Two for Me; Two for You

Bubba turned two this week and I can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that we’ve been parents for two years now. For Steve and myself, Bub’s birthdays are a celebration for us making it another year together, a birth-day/anniversary for me delivering him, and a reminder that he is growing up so fast.

From year one to year two, Bub:

  • Learned how to walk

  • Learned how to talk

  • Learned how to pee and poop on the potty

  • Learned to say “thank you” and “sorry”

  • Learned how to ask for things and about things

  • Learned how to count

  • Learned how to read a book to himself

Someone told us recently, “You won’t know it, but someday you’ll pick him up for the last time.” I thought to myself, “Does that happen between year two and year three? Gosh, I hope not. I’m not ready for that.”

We are reminded that every day we get to spend with our child is truly a gift.

Happy Birthday, Bub! We love you!

Back to Cali

In December, the week before Christmas, this little family got COVID. While we threw ourselves a pity party during our week of quarantining, we planned a trip to California. Armed with antibodies, we were ready to open up our world.

As I booked flights and Airbnbs, I knew the trip would give me anxiety, but it felt so far away. I filed the trip anxiety under “Read later”.

Then, the week leading into our trip, I was a ball of nerves. One minute I’d be looking forward to hearing the ocean waves and being surrounded by forest. The next, I’d worry about whether the Ubers getting us to and from the airport would smell like cigarette smoke. Traveling with a kid is a thousand times harder than traveling on my own.

There are so many details to think about when vacationing with Bubba. (Is it really a “vacation” when your kid is with you?) Snacks to bring on the plane for him. How many diapers to bring. Whether to bring a box of pasta if we get to our first Airbnb too late at night. What to pack in the carry-ons in case our suitcases get lost. The list goes on for pages.

Of course, most of these details are rooted in fear and anxiety. Now that I look back on our trip, most of my fears didn’t happen. I wish I were a more carefree parent. I wish I didn’t care about so many things when it comes to my child. I wish my mind didn’t jump to so many “what ifs” and feel the need to have a plan for everything. Life, for myself and everyone around me, would be so much easier.

Somehow, this trip forced me to let go of things that would normally bother me at home. There were times we couldn’t wash Bub’s hands before he ate. There were times I couldn’t cook a homemade meal for him. There were times we let him watch TV for two hours so we could catch up with friends.

But, my letting go also created memorable experiences. On our trip, Bub went to a restaurant for the first time and ate his first French fry. He ate his first chocolate chip cookie. He hung out with Steve while I went to the office for the first time in two years.

This trip marked two years of living in Illinois; two years of being parents; two years of pandemic isolation. Exactly two years after we left California, we were back. Bub in tow.

We drove down roads we frequented in our Prius with Buddha in the backseat. This time, we were in a minivan with Bub in a car seat. I was happy to be amongst the trees and seas again. I loved being able to go to a new hiking trail each day. I loved letting Bub play with sticks and stones and dump dirt on his boots. I loved when we pointed out to him the tiny roly poly crossing the trail. I loved watching him collect rocks and chuck them across a ravine. I’ve missed being completely immersed in nature and have it be so close by. The Bay has a distinct smell to it - piney, herby, earthy. Hiking through the trails again, the smell and the nostalgia of two years ago came flooding back. Breathing it in deeply, I felt calmer, more grounded. Steve joked that I had to go to the edge of the earth in order to feel a sense of peace.

This trip was full of firsts for Bub and each of his firsts is a first for me as his mama. First flight for Bub means first flight for me with a toddler. First restaurant experience for Bub means first restaurant experience for me with him. One of the best parts about a trip is the unknown, the uncertainty, the sense of adventure. For this anxious mom, new things mean risk and danger. This trip taught me that the pros of adventure outweigh the cons. Life should be about fun and adventure, and that’s what I want to teach Reg.

My wise friend gave me wonderful advice before the trip. She said, “When your mind jumps to worst case scenario, force yourself to also think about the best case.” And isn’t “best case” the very reason we plan trips in the first place?

