What is a blog, if not a vehicle for self expression, a socially acceptable conduit for self absorption? I think, I often do keep parts of me very guarded, submitting and censoring. It's a function, too, of what I can grab up in thought and what clings stubbornly to lesser visited parts of my mind.

Still, the last post begs introspection more for myself, but given the platform, also for those who come here to connect.

I'm aware I talk little of my children.
I only allude to my marriage, but I think I have always considered this blog a place for myself and I have always felt it important to protect them.

For all my mental candor, I realize I'm tight with personal facts--
a miser, if you will.
I won't analyze why,
I'm sure all will have their own speculations.

inhaling...

I lost my first child.
Emergency surgery kept me from dying and a skilled surgeon protected my ability to have more children. I was so upset after the surgery, they brought Tony to recovery to calm me down. I remember nothing of that time in image--only the sound of an anguished sob I did not recognize as my own, repeating again and again how I lost the baby and how terribly, terribly sorry I was.

Four beautiful children went on to be born.
Three in the quiet of our home.
Each time one of them was laid in my arms,
I felt a fierce sense of protection envelope me.
I was determined to love and offer them every part of me.

And I think I did.
I think I do.
I nursed each child for as long as they needed the nourishment and comfort.
Tony supported the choice.
Our bed was shared with each until about three or so.
Natural independence would slowly put them into their own space and out of our family bed or the cloth sling I wore so they could share my world.

I believed keeping them close was better than having them stare at ceilings from their beds or shins from their strollers. I enjoyed hearing and feeling their chortle at the mundane--loved watching their eyes dance or face go from crumpled to delighted. They changed water running in the sink or vacuuming from the mundane.

I often say, if anyone had told me I would give birth at home, or nurse children for eleven years sometimes in tandem ( Jacob, my first, was the most tenacious nurser--), or homeschool my babies, I would have questioned just what kind of crack they were smoking.

Birth. at. home?
Hell no, nutjob.
We get men on the moon,
I don't want to feel that.
I don't have to feel that.
You just have that damn epidural waiting for me at the curb
I'll be right over.

But life is fluid and it seeps in like water to wash away and to make its deposits.
Things changed.
I tried things on.
Chose less beaten paths.

As it turns out,
aside from other parents who shared this kind of attachment parenting mentality,
ironically, the person most often in speculation as to the type of crack they were smoking,
was me.

I over mothered.
I was too sensitive.
A kook.
That name came up the other day in these conversations with the inlaws.
Ironic.
Ironic, that the same people who accused me of all of the aforementioned things,
now disparage and question the commitment I have to my children and husband.

I also believe that these opinions and ill will spilled over so vehemently because over the last year or two I have shown less and less reaction to my in laws. I just don't care anymore if they like or approve of me. I weathered a great deal as I experienced motherhood and clung to a system of beliefs and standards they could not understand or respect.
These experiences make me no better than any other mother. I think we all feel or are treated this way to a certain extent, but I only have personal experience with my own.

The Achilles heel for me these last few days is in being called a bad mother among other less civilized word choices and having my husband not demand a different behavior from them. What was alarming was the language they used to defend their venom. They were always going to "have Tony's back." "He was family" and they had a right to opine.

I take no umbrage with that.
Opine until your left nut falls off, (and I suspect one SIL just might have one) but leave your opinions out of my presence,
do not drop your judgments at my or my husband's feet.
Exercise respect for the choices your brother and sister in law make.
If it isn't constructive or said out of concern for our family-- OUR FAMILY--don't say it to our family.
Leave it for other times when you have nothing better to do than tear a woman down you have never taken the time to know.
And that is a pity.

I realize Taji is huge.
I realize I sound happy and excited to be attempting this challenge.
But it makes the need and opportunity no less important.
It has no bearing on how much I love or care for my family.
I realize six months is a long time even with a couple of visits home.
But I also realize
Tony and I are different people with different strengths.
He keeps this house running.
He keeps a good schedule.
He does what needs to be done and I appreciate how important that is to me and the kids.
I do not expect him to change his personality.
I get to be upset when facets of his personality leave me exposed to unkind, often cruel words and deeds.

I do not expect him to take a job he does not feel comfortable with taking.
We have an almost 17 year marriage.
I believe if you are unhappy with one part of your life it WILL spill over into other areas.
He loves his job.
He would be unhappy doing something else even though he is capable and has been offered other very very well paying jobs.
I stand behind him on his choice.
So.

It comes to me.
I have a cold resume.
Mothering while multifaceted and demanding,
does not translate well in the job market.
I didn't make the rule.
Things are what they are.

I have been lucky to have parents who provide money when things are tight, who slip me a the cruise for two and the money for incidentals, but I want to be 41 and able to take care of whatever lands in my family's way without so much damn worry and juggling and enduring.
Right now I simply can't say that.
Right now I realize I simply can't do it anymore either.

I'm ready for the unknown,
the unexpected
and to be pushed outside of comfort levels.
I'm not afraid.
I want my daughter to know anything is possible.
I want my sons to choose partners who love fiercely and live even more fiercely still.

I'm ready to address plumbing issues so we aren't washing our dishes in buckets. Eight months is a long time.
I want us to be able to afford a
a reliable car
braces
college
vacations
camps
a retirement.

I'm ready to be proactive in my life--in our life and not reactive.
This is where my strength lies.
Tony and I may not have typical roles in our marriage.
We may not even have typical attitudes, but in spite of our weaknesses and desires for the different things which will bring us each comfort, we support each other's choices.

In the end that is all that matters.