On the quest for perfection....Warning: LONG...

So, today was a less-than-perfect day. Matthias was a bit fussy this morning, and I figured that as long as he had a good poop, a good burp, and a good feed, he would be ready for his new adventure--hanging out at the school for an hour while I taught music to the entire student body of three siblings.

Matthias accomplished the good burp and the good feeding, so we took off. I had a jam-packed, musical hour planned. Twenty minutes of music making, followed by twenty of music theory, followed by twenty of music appreciation.  Perfect, I thought. I should have all my bases covered. When I arrived, though, I visited with the students for about 20 minutes while their teacher took a phone call. After all, I hadn't seen the kids since May, kids I've spent nine months each year for the past 5 years. We had some catching up to do.

The teacher got off the phone with the "powers that be" at the state education department who were displeased that some certain form hadn't been filled out in a certain way or on a certain date or something (I got soooo many of those calls!).  I handed her my little baby bundle and figured on entertaining them with some review songs. Before long, I heard Matthias' customary scream of displeasure. I was really surprised, since I had successfully left him with a grandma-friend during my set at the Miles City bluegrass festival the weekend before.  Maybe I hadn't fed him enough...or maybe that burp left a gigantic space in his belly that could only be satisifed by me. So I fed him, and the students went back to their schoolwork.

By the time I got back to my guitar, Matthias had started screaming once more. Long story short, he decided he wanted Mommy today, and only Mommy. We sang a few songs, and that was the music class for the day. I was disappointed.

That got me to thinking this evening about we humans' quest for perfection. We plan--or try to plan--everything in our lives down to each ridiculous minute. I was going to teach music today, and that was that. I was going to jam in Miles City until 9:30, and that was that. Other than those things, I have found myself refreshingly unperfectionistic lately.  But I remember the days that I wasn't, and how hard it was. I remember teaching and reteaching concepts, only to have them met with blank stares. "(student) is a fourth grader," I thought. "(student) should know the difference between a small and a capital L." Today I found out that student, now a fair bit older, still hasn't mastered the concept.

There was the day that I would have gone home feeling like a failure. I wanted music to go differently. I wanted my student to learn his "L's." What could have I done to help Matthias feel at ease? Why did I fail?
That feeling extended into the rest of my life, as well, trying product after product because "this" was going to make my hair/skin/house/health perfect! All I ended up with was a closet full of junk that I never used.

No more! Whatever I could have done to keep Matthias from screaming, I didn't do it. Next time will be better. However I could have drilled it into my student's head to recognize the Ls, I didn't do it. He learned to excel at many other things. I didn't fail. No magic product is going to make my hair keep from breaking or my floors from getting dirty, either.

So many times I see people seeking perfection in every single thing. I used to wonder why I couldn't be more like that...learn not to make mistakes. Learn to try harder. Especially when perfection-seekers hinted that, whatever went wrong, could have been prevented if I had (fill in the blank). What I ended up learning is that there's no such thing as perfection in our lives here on Earth, and no amount of beating ourselves up will create it. A perfect day can happen, but it's not made by my own plans. Whatever I did beforehand, it wasn't preventable by the time that things stopped going according to plan.  If there's anything having a child has taught me, it's that perfection has nothing to do with life going according to plan.

The Good Book

This is the book of which I speak. Not to be confused with the real Good Book, which Matthias will also get plenty of.

 This is the face he gets--one of the faces he gets--when the book is read to him.

Okay, maybe it looks like he's less than thrilled. I don't have the knack with a camera that my sister does, so most of his photos end up with him looking scared or somewhat drugged. But in the tiny thumbnail that I previewed while choosing a picture, he looked exceedingly happy. Let's try again!

Nope. Moving on, let me tell you about the book that has been Matthias' favorite since he was about 4 or 5 weeks old. That's when he started smiling every time we read him the book. The title is How Big? and follows a predictable pattern of "Baby (animal) is So Big! How big is baby?" (lift flap to reveal picture of baby) "So Big!" His favorite animal is "Baby Penguin." He lights up and coos every time he sees the little, black-and-white cartoon guy.

I have been working on getting him to smile and coo with glee while I record him, but, as with his photographs, you're going to have to take my word for it. He really does demonstrate pure glee when he reads this book! Great-Auntie Linda has some pictures that might show better proof, but until I have those, the above ones will have to serve as proof.

