Blink

“It’s a privilege to hold a baby.”

That’s what my aunt said to me after I thanked her for holding G while I napped with Bub. It was September of last year. G was two weeks old and I was plumb exhausted.

Since then, her words have stuck with me, especially when I finally have a quiet moment with G. Most of the time, she has to share my attention with her brother. We find our quiet moments together at bedtime. When she’s asleep in my arms in the serenity of her room, the noise machine blocking out the rest of the world. Before my mind starts to wander, I sit and stare at her angelic face. Her long lashes fanning downward. Her perfect little pout resting in a frown. Her hands in prayer formation, folded over her chest. I listen to her quietly snore. The top of her head still has a newborn-even-though-she’s-not-a-newborn scent. I feel privileged to be able to hold a baby. My baby. My sleeping baby.

I’m afraid I’ll blink and she won’t be a baby anymore.

Every morning, Bub wakes me up by saying, “Mom, it’s daytime. Time to get up.” I slowly blink open my eyelids. Every fiber of my being wants to sleep longer.

I blink again and suddenly, it’s night time. Another day with the kids gone by.

I’m afraid to blink again.

“WHAT HAPPENED? Never had a good sense of time, but jesus-christ! Yesterday I’m wiping applesauce off my baby’s cheeks and today I’m wondering when she’ll retire. For years I didn’t wear a watch because I wanted to stop time. Now time stops me dead. Tic-Toc.”

— Betty Fussell, "Eat, Live, Love, Die"

Never Enough

As my maternity leave comes to an end (my very last maternity leave ever for the rest of my life because G is definitely my last baby), I am feeling 1,000% sentimental. I know spending time on something other than my children (like my career) is a good thing for me, but I’m really really going to miss this dedicated bonding time with them.

I know I’m coming from a place of privilege. In the US, most mothers are forced back to work within two weeks of giving birth. TWO WEEKS! I was still bleeding, cramping, and barely functioning two weeks after I delivered.

Last year, a friend of mine told me that she couldn’t get enough of her second child. I thought it was because her second child puts herself to sleep and is generally more laid back than her first. Now that I have a second child, I understand what she means.

I can’t get enough of G either.

It feels impossible for me to spend as much time with her as I want to. It’s simple math.

Bub got 100% of my time, being my firstborn. G gets 50% of my time, being my secondborn. 50% on a good day.

Bub is usually the loudest voice in the room and most of the time, we’re paying attention to him. It’s difficult to focus on G when Bub is yelling for me or yelling in G’s face or being loud because, well, he’s a three-year-old.

Now that I’m going back to work, I’m worried that my time with G will be even shorter. How am I possibly going to work full-time AND give each child the attention they deserve AND find time for my marriage, my friends, and myself? Oh yeah, and my dog! When do I get to sit and cuddle with Buddha on the couch while watching Bob’s Burgers and mindlessly stuffing my face with chips?

It feels impossible for me to cram everything into one 24-hour period. Because it IS impossible.

There aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything I want to do. Something will almost always have to give. Someone recommended to me once that I find my “one thing” every day that I do for myself. For me, that "one thing” changes depending on how I’m feeling that day. I know it should be working out. I should work out every day. It’s just hard to commit when I have two very small children. Any routine for myself feels like too much of a commitment these days.

Will I ever feel like I have enough time again? What is “enough” anyway? Is an hour of quality time with each kid “enough”? Is it less about the amount of time and more about how present I am with that time? Does it have to be equal between the two kids? On some days, does “enough” look like taking Bub to the library and giving G a bath?

I don’t know that it will ever be enough. I will always want more hours in the day and more time with my kids.

Focus

I often feel like I have some sort of attention deficit disorder as a parent. It’s difficult for me to focus on my kids for more than a few seconds before my brain starts to wander. Even when Bub is doing something hilarious to get my attention. Even when G is cooing and smiling in my face. As soon as I realize I’m distracted, I feel the guilt swoop in. I’m a horrible mother for not paying attention to my adorable children right in front of me. How could I not see the gifts before my very eyes? The ones that only last a moment before they’re gone, sometimes forever. They’ll only be little for so long. Focus, Linda! Focus! The judgy, anxious, negative thoughts start to cloud my brain, replacing the random distracted ones that were there seconds before.

The older I get, the more memories my brain collects, which means the more memories my brain can wander to. The more I’m with my kids without a break, the more my brain wanders, because I haven’t given it the time and space to wonder. I used to be able to think about anything I wanted without any guilt.

Honestly, I’m not made for this. “This” being parenting. And because I’m not made for this, I don’t think I’m cut out for it. All my life, I’ve let myself think deeply about things that I want to think about - selfishly. When I became an adult, as soon I wanted to do something, I, more often than not, did the thing that I wanted. Perfectly conditioned to be self-centered by my family, my education, the media, and society at large.

