growing before my very eyes. every day there seems to be a new discovery or development. my lil munchkin isn't very little anymore. kid's at least 15 pounds! fits snugly in 6 month clothes, has a big ole soccer ball head. he's become obsessed with his hands - eating, sucking, eating some more. his head control is considerably better - if it wasn't so huge, he'd have it down 100%. dude even helps out with diaper changes and lifts his lil legs up in a fetal position every time we remove/put on a new diaper. yesterday i heard the most musical sound in my 31 years - a sneak peek at his laugh. not the dummy beavis/butthead 'uh huh huh' chuckle he's been playing around with, but a genuine high pitched musical chime of laughter in the midst of a daddy dancing spree after his bath. i heard it twice. vin's heard it a few more times. i fell in love all over with life and my son and my family all over again. that's not all - h has been sleeping even better! (I HOPE THIS DOESN'T JINX IT). he's been going down earlier in the night, around 7, 7:30 vs. 8, 8:30 and staying down until between 2-3am for a feeding, to wake again when i do between 5-5:30, and goes back to sleep until 6:45 when i wake him up to go to his grandparents - unless it's a monday when vin has him or a friday when he stays home or the weekend - where he'll usually stay asleep until at least 730-8 or so. it's incredible. but my biology still hasn't fully adjusted to the new schedule, and i'm hoping my supply doesn't take a hit as a result - cuz this kid is never not hungry. thankfully we can introduce solids next month and that should help with his nonstop appetite a bit.

i can't. fucking. wait. to open the fisher price jumparoo we got in the mail yesterday. holdie bomb will be a jumping machine! i love my baby boy. can't believe it's already been 14 and a half weeks. next thing i know, he'll be eating real foods and babbling away.

in conclusion, august has been a good month. h man still has his angry fussy days where mom and dad can do no good. he still has his mean bully moments (like the time he gave me a hickey and bruised my left breast (on purpose, too, i'm convinced because i had the audacity to try and eat my own sandwich instead of watching him eat his), instead of nursing appropriately). but he also makes us laugh so hard. and every evening, as i put him to bed during/after his feeding, i have to stop myself from crying from pure love as i gaze at his sleepy, small infant closed eyes and pursed lips. he's perfect. and he's mine. and this is the chapter we're in today, and i'm loving every minute of it.

i'm a mom, now. and it's the best thing ever. (day 31)

Day 31: July 31, 2014

Age: 11 weeks, 4 days

well, it seems my month long writing experiment is coming to its close. here we are, day 31 - and while i've only been blogging for 31 days, this blog coincides with the last few days of my maternity leave. i'll be back with more rantings, ramblings and reflections soon - but this will be it as far as the daily submissions go. it's been fun, thanks for joining me (and holdie). 

what i've learned in the  last 12 weeks:

1) that true love is impossible to capture into words. that parenthood really is the joy that you hear about. the best feeling in the entire world is locking eyes with the most beautiful little person you've ever seen and getting a giant gummy grin in return.

2) the definition of patience. before holden, i was impatient, self-centered, and incredibly anxiety ridden. now i'm just anxiety ridden for different reasons. this little marshmallow boy of mine has taught me the meaning of selflessness and that sometimes, you just gotta slow down. it's not always about you (me), and i'm all the better person now for it. even when my patience is being tested at its utmost peak - screaming and fussing and i'm convinced he hates me, clinging that little bear closer and whispering 'i love you' now, instead of getting frustrated and placing him in baby jail (the crib) is more likely my instinct option. even if the little dude does go to baby jail, i swear, it's only outta love.