When the lights go out...

I have heard of planned power outages before, and always thought it was a good idea that they're usually in the middle of the night. That was before Matthias!

It started when I woke up last night to pitch blackness. No clock, no light on in the hall, nothing. I felt disoriented, my north felt "west," etc. But Matthias was sleeping. I used to freak out if I woke up to pitch blackness, but thankfully that old anxiety has passed.

Then I heard the characteristic "uh, uh, uh" coming from his bassinet. "Shhhhh," I whispered (because that's about all I could say....I've been dealing with some laryngitis from the dusty harvest grain). Matthias persisted, until I opened the shade to let in some starlight and groped around to find him.  By now Mom had awakened and I had begun having difficulty attaching him to my "feeding apparatus" in the pitch darkness. Mom brought a welcome flashlight, and Matthias was able to eat.

He ate, and I took him out to rock in the living room so he could go to sleep. All of a sudden I heard a strange noise coming from him, and I was covered with spit up, along with Matthias' gown. Mom once again came to the rescue with a flashlight, and we got him changed.

Since he had spit up so much, I figured I'd better fill him up again. Matthias spit up again, but thankfully missed himself and me. I put him in his bassinet and settled in for a blissful early-morning sleep. Then I heard it. It wasn't a dry one, but a wet one. Moms, you know what I'm talking about. I wrestled with my conscience, thinking that it MAY have POSSIBLY been dry....but I supposed I should check. My hand met nasty wetness as I picked him up, and a flashlight to the bassinet confirmed my suspicions. Enter Mom with the flashlight, and we began changing him in the dark.

Unfortunately, Matthias had another out-of-diaper experience....and another. Mom held 2 flashlights and I attempted to wipe Matthias' entire back, up to his neck. But we ran out of wipes. (Did I mention the power was still out? No lights, no water, no wipes.) I used the meager amount of water from the spigot to wet a washcloth, threw the dirty changing pad on the floor, and continued to clean Little Guy. Then I stepped on the changing pad!! Mom and I erupted with laughter and got Matthias his third gown of the night.

It was 6 am by my timepiece when I finally got to bed. This was one of those evenings that I dreaded before I had children. How did it turn into something I would write gleefully about and laugh about in the morning? (although 6 a.m. used to be my "morning")

You're probably thinking that this blog should be renamed Adventures with Baby Poop or something. I find it quite apt a subject, considering little boys are generally amused by such matters, although I'm pretty sure it's not something I want to encourage. I guess I've got to get it out of my system now!

Who needs underwear? aka...A fun weekend in Miles City

Okay, perhaps the title grabbed you, and perhaps you figured I'm going to tell you about fun times I had at the Miles City Bucking Horse Sale. If you did, you're wrong. In fact, I've never been to the Bucking Horse Sale, and though I begged my husband to take me back when we were dating, he refused. Too much wild partying.

But I do love to spend time in Miles City, and this time I was visiting my friend Hannah and celebrating the release of my friend Erin's new CD, American Siberia, on which my fiddle playing can be heard on a couple of tracks. (sales pitch: If you're interested, let me know! I can hook you up!) It was a delightful evening in a small coffee shop/cafe, with an appreciative crowd, good acoustics, excellent musical company, and gigantic bowls of blueberry cobbler to boot.

Matthias stayed with Grammy, who was kind enough to drive down to MC with me, in Erin's apartment, which Erin was kind enough to open to a grandma, nursing mother, and baby.

It was fun to play with Erin and Keith again. Erin used to live around the corner from me in Sidney before she moved to MC, and Keith lives in California, so I treasure each time we get to play. To add to the fun, I was able to practice with the band Milestown, of which I am a part, the next morning.

You're wondering about the underwear. Okay, I'll tell you. I was getting all packed up to go, which is rather stressful with an infant. It's not quite as stressful as with a pet, but still quite stressful. (Side story: I once went to my parents' house with a rabbit, a kitten I was nursing with a bottle, and my horse. It was raining/sleeting the whole way home. Not fun with a horse trailer, a mewing kitten, and a rabbit angrily "thumping" in his cage.) Anyway, it's a lot easier to get diapers (or maybe use leaves) if you run out/forget them than it is to find the exact kind of hay, the right kitten formula, or rabbit litter.

