gearhead mama

I don’t know how to say this in a coherent manner. There’s not enough sleep in this house, and brain cells are dying at an alarming rate. So excuse my bumbling.

For those of us living in the US, the presidential election is bearing down … fast. I can’t think of anything more important than this election at this moment in time. We are faced with a terrifying financial crisis, tanking stock market, recession (depression?), two wars, global warming, the need for energy independence (from green sources … this “drill baby drill” nonsense makes my head spin). The list goes on and on, and frankly, I find it to be monumental and scary as hell. I live in a part of the country that is particularly hard hit. For a brief period last week, it appeared that Mr. Gearhead’s job hung in the balance. Thankfully it’s safe … for now. But the auto companies are in big, big trouble, and that is who we rely on to put food on our table and a roof over our heads. What will happen next week? Next month?

My father is looking to retire in the next year or two. His 401(k) is suddenly worth next to nothing, and his employer (who is supposed to fund his pension and health care) is in serous financial trouble. We have investments set aside to fund our retirement (one that may very well be absent a pension, social security and health care - all things my parents and in-laws have. For now, at least). I’ve watched our accounts dwindle by more than 30% in recent weeks, and am thankful that we don’t need that money at the moment. Unless, of course, my husband becomes unemployed.

I could go back to work, but I work in the same market he does. There simply aren’t any jobs.

For the first time ever, I’m scared.

The person we select to lead this country is going to be faced with these problems, and they’re going to need to find solutions. They must find solutions. I don’t envy them, because I don’t even know if it’s possible to dig us out of this mess.

But there are more things at stake too. I listened to the last debate on the radio, so I missed McCain’s air quotes when he dismissed the health of a mother as a reason for a late term abortion. It was brought to my attention today when I read these two eloquent posts on why we should all be scared shitless by this man.

Go read. Really. I know it’s often tempting to skip links in a blog post. I do it all the time. You have your whole blogroll waiting for you, nevermind a sink full of dishes, and so little time. Trust me - it will be worth the few minutes it takes. I’ll wait.

McCain states that he would deal with the issue of abortion with “courage and compassion.” I quote: “the courage of a pregnant mother to bring her child into the world and the compassion of civil society to meet her needs and those of her newborn baby.” As if terminating my pregnancy would be the easy way out, the way not requiring his precious “courage.” As if dictating my medical care based upon his religious beliefs is compassionate. And I find it interesting to note that his “compassion” for this newborn does not extend to guaranteeing it health insurance.

and

He means us when he holds up his hands and says with that single scornful gesture that we don’t matter. That we are a figment of the “pro-abortion movement’s” imagination. That — what, we’re making this whole “staying pregnant might kill me” thing up?

How can he be trusted to take care of our country (and world, when you start talking about things like global warming) when he has so little regard for more than 50% of the population? In the face of such complex issues, how will someone who sees things in black and white, who is unable to grasp the nuances of a situation, be able to save us?

Save yourself. Vote.

Barely 5.5 months old and she’s already crawling. She can’t even sit up yet!

Is it just me, or does it seem a little crazy for a 5 month old to be doing this?

(Loot from my latest rummage sale extravaganza can be seen in the background. Thank you Theresa!)

It has been five months since you rocketed barreled slid from my womb. The blink of an eye and an eternity all at once. I can’t remember life without you, can’t believe you’ve been here for so long, can’t believe you weren’t born yesterday.

It has been over a year since you first took root in the fertile soil of my womb and began to grow yourself, cell by cell, into flesh, blood, skin, hair, bone … carefully crafting a home for your spirit. A process that I still find astonishing, even more so now that you are here in my arms, nursing at my breast, tugging on my hair, chewing on my fingers.

We’ve had our troubles (reflux, gas and you still love to hold on to your burps for hours), but underneath it all you are happy and mellow. You make this whole having-a-baby thing seem pretty easy … especially now that I’m finally able to eat a normal diet.

You are so entirely different from your sister; water to her fire, moon to her sun. Blue eyes instead of brown. Hair that was dark at birth has now turned golden. Even your body is different. Your legs, plump at the top, taper to a (relatively) slender ankle, and your hands and feet are delicate compared to her chub (still present even after 3 years) … although you are outgrowing your clothes just as fast as she did.

Your personality is different too. Unfettered by the trauma she suffered while entering this world, you are completely and entirely present. When I call up an image of you in my mind I hardly even see your body, instead sensing your energy swaying and pulsing, integrated with the ebb and flow of life. Your blue eyes gaze at me with a quiet wisdom that takes my breath away. You are here in every sense of the word. I sometimes almost forget that you’re a baby.

Despite being mellow you are far from content to sit back and let life pass you by. You possess a steely yet calm determination that amazes me. At just past 4 months you were up on your hands and knees, rocking. And now you are almost crawling, scooching your knees forward inch by inch. You spend so much time like this that you literally have rug burn (that was acquired through your clothes). I should be dismayed but I’m not. I cannot help but delight in your eagerness for mobility, your desire to fully participate in our daily life.

Every moment finds you striving to reach, touch, feel. I lay you on the changing table and you stare intently at the mobile above. You pay no attention to me as I fiddle with clothes, wipe, prefold, cover, instead stretching for the star that is just barely within reach. It dances and sways yet you are undeterred. You patiently follow until you grasp the tip and pull, pull, pull until it finally relents, lands in your palm and is swiftly moved to your mouth. Then you notice that your foot is free. The star slides to the table unheeded, as you grab your toes and eagerly shove them into your mouth.

Your smile is always at the ready, flashing across your face whenever someone smiles or speaks to you. You squeal with delight whenever one of our cats crosses your line of sight, and eagerly grab their tails and pinch their ears whenever they’re foolish enough to move within reach. You are entranced by your older sister, watching her every move and she gets laughs out of you easier than anyone else. You yearn to be at her side, laughing and moving and running with her. At the rate you’re going, it won’t be long now.

You’re already grabbing for my food and drink, and were very enthusiastic about the asparagus and apple I let you suck on, screaming with dismay when I finally repossessed them.

You are still an easy sleeper in the scheme of things, although your burps keep you up and are a source of frustration for all involved. But you don’t fight sleep like your sister, and for this I am infinitely grateful.

In short, you are an absolute delight and despite the hardships of the early days, it has been a joy spending these last 5 months getting to know you.

I arranged for it to be just you and me today, in the hopes of finding a few minutes to write this. Knowing that we don’t spend much time alone, I took you for a walk around the neighborhood, snuggled in my wrap. Fall is here in full force and the air was brisk, the sky dull and gray. We took our time and I brought you close to bushes and trees, let you finger the plumage of tall grasses and grasp leaves that grow dry and rattle in the wind. I wondered how the colors, sounds and smells seemed to you, the tracks they left on your brain that might be recalled again, some distant day in the future. Seeing things through your eyes sharpened my senses and everything else fell away as we moved slowly down the street, simply being.

The other day your sister asked me if the heart was still in my belly. I looked at her, puzzled, and said I didn’t know what she meant. “The one the midwife put there,” she said, and I suddenly understood. Sophie, your heart may beat outside my body now, but you will always be with me, will always be a part of me, until the day I die, and beyond.

Love,
mama