As soon as my kids entered the picture, my world shifted to revolving around them. Physically, mentally, emotionally, logistically, financially. It’s a true mindf***. Thirty years of thinking only of myself and all of a sudden, I’m not able to do that anymore? That’s hard.

What, I’m supposed to be able to stare at a baby for hours now? I’m instantly supposed to be able to play make-believe for hours on end? Asking me to do these things when I’ve had time for myself is challenging, let alone having to do them on a day without any breaks. Yet, I feel immense pressure to enjoy it. You’re going to miss it when it’s gone. There’s that inner critic again.

I wish I had gone to “Parenting School” before having kids. This hypothetical school would wake me up at all hours of the night and time me at how fast I could change a diaper. It would teach me all the “Daniel Tiger” songs I’d need to know for any task or emotion. It would quiz me on how to make a proper bottle of formula. I’d get hands-on training on how to safely buckle a toddler in a car seat. And, the final exam would be to do all of this every day for three months straight while the sound of a crying baby played loudly in the background.

One of the most surprising aspects of parenting is, perhaps, how mundane it can be. Repeatedly building blocks, reading board books, and singing “Row Row Row Your Boat” is…boring and mind-numbing. Four years ago, I could travel anywhere I wanted at the drop of a hat. I could go out to restaurants on a whim. I could stay out late without an ounce of guilt. Now the most exciting part of my day is going to bed without crying.

I became a parent without any training. Zero conditioning whatsoever. So, when I start to feel guilty for not being able to focus on playing Baby Skye in a pretend Paw Patrol scenario with Bub because my brain keeps thinking about a work email, an anxious thought, Timothée Chalamet at the Golden Globes, and the rice that can’t boil over on the stove, I’m going to give myself a break.

It’s no question that parenting is relentless, but how do I stay present in the relentlessness? It’ll take practice, discipline, and more mental stamina than I ever could have imagined. Being present is a practice. Being present is a practice. Being present is a practice.

Time Thieves

We are all born with a finite budget of time. The fun part is that we don’t know what that budget is. When I was younger, I thought I had all the time in the world. And now, I try to be more thoughtful with it.

When I began embracing myself as an introvert, I became thirstier for meaning. Meaning in my career, meaning in my relationships, meaning in the things I purchase and consume. I simultaneously became less patient with BS and with things done out of obligation instead of joy. I had to dig deep and take inventory of what I felt brought meaning to my life and remove what didn’t. Sometimes the decision was extremely difficult and emotional. Other times, I simply said “Yes” or “No” and felt perfectly fine about it.

We are all time thieves in some way. We take people’s time, whether in small increments or large chunks. We also steal time from ourselves. For me, this usually comes in the form of laziness, depression, or jealousy. My own negativity takes away time I could have spent feeling happy and productive.

In fact, I spent most of my life feeling unworthy, like I was never good enough. I didn’t understand the concept of self-care, of feeling like I was worthy of taking time for myself to relax and have fun. I felt immense guilt when I took days off from work, when I spent money on a massage, when I took a few hours to watch a movie. You name it. Anything that was meant to bring me a sense of fun and relaxation I felt guilty of doing.

It’s been eye-opening to work through those feelings of obligation and guilt with my mental fitness coach. It’s been liberating to set parameters for how I spend my time:

• Does it bring me joy?

• Is it coming from a place of love?

• Has that person earned the right to have my time?

• How much time do I want to cap on this?

Replace “time” with any other word, be it money, work, creativity, happiness, sadness, etc. Evaluating in this way has helped me prioritize the important things in my life and has helped me make more meaningful decisions. Don’t let others or yourself rob you of the time in your life. I hear it flies by in the blink of an eye. ♥♥♥

My Grandpa

Though he is 95, my grandpa is a busy man. Especially in the spring and summer seasons, he is constantly tending to his gardens, both his indoor one and outdoor one.

I went to see my grandpa last weekend (June 10th to be exact). I found him in the basement, or what I like to call his "workshop". In his workshop, he's built three large incubators for his sweet potato and taro seedlings. They each have their own "sunlight", which is turned on every day by an automated system my grandpa has set up.

He's always working on something. One time several years ago, I asked my grandpa what his plans were for the next day. He listed off several things he needed to do for his garden. "Tomorrow will be very busy," he said to me. I instantly felt incredibly lazy.

So, while I took a long nap on his couch, he worked in his basement, the garage, and probably outside in the backyard. I used to ask him if he needed help, but he likes to work alone. And when I randomly drop in to see him like I do, I have to mold myself to his schedule. He can't drop everything he's doing just to small talk with me! He simply has too much to do.