A quick update from Baby Central. How “quick” it is depends on the length of this nap currently in progress. You’ll know when the divine miss M has awakened because this post will come to a quick and abrupt en—







Just kidding.

So the other night I had that old dream about being in college, having signed up for a required class that I promptly forgot about. I got there midway through the semester and there was this major assignment due, an oral report, which I hadn’t done. (Everyone in blogland is nodding at this point, eh?) OK, well just as the prof is about to call on me to present my report, R comes in with the senior pastor of Suburban Pres and they’re bringing in baby M because it’s time for her to nurse. And I think, “Oh yeah, I left her at home. Whoops.” So I’m trying to nurse this baby and BS my way through this assignment at the same time.

I woke up and thought, “Superb. Two anxiety dreams for the price of one.”

Gee RM, might you be a little worried about juggling work and family once MaDear leaves (February) and maternity leave ends (early April)?

Hey look, the Contrived Writing Device is back! Say hello everyone!

But seriously, the answer is yes… my cocoon of post-partum bliss is occasionally invaded by quasi-panicky thoughts of how everything’s going to fit together. While lying bleary-eyed in bed each morning, I hear the clank of plates and cups being unloaded from dishwasher to cabinets by my mother, and I look at the basket of fresh folded laundry she’s placed at the foot of the bed the night before, and I think None of that would be happening if she weren’t here. And I’m even *home* full time! My occasional freak-outs regarding too much to do and too little time are well documented here so I won’t get into that again.

A friend from seminary, a solo pastor in a southern state, recently shared that she is leaving her church in order to be a full-time stay-at-home mom to her two kids, a baby and a toddler around C’s age. Granted, the church sounded really unhealthy, and I support whatever decision she needs to make for the good of herself and her family, but I do feel a little pang of loneliness when I hear it. I get a lot of strength from my fellow clergy-moms and I’m sad there will be one fewer out there. For the record, while I’m enjoying myself at the moment, I’m not feeling at all called to stay at home myself—my guess is that by early April I will be ready to get back into the mix, albeit gradually—but I do feel a certain impending “Oh shit” coming on.

At the same time, I had this counter-thought while falling asleep last night that gave me a lot of peace and put it all in perspective—the realization that I’m 34 now. In all the excitement of the last couple weeks, we did celebrate my birthday but the significance of it got lost. I am solidly in my mid-30s now, I was thinking last night, and it feels good, and at the same time, this is the only life I get, so I should really spend less time worrying about stuff that, in the final analysis, just doesn’t matter. By the way, that is the very definition of an “aha/duh” moment. Every time I am tempted to get stressed about laundry I need to think about that. One Life to Live. It’s not just a cheesy soap opera.

Incidentally…
(uh-oh, baby M’s nap has gone on TOO LONG! enough time for RM to start ranting!)

Is anyone else already sick of the aging Boomers stuff in the media? Some of my most beloved family and friends are Boomers, but geez, you’d think they were the first generation ever to reach the age of 60. Gag. I’m glad that people are finding joy and excitement at the second half of life, I really am, but why does it have to be described do disparagingly of anyone who hasn't reached the magical milestone? When the boomers hit 50, life began at 50. Now, life begins at 60. Gag again.

Gail Sheehy, who has written several books about the adult life cycle, has a new book about the “seasoned woman.” She wrote this in last week’s Parade Magazine (the ultimate source for thoughtful analysis, I know):

A Seasoned woman is spicy. She has been marinated in life experience. Like a complex wine, she can be alternately sweet, tart, sparkling, mellow. She can be maternal and playful. Assured, alluring and resourceful. She is less likely than a younger woman to have an agenda–no biological clock ticktocking beside her lover’s bed, no campaign to lead him to the altar, no rescue fantasies. The seasoned woman knows who she is.

Triple gag.

Guess what, Gail Sheehy? I’m 34, my only agenda is to live an authentic life the best way I can, and I know exactly who I am.

And as if on cue, baby M is starting to stir. Post it, mommy.