My daughter has been napping for 1.5 hours now, and still going strong.
Unfortunately, I’ve wasted this time by sitting at the computer, going through a fraction of the 400 odd emails that have accumulated in my inbox since I’ve been on vacation.
I hate email because it sucks me in, like TV used to do, and before I know it, an hour and a half has gone by. An hour and a half I could have used doing something more productive, like taking out the trash, making lunch/dinner, or… blogging.
I view blogging as more productive than reading right now because I’m simply overwhelmed by the amount of emails I receive for events from meetup.org and articles I’ve subscribed to from Dr. Mercola. I am woefully behind on reading Dr. Mercola’s articles, even the summaries. What could be more important than preventing cancer, or living a quality healthy life? Really- everything else falls by the wayside.
Yet I’m drawn to the meetups (I’m a member of 14 groups) because I want to interact with others, know what is going on in my community, and maybe most importantly, get out of my 1 bedroom apartment. (I do have a nice apartment, especially since my husband and I redecorated the place, but still, I need to get out every once in a while.)
Through meetup.org I got sucked into all of the email notifications for theater events. (Boy, I wish I knew about this site before I had Polina.) I love the theater, and when I was single and working, it was easy. Buy a ticket and go.
Now, because I’m not earning an income, I have to be choosy about which productions I go to. Even if it’s a free or pay-what-you-can performance, getting my husband to commit to be home by a certain time from work can be a challenge. He works in a lab under deadline fulfilling orders, and he doesn’t know when he has to work late. Setting a time stresses him out. That and taking care of our daughter, who may resort to crying when she’s away from me. So it’s not that easy.
I changed my meetup settings to reduce my email notifications. I’m giving up for the time being trying to coordinate a theater event. We just got back from vacation and my husband is busy at work. Maybe sometime in the future….
I just came back from a 10 day camping trip with Polina. Some people raised their eyebrows and discouraged me from going, and to be honest, I didn’t know whether it would work. I told my husband that if it didn’t work out, I would be coming home.
We were scheduled to arrive the day after Labor Day at a campsite in Spencer Spit State Park on Lopez Island. To get there, it’s about a two hour drive to Anacortes to catch a ferry to the island. I started packing the day before. I was confident we would have a good start the day we were to leave. Oh, how things went arye.
Polina didn’t want me to get ready. She wanted me to hold her. I knew this because every time I picked her up, she stopped crying, but when I put her down to get some business done, she cried.
We managed to get some breakfast in, but we weren’t able to leave by mid-morning as I envisioned. I had a hard time taking a shower with Polina standing by the child safety gate, crying.
I tried to put her down for a nap, but she wasn’t having any of it.
I couldn’t finish washing dishes. I couldn’t finish packing my and her clothes (the camping gear was already in the car). Theoretically, I could have continued to let her cry, but I COULDN’T do it.
What the heck. Let’s have lunch then. Better to save money and eat at home. We ate lunch. Afterward, Polina continued to be a handful. I was beginning to lose it.
No, let’s me be honest. I did lose it.
I was really looking to get away. I have gone to Spencer Spit almost every year for the last eight years. Camping calms me. If I don’t get out of the city, I start to feel antsy. It had been 15 months since my last getaway. I was overdue, and I felt it. I felt desperate.
I don’t remember my words to Polina exactly, but it was something to the effect, “What is it?! We have to go to the ferry! I spend all day with you, every day, for the last year. Why can’t you cooperate?!”
Infused in that plea was a tone of desperation because I wanted to go. I needed to get away, and this little being wasn’t cooperating. I hate losing it. It makes me feel like crap.
I emailed my husband. “Please call me,” I wrote in the subject title. He called a few minutes later.
“I can’t get out of the house,” I cried, exasperated. “She won’t let me get out of the house.”
As always, he is more practical in these situations, because he’s not the one experiencing this frustration that, after a year, has penetrated my core. He offered to help me when he got home from work. I knew that would make my departure really, really late. His message to me was that whenever I got there, I got there.
I did finally get out of the house, with all my stuff, at 3:30 in the afternoon. Plenty of time to catch a ferry at 6. The ride up was uneventful. I was happy to be on the road. My mind was beginning to prepare for my vacation. Anytime I get out of the city I feel lighter and my problems are in the rear view mirror.
