The Subject of Breastfeeding

Ok....let's just tackle one of the biggest subjects of conversation with pregnant women - breastfeeding. I'm not sure what happens to your brain when your milk comes in, but apparently, you are somehow inducted into a genetic cult that supports breastfeeding. When you become pregnant, people (even men, strangely) will ask you "Do you plan to breastfeed?" Since when did other people's mothers and strangers become the breastfeeding police? They are like the Breastfeeding Gustapo or Mommy Inquisition. As a matter of fact, I don't want to discuss my breasts with you! And, why do you care - get a life!

To me, breastfeeding is a weird phenomenon. Not, that it's biologically odd; the biology makes perfect sense to me. We are mammals after all; not much different than cows and gorillas when it comes to this sort of thing. The oddity of it all is the passion behind breastfeeding. Women gush about how it was the most bonding experience. They are like religious zealots talking to a potential convert. Even the medical books support the movement, blah blah about the bonding experience of breastfeeding, forget about the medical benefits (I get those too). I just want to yell, back off boobie police!

Okay, enough already! I'm glad that we can produce the "stuff" that our baby needs on demand. Pretty, cool. Biologically unique....no. Is my baby going to love me more? I doubt it. Just ask me in a few months and we'll see if I've been converted.

The OTHER side (of the family)

Everyone loves to tell the pregnant couple that it's their last holiday alone. It's like they wish they could pipe in some doom and gloom music for emphasis when they disperse their "wisdom" to you. There was nothing unique to us about these holidays. In fact, they kind of sucked. My sister is deployed in Iraq; my brother passed on two years ago in an accident. So, it's just Mom, me and Granny this year. Oh, yeah, and ALL of my husband's family.

I've never really complained too much about J's family (he may disagree); my mother tells me that its just my pregnancy hormones right now (a nice, neutral comment from my mother). But, they are all driving me crazy. First, it was declared by the daughter in laws that J's family is a holiday hog. They ALL still live in the same area and they get together for every major and minor holiday known to man - and then some. They dominate the big ones - Thanksgiving day, Christmas eve, Christmas day and even the more minor ones - Easter, July 4th. They even try to monopolize Mother's Day. Who does that? And, that doesn't include the birthday lunches or other family crap you get sucked into - so and so is in town and everybody wants to get together. Basically, they do not share well. It's so hard to barter for holidays, because they have done this for YEARS. The thought of having a baby in the same city will all of these people gives me endless heartburn. I think of the countless events I'll have to attend and invite them to. It's so hard for us to have a party with just our friends - we have to tell them it's for "young people" so they understand.

Having been raised by an independent, single mother who lived two states away from her siblings and cousins, J's family are like Martians to me. It is SO tiring to be around them ALL of the time. They want to know all of your business. Heck, J's grandmother tells me that I am carrying her baby. Who knew it worked like that! With the baby coming in just a few months, I feel like I'm preparing for battle. I keep repeating to myself "they will not come over unannounced"; "I will not back down"; "next year, I'm going to see my family on the day of the actual holiday". I'm afraid I'm going to spew curse words that J's grandmother has never heard before. That, or enter into some type of Poltergeist moment where my head spins around. At this point, I'm leaning toward whichever one is more effective.

Anyway, all of this drama is distracting me from the fact that I'm having a baby! Maybe we should move....

New Project

Well, it's been a while since I last wrote. I believe that if I leave this blog for purely academic/philosophical arguments, I will not be using it very much. I am, in fact, philosophical only about 25% of the time.

So, I am christening this blog to be my journal over the next 365 days or so as I journey into new motherhood. I am pregnant (currently 30 weeks) with our first boy - due Feb. 17. We have had a difficult time staying pregnant; this is our third time around. So, I'm not your typical first-time mom. I lack the innocent joy associated with being pregnant. What a depressing thing to say? Don't get me wrong; I am VERY excited to be having a baby and I wish he would get here tomorrow safe and sound. But, after you've experienced loss with multiple pregnancies, it feels like you won't be able to breathe until the baby actually gets here. I've been protecting myself from feeling too much, I think - I've disassociated myself as much as I could in order to keep my sanity. And, I think that's a sane thing to do.

