More than a mom

It happened today. For the first time in the entire life of Clementine, I think there were at least five whole minutes today that I wasn't conscious of being a mom. I spent nearly the whole day away from her (she stayed home with her dad and grandpa who is visiting from Arizona), and at one point I realized I had a whole thought that in no way related to Clementine, breast milk, getting home, post-pregnancy, my future as a working mom, etc. In Nordstrom Rack I dedicated myself wholly and completely to finding a good deal on some amazing piece of clothing, and for a good five minutes I was so lost in flipping through the racks and boxing out overanxious shoppers that I think I wandered into a no-baby zone in my mind. I felt instantly guilty and at the same time comforted to find out those zones still exist.

Of course, right now I don't want to spend a whole lot of time there. I like looking at my kid and marveling at her facial expressions, cooing sounds and superior growth and development. When she's not with me, I like thinking about every cute thing she does, recalling her every feature and trying to smell her on my clothes. It sounds dippy, yes, but it really is more exciting than just about anything I've ever done so why not revel in it just a little bit? Despite the mooning, it is cool to think there will be times when I can retreat just a bit--even if it's just for a minute--and not try to look at my whole life through the lens of Clementine and motherhood. I'm not talking abandonment (this is the guilty, justifying voice in my head jumping on the defensive), just a part of myself that remains for me, helps keep me centered and sane and even makes me a whole person, a whole woman and a great example for my daughter. Now if only I can make that retreat time happen in front of a computer and far away from my charge card something better than a great pair of jeans may come of it. I know they say shopping is therapeutic, but who would have thought I could get all that from the experience and still have the sanity to just say no to the off-the-shoulder purple sweatshirt with skulls all over it that I thought might help me make the perfect statement of my carefree motherhood. My friend Karen and I are always concerned with those pieces that ride the line between terrific and terrible, fabulous and horrible, and I'm proud to say that I figured it out on my own for once. Or did I? Maybe it was fabulous...

In other news, we're off for Clementine's first round of immunizations tomorrow. Most people look at me like I'm a loon when I express trepidation about these shots--it's one thing to let her sleep in your bed, but what kind of nutjob doesn't protect her kid from disease? I get it. I know we've all had them and that they are a good idea and mostly safe and there is a less than 1% chance of anything going wrong, but still. I don't want to see Clementine suffer or be uncomfortable, and I certainly don't like that there is even a small risk of something happening to her. I was just reading an article by a woman with a 15 month old who hasn't received any of her immunizations yet and I confess to being a little curious. I'm going to read a little more about all this tonight and talk things over with my doctor tomorrow--he seems open to the more natural approach.

As for my waning intelligence that I complained about in the last post, I am coming to embrace my new mommy smarts. Mere months ago, I knew little about immunizations and certainly nothing about fearing them. See--smarts gained. And more seriously, I didn't know how hard it is, how truly hard it is to be a conscious mother (how ironic that I started this post celebrating a moment of losing that consciousness!). It's so much more important to think about TV and the Bush administration and food additives and workplace politics and all the ways women get the shaft when they are out trying to "have it all" with their shiny post-feminist badges securely in place now that I am a mom. I may not be as smart as I once was in terms of contemporary poetry, but it's true that I am expanding my mind in lots of new ways. And just in case there is a bit of the poet left in me after all, I'm taking Plath's Ariel to bed with me. I can't wait to revist her mother poems.