You're still wondering about the underwear. Okay. Well, anyway, I have been astounded at Matthias' growth lately, and since I'm one who is used to wearing clothes to shreds before replacing them, I figured I'd do the same with baby clothes. But it's impossible! He outgrows them too fast! So I was going through his clothes and just couldn't decide what I wanted him to wear before he outgrew it....So.....

This happened. I didn't realize how much I had actually packed for him to wear for a simple overnight trip. Oops. No problem, except that I forgot to pack myself a change of underwear, socks, and pajamas. I also figured on wearing the same jeans the next day, which isn't a good plan because you might spill something on those jeans!

Matthias was entirely unaffected by my clothes gaffe, and enjoyed his time in Miles City (who doesn't enjoy a trip to Miles City? They have the Rib & Chop House, Murdoch's, shave ice, old buildings . . . ). I was thankful our hotel had a blow dryer for me to dry my clothes that I'd washed the night before, and that there was a Wal-Mart right down the road where I could get a pair of socks since I couldn't get them dry enough to wear. There may be a short time period in which I could conceivably fit in my son's clothes in a pinch, but I'm not going to count on it. I've just got to figure out how to be a better packer. But as I told my mom, at least I didn't forget my toothbrush this time!

Out-of-diaper experiences

So, last night was pretty good. Matthias finished gorging himself at 10ish, and I went to make Jon's lunch because I've finally figured out that it takes 2 or 3 trips to the crib to put his pacifier back in before he really, truly settles.

I didn't awaken until 3! Matthias had gone 5 hours without food! That was worth the rough evening of constant eating. He ate until about 3:30, switched sides, ate some more, and then began to poop. Now, you experienced parents are going to laugh at me for even thinking of changing him right away, but I had two things on my mind: getting back to bed, and not wanting to leave my child in his own feces for too long. If I went back to sleep hanging over the crib, that might have happened. So I decided to take the gamble. Poop roulette, really. Sure enough, the projectile poop came just as I had removed the old diaper,  but Grammy taught me such a handy trick that all of it still went into the diaper; crib and sleeper were left unharmed.

I quickly got the new diaper on. By this time Matthias was blissfully sleeping and let out a blissful, long toot. Well, dangit. I didn't want to turn the light on and wake him up, so I got to thinking of the old days at the Dakota Theatre (not "theater", also known by some as the "show hall. Gonna resurrect that term, I think. Anyway....). I'm sure my sister can remember Steve or one of the high school employees coming around with a red-tinted flashlight, flashing it at those hoodlums in the back row who were wearing caps, talking, had their feet on the seats in front of them, etc. I went and got my flashlight, and in movie-theater style did my inspection. "Any poop in there?" I whispered. None! I couldn't believe my good fortune as I went back to bed.....

and lay there. I couldn't get back to sleep! My 4 consecutive hours had so energized me that I couldn't get back to sleep! I started thinking of this blog post and of solutions to the problems associated with the oil field. Sometime around 4:30 I drifted off and dreamed I was with many of my high school classmates performing a dance routine for the Olympics, or maybe America's Got Talent.

Matthias slept until 6:30ish, when we repeated the routine from the middle of the night (the diaper routine, not the dance routine). This time the poop landed everywhere....mostly my hand, but also the towel and on him. I reached for a wipe and he began peeing. Speaking of which, Maria, how do you properly clean a Sleep Sheep? Not that any of your kids would have ever peed on him. Just wait for that. But when all was said and done, Matthias seemed to have enjoyed his out-of-diaper experiences, and cooed and smiled gleefully.

For your enjoyment, here's a random picture of Matthias from about a month ago.

Wanted: Stinky Mommy

So, for the past 8 weeks I've been priding myself on how "easy-going" and just plain "easy" Matthias is. He is smily, sweet and loves to coo. He only cries if he's hungry, gassy, or has a poopy diaper. He loves books, stuffed animals, eating, music (specifically bluegrass and old country), riding in his swing, cuddling, eating, his bath, being kissed, eating, being tickled....phew! In this past week he has progressed to a refreshing 3-hour eating schedule. Last night he even went 4 hours! Wow, I say! I must have even gotten 8 hours of sleep (in increments) last night. Right now Matthias and I are having a gleeful conversation on the floor.

