Fall (Again)

It's been over a year since we moved back to Fairbanks.  We celebrated this milestone by nearly maxing out our credit card and flying to Seattle to visit friends and family this August.  We had such an awesome time.  If we saw you, thanks so much for spending time with us – we love you and miss you very much.  If we missed you this trip, we'll catch you on the next visit.

Sitting behind the wheel of the Saab again (thanks, Uncle Eric!) and tooling around town was surreal.  It was almost like we stepped back into our lives of a year ago, except now with baby on board.  Although I spent many, many hours nursing Theo and pumping, it wasn't the nightmare non-vacation that I feared it could turn out to be.

Naomi (and Bryan and Carolyn) threw us a party, where we got to see lots of folks and rock out Frelard on a Friday night.

We got to reconnect with family in Everett and Tacoma.  For a girl raised in Alaska with only my nuclear family and an aged uncle nearby, having tons and tons of family around is a new and kind of amazing experience.

Jen and Andy pimped out their guest bedroom to almost W Hotel dimensions: tons of fluffy towels, a gift basket, a crib courtesy of Josh and Rebecca, an artfully arranged magazine spread for our reading pleasure, a super comfy bed, our own login station, and a swag-filled gift basket.

High on the novelty of having a social life again, I remember making vague promises that we'd return in January (promises made more to myself, really, knowing all too well that I'm going to be jonesing for escape in the depths of the Fairbanks winter) ... but the financially sound decision would be to work on paying off debt and save our monies for a future trip.  As new Alaska residents, we didn't receive the Permanent Fund Dividend this year, but we could still take advantage of an Alaska Airlines PFD sale happening until October 17th.  So who knows, a January 2012 trip might still happen.  The more I reminisce about our trip, the more I really, really, really want to make it happen.

Back home in Fairbanks, I've been making an effort to cultivate, if not a similarly-packed social schedule, then at least the semblance of having any kind of social life.  But in the past couple of months, the majority of my girlfriends have moved away from Fairbanks; one to Guatemala, one to Belize, and one to law school in Ohio.  Girlfriends is too strong a word, really.  I don't have a plethora of Mindy Kaling-esque BFFs who drive around with me (with the top of our convertible open! and Cyndi Lauper Girls Just Wanna Have Fun on the stereo!) to the latest trendy happy hour spot (Fairbanks doesn't even *do* happy hours) or art gallery opening, or to our weekly pedicures at the spa, where we drink Chardonnay and reveal endearingly embarrassing anecdotes of our work-life balancing act.

(Note: I am actively recruiting for the position of Mindy Kaling-esque BFF.)

I just have a couple of friends, new and old, of the female persuasion, who used to be on the regular dinner party rotation.  Meaning that for the most part, they came over for dinner at *our* place (because schlepping Theo around to other people's parties comes with the drawback that he goes Tired/Fussy Nuclear Level Red at bedtime, and it's easier to deal with that at home).  Dinner at Chateau Perreault is our standard method of socializing and is fairly routine by now: 1) wine 2) appetizer 3) Genevieve goes to bed with Theo while the rest of the party continues.  I retire early to the bedroom with the baby for an elaborate nightly dance of nurse-nap-awaken-nurse-attempt to put in crib-nurse-nap-baby eventually falls into real sleep until I'm allowed an hour or two of time to chat with the adults (usually by then, actually, all adults but John are gone).  But Theo sleeps almost twelve hours at night if you factor in these brief awakenings for nursing, so at least we have that going for us.

So, at his 4-month check-up (a whole flipping month ago?!!), Theo was firmly above average on the percentile charts.  Like in the 60s, for both weight and height.  A part of me is still attuned to my old standardized test psyche, where nothing but the 99th-percentile is good enough, but John reminds me that Theo does *not* need to be in the Michelin Baby 99th-percentile to be perfectly healthy.  In the first month of life, Theo wasn't even *on* the percentile charts.  But now, he's gaining just fine.  Despite this fact, that first month of anxiety over his lack of weight gain has hardwired my brain (and boobs?) to be constantly on the offensive and consistently anxious (yes, boobs can be anxious and on the offensive).  Or maybe a general state of anxiety is just a fact of motherhood.  It is truthfully not an understatement to say that for the past five months, my life has been dictated by the ebb and flow of breastmilk production and baby weight gain.  That first month, I probably spent twenty hours out of every twenty-four nursing, or worrying about the need to be nursing.  I am only just now emerging from this cocoon of stress and self-retreat from the world.

Waiting for my "real" life post-Theo to begin, I finally realized that it wouldn't begin unless I made the necessary steps myself.

My pre-partum fantasies of what life would be like post-birth:

Sipping a cup of tea over the morning newspaper (and what a delightful local newspaper it is, filled with broad-minded and literate comments from the community at large!) while my baby sighs and coos contentedly in his bassinet, the dappled sunlight through the birches glinting off the easel holding the latest painting I'm working on.  My prints (yes! I'm printmaking again! with all my free time just because I'm not working a 40-hr/week job!) neatly drying on a rack in the corner.  I nurse my baby one-handed while typing my novel-in-progress with the other.  I strap him onto my back for a quick 10-mile nordic ski jaunt around the neighborhood, and then I settle him in for a long, deep uninterrupted sleep while John and I enjoy the pleasures of each other's company (e.g. our Netflix queue).

Ha.  See previous paragraph re: my life being dictated by breastfeeding.

Theo really is an an angel, but he tends not to coo and sigh contentedly in the corner, generally needing some actual hands-on attention while he's awake.  And I haven't been able to master anything one-handed yet.  And I'm drinking coffee now (not tea) – and it's black.  Very black, caffeine-filled coffee.  (It's actually very good coffee of the Cree Quist Diving Duck persuasion; somehow, my post-partum body is able to deal with caffeine in non-anxiety-riddled ways.)  Any plans for painting or printmaking are still just a fantasy.  I haven't even been able to find time to paint the downstairs music room yet.  Or do this week's (e.g. this month's) load of laundry.  And while I was actually able to squeeze into my pre-pregnancy jeans in a few short weeks post-birth, I'm discovering that I much prefer the comfort of an elastic band.  And I can barely muster up enough energy for once or twice-weekly walks.

But I have jumped back into reality in other small ways.

I've joined the Choir of North.  I'm singing again!  It's a far cry from Benaroya, but in its own way is just as challenging.  And I actually *feel* better physically by singing again.  At least, I feel okay enough that I'm distracted from the constant dull back pain and other post-partum aches that I've been experiencing.  You don't even want to know what "other" post-partum aches are involved.

I can't remember who paraphrased this part of a recent Gloria Steinem speech or book, but I am trying to follow my fear, and by fear I mean the torments of sixth grade girls upon my psyche.  I spent the first week of September in docent training for the Museum of the North, and for the past month, I've been volunteering as a museum docent one morning a week, helping with educational sessions for Fairbanks elementary-age classes.  Despite the occasional interaction with intimidating (to me) sixth grade girls, I am actually enjoying myself.  For the most part.  Getting up early and getting out of the house with Theo is still a challenge.  I'm trying to imagine doing this on a daily basis, and it's mind-boggling.  Kudos to all parents who work outside the home.  You guys are fucking amazing, and some small part of me doesn't believe you are real.

Photos to follow... because that's how I roll with this exciting (and timely) blog!