Thursday, December 4, 2008

Watch me grow...

Two years ago, I decided that I would not date for fun anymore. I have always known that I wanted a family, and I concluded that it was a dangerous idea to involve myself with men I've always known were temporary. Fleeting relationships with temporary men can turn themselves into permanent problems. These things I try my best to avoid.

So, at the age of twenty I decided that I would not date (or continue to date) men that I knew had no potential for marriage. I had discovered that I was much happier by myself than being involved with a man that I had no long term intentions. The truth is this: relationships are difficult. Why tread that water with someone that you know will not be around in three months?

Shortly after this decision, I met my husband. I was home for the summer, and at that time wasn't sure if I was coming back after graduation. So I certainly wasn't looking for anything serious. But he was there. And I loved him. He wasn't everything that I wanted in a man. In fact, he was actually the opposite of some of those things. But he was everything I needed (still is).

After graduation, I had some tough decisions to make. Particularly, whether or not I was going to stay on the east coast for law school or return home. At that time I would have liked to think that I made my decision independent of my relationship with him. And if we wouldn't have worked out, I probably still would have been content with my decision. But there is a small part of me that knows he was a part of my decision. I'm still not sure how I feel about that.

That decision changed the course of my life forever. If I had stayed on the east coast, there would have been new experiences, but it would have really been a continuation of the old life I lived. The life of only being responsible for me, selfishness, clubbing, meeting new and interesting people, drunken nights, fun, diversity, friends. I must say, it was a great life.

There is a new life now. In less than a year after graduating, I was a wife and new mother. I always thought I would be married, always knew I wanted kids, but if you would have told me that THIS would be my life NOW, I would have laughed at you. I am twenty-two. I will be celebrating my one year anniversary with my husband in a few weeks. Sometimes, I am still surprised by it all. I would have never predicted that my life would be like this, but I am completely, whole-heartedly, in love with it.

It is a drastic change. And I don't always do as good of a job as I would like, but I am getting there. I am not yet the new me, but I am certainly not the old one. Right now, I am transitioning between the life I used to live and the life I've always wanted.

Watch me grow...

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Human...

I am a new mother. My son is seven months old and he's my first child. I love him. I love being a mother. I really do.

But I had a breakdown.


A miniature, hysterical breakdown.


It was 5:50 a.m. on Friday. I am in school (law school) Monday through Wednesday from 8-3 Monday & Tuesday, and 8-6 on Wednesday. After one week of waking up nearly every hour, even with my husband taking turns (keeping in mind there is only so much he can do because I breastfeed), I was exhausted. And I broke down. I sobbed. I cried. I retreated to the guest room. I have never been so frustrated and felt so helpless in my life.


I don't know why I felt the need to preface this revelation with insistings about my love for him. But I've obviously decided that it will remain there, so maybe I'm a bit more aware than I'd care to acknowledge. Most parents (my experiences are usually with women), don't acknowledge these breakdowns. Fortunately, my mother has always been straight with me, and that helps. But even with the knowledge that sometimes you will falter, sometimes you will reach the end of your rope, and that sometimes you will breakdown, I still felt bad about it. It was as if I was failing as a mother. As if I was not allowed to be human.


And I am! Allowed to be human, I mean. I am not perfect. I am not always patient. I am not always kind. I do not always do the right thing. Honestly, I'm not sure that I would like to be that way. Imagine being the kid of a perfect parent. Talk about pressure! But it is hard to remind myself that it is good for me to be imperfect, to be human. I wrote this entry to remind myself.


I am a good mother. My son is healthy and thriving. I make his baby food. I'm still breasfeeding for christsakes (lol)! I can spend hours playing with him without realizing how much time has flown by. I think he is the coolest thing on earth (at least in the daytime, ha!). But most important, I love him more than I love myself. And I think (well, I hope) that this is what good mothering boils down to. Possibly, I am not the only new (or experienced) mother who has had or does occasionally have a breakdown. I just hope that if I am not alone, someone is there to tell them that it is okay to be human.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

You Can Win.

This election was critical.


Not just because of the economy, the war, healthcare, marriage, energy, global warming, etc. As a mother, a black mother, this election was critical because it solidified the fact that my son's possibilities are TRULY endless.


Mothers everywhere (and fathers) tell their sons that they can be anything. They tell them that if they work hard, if they do their best, they can do whatever they want to do. But conversations between black mothers and black sons have always included an addendum. The asterisk.


"Son, you can be whatever you want to be. *But things won't come easy for you. Nothing will be handed to you. You will have to work twice as hard. Be twice as smart. Do twice as much. And in some people's eyes you will still be less than them, even when you do more. But you are not. You are as good or better."

That conversation has changed. It has officially changed . Now, I will tell my son that he can be WHATEVER he wants to be, and it will not be followed by an asterisk. It will not be prefaced with doubt or apprehension or fear or cynicism. Barack Obama has shown America, the world, that even though you may have to be damn near perfect, you can be black, and you can win.