I got to the ferry terminal around 6 and was shocked to learn that the next ferry leaves at nine o’clock! I figured I might have to wait, but with the evening commute, I didn’t think the next ferry would be in three hours. I know, I know, I should have checked the schedule. Hey, I was just trying to pack our clothes and get out of the house. I didn’t know what I would do with a one year old at the ferry dock for three hours. I could have left and come back later, but then I wasn’t guaranteed a spot on the ferry. I decided to stick it out. I had come this far, I wasn’t going back.
I called Pete and left him a message at home with the latest development. I needed options in case it was too dark and too cold to set up a tent that night. When Pete called back, I asked if he could investigate places to stay on the island. (I don’t have a smartphone.)
He called back saying he made a reservation for a room for $99.
“$99!” I exclaimed.
I couldn’t see myself (yes, myself, this was going to be my bill) paying that much money to stay one night, even if it was going to be dark and cold by the time I got there.
“Cancel it.” I said. He did, and I hoped I made the right decision.
I watched Polina walk around the café at the ferry, along the parked cars at the dock, and in the small park nearby. She had way more energy than me. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Three hours passed and, miraculously, we both made it. The sun had set by the time we drove onto the ferry. It was beginning to get dark outside, and when we disembarked about a half hour later, it was pitch black dark. (See the picture below.) Polina, at this point, was tired. It was 10 pm, her usual bedtime, and I still had to drive to the campsite and set up a tent. This was a walk-in campsite. That is, the campsite is about 100 feet from your car. No other site was available for any considerable length of time. At this point, I was thinking, “What was I thinking?”
Here is how it looked on the ferry landing as we arrived on the Lopez Island.
I felt myself shift into survival mode. This was going to happen. I drove to the campsite. It took me several loops around the campsite to even find my site. It was so dark I couldn’t see the numbers. A woman in her car at one of the campsites (that wasn’t a walk-in) was looking at a map. Since I was the only car driving around, and around, I hoped she didn’t find that creepy. I did find my site and got out of the car. The sky was clear and I could see the stars clearly. I put Polina inside my ergo and got to work. I could carry more without my flashlight, so after I found my campsite with my flashlight, successive trips I returned without one. Polina clung to me tightly. That was a good thing. It was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of me. If I had let her go, I wouldn’t have been able to see her.
Polina didn’t want me to let her go even as I was setting up the tent, so I did things with her in the ergo or with one hand if she protested being in there. She wouldn’t let me inflate the mattresses, but I did put the sleeping bags and blankets down. I set a lantern on a picnic table for light, but made trips back and forth in the dark with Polina. There was no one next to me. I’m glad I wasn’t afraid of the dark or scary monsters, although I did think about it. In my younger days, I would have been afraid.
With the tent set up, there was one final obstacle. When I went inside the tent to lay Polina down, she would start crying, and a campsite is no place for crying. The sound pierces through the night. “Oh no, Oh no, Oh no” I thought to myself. I picked her up and stood vertically, and she stopped and began falling asleep in my arms.
I was tired myself and couldn’t stand there all night. And it was cold. After a couple more unsuccessful tries laying her down inside the tent, I prayed. And then it worked. I lay her down next to me and she was able to stop crying to latch on to my breast, and then she fell asleep. A feeling of relief swept over me. I was able to extricate my breast from her mouth without waking her up. I called Pete and told him that the tent was set up and I was okay. I lay down next to her and drifted off.
The next day I finished unpacking. I had a couple days to myself, since I arrived at the start of the week, before it would get busy with weekend campers. We went down to the spit, went to the main town center at Lopez Village, went to Fisherman’s Wharf and watched a wedding rehearsal. It was nice to be away, but I didn’t have the same relaxation that I had in previous years when I went by myself for two reasons: 1) I had a one year old to watch out for and 2) I hadn’t worked in the past year, so I didn’t have the stress of a crazy boss or pressured work environment. Nevertheless, it was good to be back to reconnect with the people I know and make new friends. I’m sad to say that it felt like I had more heartfelt conversations with people during my 10-day stay on Lopez than I had in a year living in a major metropolitan city.