Anyway, as I am nearing our target date of February 17th, the reality of how much my life is going to change is coming over me in waves. Not only am I going to become a mom and J and I are going to start our own family, but I am also taking an extended leave of absence from work (unbeknownst to my co-workers - not my bosses). That, in and of itself, is quite unsettling. I can't picture myself without this career identity.

I thought this online journal would be a good exercise to document my baby's first year, my transformation into a Mom and the journey into the unknown as a "stay at home" person. Am I going to find my calling during this year? Will I love being a mother so much that I become super MOM; will I dream up a new small business; will I uncover a deep seeded dream and pursue another career; will I lose all of this baby weight (and a few more pounds); or, will I watch daytime television faithfully and gain an additional 15 pounds? I'm excited, thrilled and terrified. It might be the trifecta of a good story. We'll see.

Not all who wander are lost

It turns out that the bumper sticker notoriously found on obnoxiously optimistic people's old Subarus may be correct....not all who wander are lost. Dredlocks not required, the mantra speaks to our internal navigational system that directs us not in a straight line to our destiny, but in a zig-zag, roundabout path to our future.

I was reminded of this bumper sticker, and the people who decorate their cars with them, by a recent article in Oprah Magazine, "The Art of Perfect Timing" by Martha Beck (December 2009, pg. 81). The article discusses how some people seem to have everything fall into place for them. They are always in the right place at the right time. While others, and I tend to fall into this camp despite how many books by the Dalai Lama I read, seem to think they are always a day late and a dollar short. It is kind of annoying to be around these "bright side of life" people, especially when you want to wallow in the mire of your own self-loathing and desire someone to shake fists with you at the open sky. You lose cool points (otherwise known as your dignity), by trying to throw a temper tantrum, because the universe has closed a door on you.

Perhaps some of our behavior can be explained by our culture's faith in unlimited personal domination. I was raised in a society that told its members that there are no limits in business, in science, in the universe, anything, period. Of course, we are learning and reaping the consequences of such a "king of the hill" policy on life. But, it caused individuals, like myself and my peers, to be eternally disappointed in ourselves because we weren't #1 in our class, attend best schools, drive the best car, go to the best clubs or have the best body. This mirage of "Ideal Being" hovered above each of us, darkening our personal achievements and self-worth.

The writer in the article notes scientific evidence that supports an idea that the human brain is actually quite receptive to picking up and deciphering through clues by citing How We Decide by Jonah Lehrer. "The calculating part of the human brain, Lehrer writes, "is like a computer operating system that was rushed to market. " It's slow, clunky, prone to error - at least compared with the brain region associated with emotions. This highly developed area "has been exquisitively refined by evolution...so it can make fast decisions based on very little information." Essentially, I've been performing manual override on my brain in a vain attempt to "control" my life. All the while, I've had a superior product on-the-shelf gathering dust!

As I contemplate this discovery, I find myself thinking about my dreadlock friends and their bumper sticker mantra. They weren't unmotivated or misdirected as I previously labeled them. They were internally driven, trusting their own subtle clues about where they should go next. For those of us who like to worry, we need to remind ourselves to hum along to Bob Marley's relaxing reggae tunes..."None but ourselves can free our mind."

Recognizing the self within

About two weeks ago, NPR did a story with an existential slant.  I wish I knew which religious/humanist leader they were interviewing, but he made a point that I’ve been thinking about ever since.  He said that in our society today, very few people take the time to recognize the self within (their soul).  People are just too preoccupied with their outer self, the job they do have or are supposed to have; the lifestyle they want to portray to their peers.  There is this huge laundry list of “stuff I have to accomplish in order to be defined” that we don’t have any time, energy or interest in examining what may be stirring when we are not.  We, as an entire society, have decided to opt-out of defining ourselves.  We don’t look within for guidance, direction or answers.  We just “plug-in” to society and download our pre-defined purpose: 1) do good in school (be popular and athletic) 2) go to college (have fun) 3) get a job working for a large conglomerate (public or private) 4) work your butt off 5) get an advanced degree (MBA preferred) 6) work butt off even harder 7) tangentially raise kids and participate in a marriage 8) accumulate wealth and display it (even if you charge it) 9) lose butt to credit card companies 10) end up an empty shell.  Well, maybe not this extreme, but FAR too many people jump on these lily pads across the pond of life.