Why, then, does he also want to have a smelly mother? It's beyond me. You see, Matthias protests loudly whenever I hit the shower....and I mean loudly. I generally feed him, settle him in with Jon, and make a break for the soapy goodness and alone time. It's always about the time my hair is soapy with shampoo that I hear the first cries. Of course I know he just ate and that his daddy isn't pinching him, but I can't help but hurry up a bit. Maybe he is still hungry. Maybe...well, the only thing his dad can't provide for him is food. So he must still be hungry. To be fair, he is usually happy by the time I get out of the shower, but he has been crying, and that is something I never understood until actually having a baby--that if he is crying, he must be comforted immediately. His crying is actually both emotionally and physically painful to me! How marvelously God made us mothers to care so much for our babies, huh?

Anyway, he didn't do this when I left him with his dad so I could ride horse. He doesn't do this when I go do laundry and snuggle my cat downstairs. He only does this when I hit the shower, regradless of the time of day. So I can only conclude that he is a "back to nature" type who would rather smell his mother's armpits than her Bath & Body Works.

Me? A Parent?

So, it's likely that none of the following is going to come as any surprise to any parent out there, so this is truly not an original post with any kind of original ideas--just my affirmation and acknowledgement of things already presented to me. Really, I should be taking a nap, since I haven't had one today. But it seems like every time I lie down to rest, I get to thinking of these things I think I need to write down.

I definitely can say I did not enter motherhood unwillingly. In fact, being a full-time, stay-at-home mother was my vision for an ideal life from the time I was in college (and probably before). However, dreams don't seem to always be the "ideal" that we envision. Sometimes, however, they do surprise us--like my five-year gig at the country school. I went into it with the attitude that I would enjoy it for a year, but there must be drawbacks. Indeed, I look back and I think about the challenges I faced and can't imagine doing it again. But at the time I knew there was nothing in the world I would rather be doing. Even then I knew it would be a temporary job; I just didn't know how long it would last. But I enjoyed every minute.

My eagerness to abandon school after every 9-month term, along with my satisfaction knowing it was a temporary position concerned me when it came to the idea of having a family. Sure, I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, but did I really know what that meant? Even the job I loved beyond belief was temporary, able to be declined at contract renewal time if I deemed it desirable. This motherhood thing, I was told, is 24/7. For one, I honestly, truly am not a "kid" person. Despite the risk of sounding like a horrible person, I will leave that explanation for some other time. Suffice it to say that I enjoy being around well-mannered children in small doses and don't enjoy feeling like I either have to raise someone else's kids or bite a hole in my tongue.

That being said, how could I possibly have my own children? I, who shirk at the idea of wiping a poopy butt, shiver and wipe my hand at the contact of teething drool; I, who am prone to grin and say "cute" to the picture of a baby, while thinking it looks the same as the other 10 babies on Facebook? I, who could barely function on 8 hours of straight sleep?

You're probably thinking that it was an incredibly irresponsible decision for someone like me to procreate. Indeed, I had my doubts a long time before the pregnancy.  I saw how tired and drug-out my "mommy" peers were. The discussion of bodily fluids emitted by these tiny creatures scared me. The very idea of labor and giving birth was a combination of some of my worst fears.

But somehow I kept hearing over and over again, "It's different when they're your own." I clung to that idea as we began our journey toward parenthood, and it has rung true, indescribably true.

I knew it was true when they put my crying, gooey baby Matthias in my arms and he became silent, gazing at me. I knew it was true when we brought him home and he began to pee, fountain-style, on the bedspread and I reached my hand up to block the stream. I know it's true at night, when it's the third time I've been up with him and I finally get to sleep, but rather than run back to bed I stand in awe of how indescribably precious he is.

Wow. That got long. Anyway, the whole start of this lengthy post began when I went to take a nap, as Matthias was also sleeping. He made a sweet little "purr" type noise in his sleep, and my heart melted, thinking that, instead of looking forward to a school year ending and getting some "me" time, I can look forward to every new thing I'll learn about him as he grows, all the challenges and changes we face, and remember that each challenge is temporary. Someday he'll sleep through the night; but by then he won't be tiny like this. Someday he'll talk, but he'll no longer coo and smile his toothless grin. I remind myself of this at 2 a.m. when I'm feeding him...that every day I do this is one less day to enjoy a tiny baby and one step toward enjoying an older child. Despite the challenges, each stage must be enjoyed to its fullest.