I don’t know if I’ve been on solid ground for year now. Years.

Almost four years ago I began my pregnancy with Pitter. Hello, hormones. Hello happy hormones. My regular old low-level depression took a welcome hiatus during most of those nine months, and I really enjoyed how even-keeled I felt (so did Sweet Cheeks).

Labor, recovery, and the roller coaster of breastfeeding and sleepless nights (or The World as I Now Know It) sucked the happiness right out of me. As did moving from Boston to Indy. Ahem. There was a stretch of therapy in there, as some of you might recall.

Eighteen months after I had Pitter, I was pregnant with Patter, and still breastfeeding. The hormones were less kind this time. I felt better than I did before therapy, but probably no better than back to my low-level depression. Hey, better than the depths of despair, right? Mostly I was tired. Deliriously tired.

Along came Patter, and since his delivery was so empowering and enthralling, I had a less difficult time for the first few months of his life. Oh, but my hormones were still the requisite mess.

And now, still breastfeeding 14 months into Patter’s life, I am still on a hormonal roller coaster. I feel like I’ve re-entered my teenage years where I am UNNATURALLY ENTHRALLED with the sexiness of certain vampires in True Blood and also able to cry at THE DROP OF A HAT when Marines are blown up in Iraq or some poor girl’s murdered remains from 50 years ago are finally identified.

I ate my way through October. It’s a lovely month, all oranges and swirling blue skies. And yet I’d like to not repeat it in November. So what do I need? More lightbox? Any lightbox? More exercise, probably. More kindness to myself. But it is so hard for me with the literal winter darkness descending upon us. In October it begins its slow creep into my pores until it seems that every last bit of the regular me is snuffed out. The “regular me.” Ha. Whatever that means anymore.

How do you deal with the hormonal curves/seasonal waves in your life? How do you remember the light is always there, even if it’s dancing electric in the distance behind you, just beyond reach?

(Dear Diary)

March 22, 1987

Hi! You haven’t heard from me in a year! Unbelievable! I hate writing “beginner” entries, because they are so akward [sic], and I know that in a year or two, Shana and I will be rolling on the floor over them.

It is embarassing [sic], knowing that what you deeply feel at the present will be a huge joke in a year.

Well, I guess I’d better get started introducing myself…again!

I’m in the 7th grade, my crushes are…

Mark M. 8th grade

Kevin K. 8th grade

Andrew B. 8th grade–[And yet I married a slightly younger man. Shows you never know, eh?]

If any of them ask me out, or show the slightest bit of interest, you will certainly be informed.

President Reagan and his IRAN SCANDAL have been exposed for about 3 months, and he is forgiven (you might say). [Har]

My birthday is on Wednesday, I’ll be 13! I got my ears pierced on the 7th–MARCH 7, 1987! [Mark that one down in the history books, folks.]

OKLAHOMA is the school play this year and of course I’m in the Ensemble. It’s on the 26th and 27th! [And a review was written up in the New York Times Arts Section later in the month, of course.]

My favorites (currently)

Movies:

Some Kind of Wonderfull [sic]

Breakfast Club

16 Candels [sic]

Pretty in Pink

Stand By Me (I’ve never seen it!) [Uh, what?]

Tapes: [Ha!]

BANGLES

Stand By Me

CATS [No comment.]

Well, now I’ve got to go now…

I have to study for my Social Studies Quarterly tomorrow on U.S. Territorial Expansion.

Woopeeeeeeeeee! [This was sarcasm. In case you missed it.]

Spiderman and his sidekick

+++++

We went to a Fall Festival this weekend, where I temporarily lost my mind and entered Patter in a 2-and-younger costume contest. Earlier in the afternoon everyone–and I mean everyone–we walked past commented on how SO CUTE SO ADORABLE OH LOOK AT THAT LITTLE SPIDER he was. It got to my head, I suppose.

Although none of the other five contestants wore hand-made outfits either, I felt like a bit of a fraud entering a contest with a store bought costume, since my own mother was crafty enough to crochet Raggedy-Ann yarn wigs for me back in the day. Store-bought costumes should be illegal in these contests, don’t you think?

+++++

Caught in a web

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As I stood on the park’s gazebo and shared Patter’s name and age with the small crowd via microphone, I wondered what the hell had gotten into me. Patter was clearly too young to even know what was going on, too young to care about the prizes. Plus, Miss Teen Indiana and her fabulous entourage were judging the contest. I had entered my kid in a cuteness contest, which is one step away from a beauty contest.

And…we lost to a newborn in a fluffy kitten contest, a princess, and a dog (who had pushed Patter down on a climber a mere 20 minutes earlier). We did not even place as a runner up! Slightly shocked–I mean, he was clearly just as cute a baby, as the others, right?!–I did my best to squash my newfound-inner-pageant-mom disappointment and made my way off the gazebo.

Then Patter, who had not seemed to care an iota about the whole damn thing, let out a holy shriek and writhed his way out of my arms. He scuttled around behind the winners and found a small pail of signed Miss Indiana photos nestled against against a pillar. And then–I kid you not–Patter grabbed as many of the pictures as he could and started ripping them and tossing them about.

Seems a certain spider didn’t appreciate losing after all.

Composure regained

I pull into the garage after half an hour of  driving. Patter is fast asleep in his car seat. In the rearview mirror I see Pitter’s stubborn stare. He falls asleep about half  the time these days.

And it’s not his fault that there is a snake of frustration, exhaustion, and unhappiness coiled in my chest. It’s not his fault that I am suddenly crying, my head pressed against the filthy steering wheel.

But he says, “Mommy. You need to take a breath.”

And I do.

And he says, “Mommy, it will be okay.”

And I say, “Thank you, Pitter.”

And I tell him he’s right.

Lately I haven’t been feeling at home in my skin or here or anywhere. But also maybe I’ve been processing, even though I’m not writing, and that I may be close to spitting the snake out. Like maybe I’m transforming into another me altogether.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Somebody’s at the door

I don’t even live here anymore

The sky is cobalt and bright/muddy and dim and I awake to Patter’s giggly squee/Pitter’s sing-song “Time to get up!” I am ready for it/head-achy/energized/exhausted after a night of two/three/four?! interruptions. Downstairs we change diapers, make coffee, and peel bananas. This is always the same.

We go to the Children’s Museum/The Zoo/the local Library/the local playground/the farther away playground/our own playroom and the morning flies by/drudges along like tar. I am creative/cranky/shouty/gentle/competent/belligerent with the boys until it’s time for food. And then I make the requisite drive betwixt the cornfields to get them to sleep. This is always the same.

In the afternoon, the glass in the new front doors is a prism and the western light throws rainbows across the dusty living room floors. The boys destroy our bookshelves/play together with cars on the floor/fight mercilessly. I look at my watch and it is always 3pm. I have my daily existential crisis/feel guilty and useless as a parent/kill time on the internet/fail as an art teacher/fail at building a train track that will remain intact for more than an hour. Late afternoon sucks away at my soul.

I have lost my way and I am reading books about Buddhism/Christianity/Parenting/Self Help on Particular Topics. I try to decompress with runs/video workouts while the boys scream around me/20 minutes of yoga snuck in at nap time/handfuls of Hershey’s Kisses that I eat out of my pockets at the park.

I think about creating a life map and imagine what it is I want my life to look like when I am 40. I come to the realization that all this time reading and writing blogs about parenthood has me amazed/jealous/dejected/enlightened/befriended/joyous/empty/relieved/frustrated. And I also realize it is time to stop soon/now, for a while/forever.