It's a Small World After All

My world is small these days.

Besides tiny clothes and hunting for the forever-dropping tiny pacifier, the landscape of my day consists of the apartment and our neighboring streets. No longer do I think of my home as one place; each room is now its own destination.

We are in the nursery pretty much all morning. Around noon we make it to the play space in the living room. In the afternoon, we manage to get into the hallway, and then Outside. A short walk around the neighborhood brings us among neighbors, postmen, other parents and young children, trees, the occasional dog. Then we return home, to the nursery, where we settle into evening and finally to bed.

Is this normal? I don't know. Should I be getting out twice per day? The idea is exhausting. Squeak and Squish need their freedom of movement and play during the brief times they are awake. I don't want them strapped into a carseat all day long. And while I can feed them out and about, I prefer not to, since feeding one at a time kind of messes with the schedule (big post on that coming up). Meanwhile, it usually takes me til 1pm to get dressed and have a meal.

So. The world is small. And lonesome, if I'm being honest.

It's more than geography though. Community is what expands our horizons and makes us feel needed. When I go to a job outside my home, I enter a community where many people are counting on me, asking me questions, including me in news and plans. I'm a part of a larger effort.

The limited shape of my routine and interactions can make me forget that what I am doing is not small at all. For their first year of life, I am able to be a full-time mother to my children. What could be bigger than that? Yet, it is a private, solitary endeavor.

At home I'm the captain of a very small crew, sailing alone through strange seas.

Aw hell. I'm not even the captain.

I'm lucky to live in a pedestrian-friendly neighborhood. When elderly folks stop to admire Squeak and Squish, I let them coo for as long as they wish. I chat a little, hear their advice and stories if they offer them. I realize they must feel outside of society too. Usually it's a little awkward, because we both seem to want to linger, but have nothing to say. Perhaps I should be bold and engage folks with some questions and light conversation.

Perhaps that's where community starts - having the courage to stop and make a little connection.

In It

I'm two months into motherhood and I'm in deep, my friends.

I have the good fortune to take a year off from my job to be with my little ones full time. While distancing myself from my professional life, I've sought out a new community of mothers (and some fathers), both in person and through blogs. I attend a local Parents of Multiples group, and regularly troll the Internet for funny, interesting blogs that make me feel, during a 3am feeding, that I'm joining the ranks of the many moms out there who are struggling to do it all correctly (on 2 hours of sleep).

I've been lurking so much and so often, I figure it's time to put my 2¢ out there. Maybe my words will help someone as others have helped me.

Or maybe I just need a place to put my many rantings. Probably the second one.

My brother-in-law (God love him) had enough of a sense of humor to ask me if I've been quilting lately. Uh, no. I haven't been sleeping, eating with two hands, or flossing daily. I will quilt again! But for a while, I'm going to be present to this once-in-a-lifetime (I assure you) adventure, and write some of it down here so I don't forget it and accidentally think I want more kids.

In the interest of maintaining a semblance of privacy, the babies will be known heretofore as Squish (the little snuggler) and Squeak (who was born making a whole barnyard of sounds). Maybe it will save them the embarrassment of being googled by a future employer and having the details of their newborn poops show up. Not that I'll write about poop exclusively, but you know.

When I started this blog a year and a half ago (what!?), it felt like a risk. Writing about something so personal as my adventures in motherhood is a risk too. But carpe diem and all that. If we don't tell our own stories, who will?