How would our individual lives be enhanced if we spent just a fraction more time contemplating our own unique purpose in life?  (Surely everyone doesn’t need an MBA or law degree, right?) How would our culture be improved?  Our consumption culture creates for us a giant hamster wheel, and most of us just slave along hoping to get our cheese (or, after a long, long run retire to the “good life” where there is plenty of wood shavings where we can rest our well-worked out butt).  What would happen if we actually just jumped off the wheel?  Shouldn’t we at least be asking ourselves “Is this what I want to sign up for?”

Totally unrelated, except for the reference to the hamsters, I totally love the new Kia commercial.

The Topic of Self-Actualization

"Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking" is a coming of age poem by W. Whitman.

This poem is about Whitman finding his calling as a poet, inspired by the longing calls from the he-bird to his missing mate. Whitman was not haunted by the longing of his brother. Instead, he identifies with the callings in a way that connects him with his soul or "original self", thereby connecting him with the eternal. He experiences "self-actualization" in the experience, because he finds the one thing his very soul was meant to do, thereby connecting his temporal life on earch with the eternal. His life is one that rocks continuously back and forth between death and life, the eternal and temporal.

The eternal is made natural as the ocean and the moon. The ocean is also representative of Death, as well as the serpent that hisses to Whitman the fact that he must choose between "the demon or the bird". The serpent could representative of the Eden snake that revealed the tree of knowledge to Fallen Man. However, there lacks evil overtones to Whitman's snake and suggests rather another brother in nature. Self-awarness, after all, is the natural state of Fallen Man. The bird is symbolic of love, also something eternal, but also the bond that connects beings.
Whitman's choice is one of self-actualization - life as the voice of nature (lonely poet? - word) or life like his he-bird friend that knows the bonds of love. Whitman obviously chooses the voice of nature and eventually declares his love for nature and the natural state of humans. In "Songs of Myself," Whitman praises plumbers, farmers and businessmen for the self-actualized states. A plumber is a plumber for the same reason his he-bird brother is a mockingbird. He praises this natural state as a spiritual experience. For Whitman, a spiritual connection, one with nature, was made when Man's soul realized its innate potential.

In this early work, Whitman announces his kindredship with nature as a brother to a he-bird from Alabama.

Inspiration

This blog was inspired by Walt Whitman's poem "Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking". Here is the poem in its entirety:


Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child
leaving his bed wander'd alone, bareheaded, barefoot,
Down from the shower'd halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if theywere alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories sad brother, from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon late-risen and swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of yearning and love there in the mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous'd words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such as now they start the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither, ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man, yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing.

Once Paumanok,
When the lilac-scent was in the air and Fifth-month grass was growing,
Up this seashore in some briers,
Two feather'd guests from Alabama, two together,
And their nest, and four light-green eggs spotted with brown,
And every day the he-bird to and fro near at hand,
And every day the she-bird crouch'd on her nest, silent, with bright eyes,
And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing them,
Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.

Shine! shine! shine!
Pour down your warmth, great sun.'
While we bask, we two together.

Two together!
Winds blow south, or winds blow north,
Day come white, or night come black,
Home, or rivers and mountains from home,
Singing all time, minding no time,
While we two keep together.

Till of a sudden,
May-be kill'd, unknown to her mate,
One forenoon the she-bird crouch'd not on the nest,
Nor return'd that afternoon, nor the next,
Nor ever appear'd again.

And thenceforward all summer in the sound of the sea,
And at night under the full of the moon in calmer weather,
Over the hoarse surging of the sea,
Or flitting from brier to brier by day,
I saw, I heard at intervals the remaining one, the he-bird,
The solitary guest from Alabama.

Blow! blow! blow!
Blow up sea-winds along Paumanok's shore;
I wait and I wait till you blow my mate to me.