3) breastfeeding was the right thing - for me. before i had holden, many women would ask me if i intended on breastfeeding my son. how the hell could i answer that? i had no idea what it would entail, and even though i knew about all of the obvious advantages/benefits (better immune system, bonding experience, cheaper than formula, convenience, etc.), i had no idea if my body would react the way it was supposed to. or if it would hurt like hell. or if the kid would even like my milk. so i would just shrug and reply that i'd give it a shot and see what happens. here i am, nearly 3 months later, and i'm nervous that my job will prevent me from being able to continue breastfeeding my son. nervous, sure, but i'm not going to let it control me. i love my baby boy with all my heart. he was born 2 weeks early, on the smaller side, and nothing makes me swell with motherly pride more than knowing that my nourishment alone, both in my 8.5 month pregnancy and the past 3 months of motherhood, has produced the large, roly poly healthy big ole baby he is today. drinking from my body, which i've taken care of, has solely been his nutrition and subsistence. and i'm proud to say this little dude hasn't gotten sick once, and is if my home scale is to believed, has already reached 14+ pounds. (he was 6 lbs, 9 oz at birth, 6 lbs, 3 oz when we  brought him home from the hospital). i understand 100% why some women opt not to breastfeed. it wasn't easy, at first. and health reasons. and sometimes not all women can handle fatass babies like me who keep demanding MORE MILK. i feel for these women, not because they can't breastfeed, but because so many people pass judgement on them. but then again, i feel like some people pass judgement on me or other breastfeeding moms - asking if i have a 'cover', am i 'one of those moms' who breastfeeds in public, have we started 'supplementing' with formula yet, etc. just let the moms be the moms. they know what's best for their situation and their baby. i'm actually pretty shocked that breastfeeding happened to be the right thing for me. i was convinced my body would throw a wrench in the mix (especially with my double lumpectomy last year), but now my heart hurts if i opt for an extra glass of wine and can't feed my son every feeding directly from the breast. i wasn't sure i'd be able to do it at all. i certainly never expected to love it.

4) everything else is white noise. the crumpled up laundry. the dirty dishes in the sink. the run i probably shouldn't went on but didn't. the ongoing ignored to-do lists. whatever. i love my baby boy. and i'm glad i spent every second held hostage on my living room couch this summer that i did. i wouldn't trade ten minutes of it for a week on the beach. (although, looking through past blog posts, maybe i would have back then). today, though, this dude is seriously the love of my life.  and i'm going to miss our days of 'doing nothing' when i head back to the real world.

5) people really, really love babies. or at least - pictures of babies. before holden, me and my friends would always bitch about babies. or the pregnant women who would post pictures of their stomachs on social media. 'gross!' we'd exclaim. once i found out i was pregnant, i assured everyone i would never be like that. i'd keep it clean and private, not baby spam up everyone's shit. turns out, even i couldn't stop myself. (one thing i kept my word on - noone ever saw my bare stomach when mister h was gestating - with the exception of my husband, my doctors, and two unfortunate random old ladies who happened to be using my work bathroom a few weeks before i popped and i unknowingly exited the bathroom stall with my shirt rolled up. only after i saw their confused looks of horror as they passed by did i realize my human basketball belly was hanging out. that was one of my more dignified moments.) but then, a funny thing happened. after i had H, people started asking to see pictures of him. so i'd post one or two. and they'd get way more 'likes' than any photo i had ever shared in my last 7 years on social media. for privacy purposes, i purged a good hundred or so 'friends' who i didn't recall ever meeting, or hadn't seen/talked to since i worked with him/her 10 years ago. and i locked my instagram on private private. but seriously, for all the shit talkers out there hating on baby pics? i'm beginning to think it all changes as soon as you give a shit about the mom/dad/kid and they're not just a random acquaintance anymore. that, or the baby lovers are much more vocal than the haters. i'll admit that i have a tendency to overdo it. and i'm guessing once i go back to work, the holden paparazzi show will have to slow down, because i'll be spending the bulk of my day making money to provide for my family vs. watching lost and boobing my little man. but i don't give a shit anymore. i've got a cute kid. ima show him off.

i know there's more to the story. more insightful lessons i've probably learned and will later facepalm myself for not including in this excerpt. but really, it was one hell of a ride. my first excerpt a couple months back, relating to the birth/hospital stay was the intro. this post is definitely nothing close to a conclusion. it's just the ending to the very first chapter in several more to come. the maternity leave. the babymoon. it's fucking breaking my heart, but it's coming to its end. as much as i wish i lived in europe or canada or whatever any other country than the us that gives their parents a WHOLE YEAR off, guess what, i don't. i live in the states. chicago. a pretty great city, albeit expensive and not the safest to raise a baby. but it's home (for now). holdie will get many more walks in the city, visits at grandma/grandpa's house, and be surrounded by his biggest fanclub and honorary aunties/uncles. starting monday, our family will begin a new routine. holdie will have daddy days on mondays, grandpa days tuesdays through thursdays, (and half days fridays), and mommy will get remote days on fridays to maximize the time with her baby boy. and get her ass to work. into pencil skirts and high heels. no more pajamas and messed up hair. (hence, why i'm getting it chopped off in 2 days). let's see if i still know how to make myself presentable and continue on adult conversations. use that other part of my brain. it can't be that hard, right? if i can master the first 3 months of caring for a newborn, and raising him into the porker baby he is today, i can tackle anything. 

i'm just going to miss him. oh so much. but we're strong folks. me and h? we got this.