Manufactured glow

For my mommy

Old door. Fun paint job i did.

Semi-crunchy?

Lately I've been wishing I could be a little more organic about the way this child enters the world. unfortunately my body has made a few decisions for me already. I have issues with the way my hips are set that make an un-medicated vaginal birth only available for a certain time frame. Granted I have known my hips would give me issues with childbirth since I was sixteen, but I never gave it much more than a passing thought.

 An epidural will broaden my chance of giving birth vaginally, but I have already been given a weight limit. Sometimes smaller built women wont be able to give birth naturally because of their hips may not shift as much as they need to. I am definitely not a small woman, but my hips probably wont shift in the right way. The fact that I am already in a lot of pain worries me a bit.
 
I don't want to be induced, at all, but I will do whatever is best for the baby. I am terrified of a c-section.

ugh.

Brown.

My hair is... brown. Boring. Dull.

This is very new to me not being able to change my hair on a whim. I know its a great debate about whether or not pregnant women should dye their hair, but I would rather err on the safe side. After all I fully intend on breastfeeding, co-sleeping- and possibly making my own baby food why wouldn't I want to limit the chemicals that enter my body now? Brown is just so boring.

I am very used to my hair being an outward statement of an inner feeling. My hair has always said something different about me. Something like crazy, rebellious, unstable, fun, etc. Brown says typical, everyday, blend-into -the-crowd, and boring.

Why am I so defined by my hair?

When I was younger my hair was tied into a lot of my confidence. It seemed as if my confidence was directly related to how awesome I thought my hair looked. I didn't much care what other thought of it then. I guess I still don't. Still dying my hair always served as a pick me up. I think every color I have dyed my hair has added another badge directly onto my vanity.

In the midst of having anxiety issues my hair played a big part in controlling my world. When I felt a break-down coming I often tugged at my hair in the effort to remember that I was real. For me it was like gripping at realty and maintaining some level of control. At one point I was so very angry I began cutting at my hair. chopping away in no particular pattern.

My hair is a direct line to my sanity. I have no idea why. I certainly don't feel brown.

Plan out

   I have always loved the rain. I know, I know... just about every time it rains here I state that.

A few days ago the weather was absolutely perfect. Warm rain, light fog, and a wavering breeze. It was the first time I had meditated in the rain. It was simply beautiful. I've had a hard time feeling human lately. My brain just doesn't want to catch up to reality or at least a pleasant version of reality. So meditating in midst of my favorite conditions was a well needed break. Being wholly embraced by something tangible is bracing.

Its easy to take for granted whats around me. The smell, the trees, the garden, and the idea of whats real here can leave me rather disconnected. I need to be disconnected and stay disconnected. Trying to force unnecessary connection leaves me a bit strained.

I didn't go back to work so I could regain some purpose and some perspective. I felt if i didn't regain something of myself before returning to people, I would never be able to regain whatever it is that makes me... me. Now I've come to the hard part. Adding everything up while taking care of my family and without losing myself again. Everyone gets lost no and then... I just refuse to ask for directions.

Soon enough I will be adding mother to my list of attributes... and I couldn't be happier and more scared. Which I imagine is normal. contrary to belief I am not rewriting my life, I am simply changing the order of events. I need to learn not to plan out life...

Up and At 'em.

Up and At 'em.

Up early today working on my garden. Raking, weeding, raking ,weeding... One  more roto-till and its ready. Happiness is playing in the dirt.

One benefit to living in the middle of no-where is the birds. I can hear them almost all day. Uninterrupted chirps and songs makes the day seem a bit lighter.

I thoroughly believe you have to be a special kind of crazy to love birds. Its goiug to be a long time before I have another bird. Its a good thing. It would be selfish of me to put a bird in a home with many animals, a new baby and not enough attention to go around. Poor guys are so sensitive. Its not fair what people do to them.

Sometimes I forget...

  Sometimes I forget that I am, at heart, a weirdo.  I love being a weirdo... and odd child... the different one. It offers its challenges. Sometimes its hard for people to take me seriously. At times I am hard to handle. I don't tolerate being around khaki people for very long.

 As I understand it khaki people have urges to buy beige clothes, get drunk, flock together in quite well behaved groups etc. Where as I (and the people i know) have urges to paint giant cephalopods on the wall, mimic animal noises when heard, and drive for hours to dress up and get attention. Now I wonder how people will perceive me with a child. Pink hair and a stroller? Granted I dont have pink hair right now but I'm sure I will need to dye it something funky again. Brown just doesn't do it for me. Sorry Grandma.

Though I doubt I will be joining any Mommy and me painfully suburban playgroups, I still want my child to interact with other children. Living on a farm in the middle of no-where makes that a bit difficult. I will do everything in my power to enhance the life of this child and future children. Where will that take me?

 I know right now I need to find some crunchy Momma's in my area. I fear status obsessed suburban trophy wives and I know that I am not able to hold my tongue around them.

I will never stop being me. I hope that someday that will inspire my children to have a great sense of self-worth. After all I have met women who have tried to be like me because they had terrible self-esteem.

Why create your own glass ceiling?