Yes, when the stars glisten'd,
All night long on the prong of a moss-scallop'd stake,
Down almost amid the slapping waves,
Sat the lone singer wonderful causing tears.

He call'd on his mate,
He pour'd forth the meanings which I of all men know.

Yes my brother I know,
The rest might not, but I have treasur'd every note,
For more than once dimly down to the beach gliding,
Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows,
Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts,
The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing,
I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair,
Listen'd long and long.

Listen'd to keep, to sing, now translating the notes,
Following you my brother.

Soothe! soothe! soothe!
Close on its wave soothes the wave behind,
And again another behind embracing and lapping, every one close,
But my love soothes not me, not me.

Low hangs the moon, it rose late,
It is lagging--O I think it is heavy with love, with love.

O madly the sea pushes upon the land,
With love, with love.

O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among the breakers?
What is that little black thing I see there in the white?

Loud! loud! loud!
Loud I call to you, my love!
High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves,
Surely you must know who is here, is here,
You must know who I am, my love.

Low-hanging moon!
What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow?
O it is the shape, the shape of my mate.'
O moon do not keep her from me any longer.

Land! land! O land!
Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again
if you only would,
For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look.

O rising stars!
Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you.

O throat! O trembling throat!
Sound clearer through the atmosphere!
Pierce the woods, the earth,
Somewhere listening to catch you must be the one I want.

Shake out carols!
Solitary here, the night's carols!
Carols of lonesome love! death's carols!
Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon!
O under that moon where she droops almost down into the sea!
O reckless despairing carols.

But soft! sink low!
Soft! let me just murmur,
And do you wait a moment you husky-nois'd sea,
For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me,
So faint, I must be still, be still to listen,
But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me.

Hither my love!
Here I am! here!
With this just-sustain'd note I announce myself to you,
This gentle call is for you my love, for you.

Do not be decoy'd elsewhere,
That is the whistle of the wind, it is not my voice,
That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray,
Those are the shadows of leaves.

O darkness! O in vain!
O I am very sick and sorrowful

O brown halo in the sky near the moon, drooping upon the sea!
O troubled reflection in the sea!
O throat! O throbbing heart!
And I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night.

O past! O happy life! O songs of joy!
In the air, in the woods, over fields,
Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved!
But my mate no more, no more with me!
We two together no more.

The aria sinking,
All else continuing, the stars shining,
The winds blowing, the notes of the bird continuous echoing,
With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning,
On the sands of Paumanok's shore gray and rustling,
The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of
the sea almost touching,
The boy ecstatic, with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the
atmosphere dallying,
The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously
bursting,
The aria's meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly depositing,
The strange tears down the cheeks coursing,
The colloquy there, the trio, each uttering,
The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying,
To the boy's soul's questions sullenly timing, some drown'd secret hissing,
To the outsetting bard.

Demon or bird! (said the boy's soul,)
Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it really to me?
For I, that was a child, my tongue's use sleeping, now I have heard you,
Now in a moment I know what I am for, I awake,
And already a thousand singers, a thousand songs, clearer, louder
and more sorrowful than yours,
A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me, never to die.

O you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me,
O solitary me listening, never more shall I cease perpetuating you,
Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations,
Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me,
Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what
there in the night,
By the sea under the yellow and sagging moon,
The messenger there arous'd, the fire, the sweet hell within,
The unknown want, the destiny of me.

O give me the clue! (it lurks in the night here somewhere,)
O if I am to have so much, let me have more!

A word then, (for I will conquer it,)
The word final, superior to all,
Subtle, sent up--what is it?--I listen;
Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves?
Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?

Whereto answering, the sea,
Delaying not, hurrying not,
Whisper'd me through the night, and very plainly before daybreak,
Lisp'd to me the low and delicious word death,
And again death, death, death, death
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my arous'd child's heart,
But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet,
Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over,
Death, death, death, death, death.

Which I do not forget.
But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother,
That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok's gray beach,
With the thousand responsive songs at random,
My own songs awaked from that hour,
And with them the key, the word up from the waves,
The word of the sweetest song and all songs,
That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet,
(Or like some old crone rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet
garments, bending aside,)
The sea whisper'd me.