Good or bad doesn't really matter

It's the end of February and I have so many posts brewing about life, work, parenting, schedules, marriage, living in the Bay Area, the nature of identity and motherhood, movement, yoga, meditation . . . it goes on and on.

When I ride the train in the morning, poems come and go in my mind.  Words strung together that soothe until a backpack jolts me back to the swaying and lurching.  I drink coffee out of my travel mug and look at pictures of the kids.  Sometimes Leeor calls me.  Today I was at Powell Street, about to exit the train and head up the escalator to the street, run to the Geary bus (aka the dirty-eight) to make it to the clinic on time.

"Where's the bottle?" he wanted to know and I blinked back guilt, reminded him that I'd fed Yos instead of pumped.  I knew it was time for his first nap; he was tired and would go to sleep in the car on the way to drop off Avi. But I still felt that familiar pull, the desire to be in two places at once.

Last Friday I took Yossi to work with me because daycare was closed.  He was super sweet and easy, smiling at everyone.  I talked to patients on the phone in an office while he rolled around on the blankets I spread on the industrial carpet.  It wasn't easy but it was okay.

This week we bought our first can of formula.  Yos is four months old today and this was the first week they didn't quite have enough pumped breast milk for him at daycare.  I am pumping twice at work but it's not enough.  And as this is my 6th week back at work, my body is adjusting, no longer prepared to nurse on demand all day long.  This fact pains me. Part of me longs to spend my days nursing my baby, except that I also know it's easy to idealize the fantasy of it.  The reality would probably find me getting antsy or bored some of the days, still struggling to keep up with the laundry.  At least when I work outside the home all week I feel justified in my messy house with piles of clean clothes leaning like mini towers of pisa on our bench.

Needing to buy formula, not having "enough" for my baby, made me realize how depleted I feel.  How much I give at work and at home.  My train rides a silent meditation, quiet moments in which I reflect about it all, the kids, the work, the home, our partnership.  All of it changing rapidly but not seeming to in the difficult moments.  It's in the hardest times, kids pushing limits, or getting sick, the grown ups having unmet needs and negotiating it all, that it's hard to remember how fleeting it is.  That tomorrow things will be different.  That good or bad doesn't really matter. That it's wonderful to soak in the tub with my baby kicking his legs wildly, my daughter screeching with laughter.

I still long for the early days with Yos, conveniently forgetting the challenges of nursing him every two hours around the clock.  Now he rolls, shrieks, finds himself in the mirror and laughs with delight.  Avi is tender as ever with him but also somewhat dismissive and desiring his own one-on-one time with us. Lilit dotes on the baby and harasses her big brother, poking and pinching him in the backseat of the car while one of us drives and exhausts all manner of mental gymnastics to get her to stop. In another moment, she sweetly makes up lyrics to her own song that she croons to whomever is listening.  Leeor and I look at each other in wonder--did she make the song up herself? She did and she also did the thing that drives us crazy.

Avi is 6 years old, his birthday come and gone in a flash that was one weekend of family, flu and an overstimulating bowling alley party.  Which prompted me to decide that all future birthday parties will be small, a few close friends on the outing of his choice.  Simplifying. Like the dinner I made tonight without needing to go to the grocery store--lentils, rice, onion, spices, yogurt, lemon (thanks Saba, for all those lemons! we are wealthy with lemons!). Lilit loved it, as did Leeor and I. Avi ate challah, carrots and cheese. I have bigger battles to fight on this parenting journey than food, to paraphrase one of my favorite bloggers.

Speaking of bloggers, one of my besties originally inspired me to start this one. While the entries have lessened as the children have multiplied, I still enjoy this little space.  I'm overdue on photo posting but one of these days I'll do that, too.

And last, but not at all least, I'm still wondering about why we mamas are so hard on ourselves.  It's a strange, sweeping phenomenon--I see it in the postpartum support group I co-facilitate and among my girlfriends.  We support each other but rarely have kindness for ourselves.  I like what Pema Chodron says in one of her books about letting things be as they are without so much judgment, not good or bad.  I have to use formula to supplement what I'm feeding my baby.  It's not good or bad, but just a fact. Avi  is a picky eater. Lilit pinches her brother.  I'm tired from a packed week at work and at home.  Good or bad doesn't really matter, we just think it does.