Dillon Beach & Point Reyes

Berkeley

Half Moon Bay

A Day at the Field

We took Bubba to a museum for the first time this morning and had a blast. Leaving the house is usually a stressful, anxiety-inducing experience for me but today, I vowed to focus on having fun.

When we arrived at the Field Museum, Bub was overwhelmed at first. I mean, this kid doesn’t get out much. He didn’t want me to put him down while I was trying to get out my vaccine card. He wasn’t sure what to take in - the people, the dinosaurs, or just how massive this place was. But within a few minutes, he warmed up to the space and went from being on Steve’s shoulders to holding our hands to letting go and running around on his own.

We let him lead the way and marveled at how many animals he named and exhibits he wanted to see. We learned about wildlife that needs protecting (there’s a hypocrisy to telling us this while we look at taxidermied tigers, but I digress). We walked through rows of precious stones. We got up close to dinosaur skeletons.

I’m learning that when Steve and I are in sync, it leads to a much happier experience with Bub. It’s taken us a long time to get to this place. And though we won’t always get it right, it’s nice to know that days like today can and will exist.

Taking a Break

It happened one night in September, while putting Bub to sleep. Cuddled up next to him, in the quiet dark, it’s when I get my best ideas. It occurred to me that I should take a break from Instagram, more so for my own curiosity than anything else. Can I live without Instagram for an entire year? I think I’d like to try.

I love posting photos and scrolling as much as the next person. I’ve met amazing, kindred spirits on the platform whom I’ll miss during my break. I’m worried about missing out on important information and creative ideas other people have.

But by taking a break, I’m hoping I’ll discover something more valuable: my originality. Maybe I’ll make more connections in-person rather than virtually. Maybe I can truly focus on making myself happy for my own soul’s sake.

When Instagram was down for a day in October, I genuinely felt relieved and liberated. For once, I wasn’t turning to my phone every chance I got and checking other people’s posts and how many likes and followers I had. Knowing that the rest of the world wasn’t posting anything, I didn’t feel the FOMO. It was kind of glorious.

I wanted more of that feeling.

I want to know what it feels like to not need other people to validate me - through their likes, comments, and shares. I want to know what it feels like to instinctively turn to a book instead of my phone. I want to know what it feels like to take photos of people, places and things because I want to treasure them, not to post for likeability.

I’m excited to disappear for a while, to relish in the silence.

In Thomas Moore’s Care of the Soul, he writes:

So, the first point to make about care of the soul is that it is not primarily a method of problem-solving. Its goal is not to make life problem-free, but to give ordinary life the depth and value that come with soulfulness.

As an introvert, I crave depth and focus, neither of which I get from Instagram. I need to step away to find what else can make me feel creative, feel fulfilled. It can’t be surface-level social media. I don’t want to be the person who opens the app to look up one thing and finds herself still scrolling 30 minutes later. I don’t want to waste 29 minutes and 18 seconds anymore (my daily average on the app).

Psychologically, I hope a break from Instagram will keep me from constantly comparing myself to others. In Renee Engeln’s book, Beauty Sick, she writes about social media’s impact on making women feel less than and more depressed:

High levels of social media use are correlated with:

  • greater internalization of the thin beauty ideal.

  • more self-objectification.

  • more frequent social comparisons.

  • higher levels of disordered eating.

  • more desire to have plastic surgery.

  • greater investment in appearance.

  • increased depressive symptoms.

15 years of using Facebook and Instagram has absolutely shaped the way I think about others and my own confidence. They’ve impacted the choices and purchases I’ve made. They’ve subconsciously made me compare myself to other people’s highlight reels and feel depressed that my life isn’t picture perfect.

Say, on average, I used Facebook and Instagram for 30 minutes a day for the past 15 years. (Though, before I had a kid, my daily average was probably two hours.) That’s 164,250 minutes or 2,737.5 hours of my life I’ve wasted reading other people’s rants, stressing about my own posts, and comparing myself to everyone’s photos.

I think this break is overdue.