Pete made a surprise visit on Saturday. “You don’t think I would miss my girl’s first camping trip, do you?” He videotaped as he walked up behind me. I was so shocked to see him I don’t think I could see anything for a minute. When the realization sunk in, I was overcome with joy, and I wanted him to stay longer. Unfortunately, because he has to use a CPAP, camping is not an option for him. We had a great time walking on Otis Perkins beach together, looking at the scenery at a preserve nearby, and then going down to Spencer Spit. I missed the strawberries this year at Crowfoot farm. The harvest ends September 1. Usually I would pick and eat pints and pints of strawberries, but not this time. I did get a chance to talk to the owners, Eric and Elf (Eleanor), which was nice.
I like the idea of going camping every year with my daughter. I never had any annual events with my mother. I spent summers by myself, either at camp, at a swimming pool, and in my teenage years, being a hermit in our condominium. Except for two summers spent at a swimming pool, it wasn’t a happy life. I don’t want that for my daughter. I want my daughter to like me and for us to have a bond, not at all what I experienced with my mother. After visiting the San Juans almost every year for a decade, I don’t know whether I will go to the same place again next year. There is something comforting about the familiar, but I would also like to see other places. My main priority is safety and convenience (particularly with a baby/toddler). Lopez Island has the perfect combination of natural beauty and contemporary convenience, so it will be hard to match.
I love this picture of Polina by our tent. The pants are now capri pants on her.Picture inside our tent. To my surprise, Polina wasn’t afraid being inside the tent.We had to carry our own water to the campsite. Here is Polina helping to carry empty gallon containers to the well.
I’ve been feeling like a slug lately. I don’t know if it’s the lack of sleep from my child waking me up during the night, or the heat from the sunshine, which has been appearing a lot lately, but I feel worn out, spent.
My husband tells me to sleep when my baby sleeps, which begs the question- when do I get to do what I want to do? Only when she is unconscious can I go back to doing what I was doing when I was single… sort of. So I’m writing this blog while my daughter is asleep. I can feel the fatigue weighing in. I’m going to have to keep it short so I can nap and be ready for second shift.
I barely made it to Bodyflow today, which, if you don’t know, is an exercise routine that combines yoga, tai chi, and pilates. I was twenty minutes late for an hour class. My antelope is good for about an hour in the morning, then the fussiness begins. I can get a few minutes for myself to get ready by putting her in a bouncer, or a few minutes by putting her in her table chair for breakfast, but after that, it’s waaa, waaa, waaa until I pick her up.
I hate putting her down and letting her cry. That’s why it takes so long in the morning for me to get ready. I occupy her until she doesn’t cry, mostly, and then I take a shower and get dressed. Getting ready means putting her on my bed while I dress. She doesn’t want to be away from me.
Why not get ready during the hour that she’s good, you may ask. Because that’s when I catch up on my zzzzzzzs. My husband is with her in the morning while she’s good and he gets ready for work. Then it’s showtime for me again.
On the positive side, she did take to the “kid’s club” (aka daycare) at the gym today when I dropped her off. But when I came back 45 minutes later, she was wailing in the bouncy seat. As soon as I picked her up, she stopped crying. I love her so much. Does she feel my love coming through? Is that why she stopped? Am I being melodramatic?
I felt so out of shape at Bodyflow, even though I’ve been jogging 2 miles weekly, that I did not “master” the moves the way I have in the past. I did not get upset at myself. I did the moves the way I could, and was one with my ego.
The fact that I couldn’t do the moves didn’t matter. What mattered was participating in the class. What a liberation. I love my instructor, Linda. She has a calm and gentle quality. Some fitness instructors work you mercilessly, or encourage the competitive complex, but not with Linda. I get a good work out, physically and spiritually.
My legs feel light under me, and I’m lying on my back. My eyelids feel like ski slopes. I need to go. Good night. Ehm, good day.
I don’t understand why anyone would describe helping their child to fall asleep as “putting him/her down.” It sounds like their child is being euthanized. Isn’t that how we describe someone euthanizing their pet, “putting them down?”
It kind of creeps me out when I hear it. I avoid saying this, opting for phrases such as “lay her down to sleep,” or simply, “she finally took a nap.”
Originally written June 12, 2013.
UPDATE October 21, 2013
Since I last wrote this some four months ago, I am less judgmental about people using this phrase, because I have caught myself using it.
During times when I tried to get Polina to go to sleep and she wouldn’t, and then she finally, after numerous attempts, did go to sleep, I have said, “I tried to put her down several times” and “She finally went down at…” My use of this phrase is tied to my feelings of desperation at the time I am describing it.
