How to become a mother when you never liked kids

 
Scrolling through my blogs today, I found that somehow this picture got uploaded to my old blog...and it belongs on this one.  Looking at the picture, I can't help but think that I actually look happy!  And that's hard for me to believe since I know at the time of this picture I had just spent three days in labor (not hard labor for all of it), had already had an iv "attempted" inserted into my arm over a half dozen times before actually finding a vein--something I was none too thrilled with--had had my mother try to tell me what I should and should not do in my own hospital room while I was in labor (because one of things was annoying HER of all things:  having an oil burner with a pleasing scent (to ME) going to help me relax), and had just really recently suffered a third degree tear--down there--whatever that means except a LOT of pain.  Also, and this was something nobody told me till later, had given birth to a blue daughter...the umbilical cord having wrapped itself around her neck when she was coming out and it was preventing her breathing well.  But here, in this one moment of glory, somehow, holding my daughter (that had been the source of a seriously deep and daunting depression for the previous nine months), I felt ok...I think.

My daughter was born on April 29th, 2013 at 15:43, with the assist of a wonderful red haired nurse named Erin, and my doctor (who I was less than impressed with the majority of the pregnancy--but what are you gonna do when your insurance limits your choices?)...neither of whom thought I was actually going to make it through the labor without the assist of drugs for the pain, or without having to be forced into a c-section...neither of which were in my birth plan. 

I didn't know on that day what kind of a mother I would be, or even really what kind I wanted to be (except that I knew I wanted to be more like my friend Sooz than like my own mother), but I did know that with the arrival of my beautiful baby, my life was forever changed. 

Seeing her for the first time...I would like to say was magical or the best thing ever, but literally the first thing I thought was ewww...she's all gross and covered in goo!  But even still my Bradley Method training and doula were there in my head telling me that the best thing for her was to be on my chest and stomach immediately after birth.  So I held her, gooey and covered in white gunk for a long time before I would even let the nurse weigh her, or let anyone else hold her.  But I did realize something as soon as I saw her:  her name was not Moirenn, as I had desired to call her, her name was Scarlett!  *Note*  Even now she corrects people when they call her anything besides Scarlett, and she's only two!  "No, Scarlyotta," (as my dad likes to call her as a nickname) she says, "name is Scar-Wett!", and she points at herself. 

But back to her birthdate...I remember saying to my mother as she was almost all the way out, "You're about to see your granddaughter get born."  And I remember looking at my friend Ron, who was my helper through the pregnancy and birth, hoping he'd reassure me that I could get through the last little part.  Maybe I said something to him too, but I don't remember what it might have been.  But I do remember that, after the nurse had forcibly inserted an internal monitor into my abdomen (which was very, VERY painful), and she said the contractions would get worse for awhile (and they DID!!), that Ron was able to help me get through them.  I had reached the point that I felt like I couldn't take the pain anymore, and was telling him that "I give up, just give me the meds...I can't take this".  And all he did was calmly ask me, a couple times (one of which reminding me HOW they give the meds--a spinal tap!!) if I was sure that that's what I wanted...and I thought about it--in between contractions--realized that it was NOT what I wanted, and was able to convince myself to just try to make it a little longer.  And a little longer made it to where I didn't need them at all. 

The other thing I remember is at one point I was falling asleep in between contractions (though I didn't realize it cuz I thought they were just going nonstop, and this made others believe that when it came time to actually deliver that I would be too tired to do anything), and the pain was so intense that I thought I couldn't bear it, but since they were shorter and my body seemed to be twitching at the end the contraction--which seemed to make it feel better--and I kept saying why can't I just get a break in between these?, that finally a nurse or doctor one told me to stop pushing...

"How can I stop doing something that I'm not doing?" I thought to myself then said out loud...and of course the nurse/doctor said that I was doing it.  Then finally I said that I couldn't NOT do it, so they "checked" me again, and decided that I was actually ready for delivery...finally!  Then not twenty minutes later, Scarlett arrived into the world.  And the first thing I wanted to do was EAT!!! So Ron went and got us Vietnamese food from the best place in Reno (about an hour or two later).  Of course, eating was NOT the first thing I did...instead I held my baby girl and tried to get her to nurse. 

The End of the Beginning. 

We Really Can't Do it ALL...maybe.

So today I started researching fashion schools. It happened like this: I was reading my Vogue trying to have a nice relaxing day of being sick on the couch, and all I could think about was being one of the designers that I was seeing on the pages. I really wanted all those beautiful women to be wearing my clothes. Maybe every young girl had that dream at some point...but I guess it never left me. Partly because I still alter a LOT of my own clothes before wearing them or make nice things out of the horrible dresses that my mother likes to hand down to me, and partly because I've always been an artist in my soul. And that artist is screaming to be let out again.

The problem of course, with going to art school for fashion design, I've discovered, is that they don't have any sort of job placement service for after you graduate. You just go out and get a fashion job! lol. Well, if it were that easy, perhaps I'd already have done that? So instead of jumping straight into fashion design, maybe I'll finish the other degree I had already started...maybe even add some business classes to it. Me in business has a nice boring ring to it...haha! The other problem with art school is the looks I'd get from my overly judgmental family for getting a "worthless" art degree. But I can see their point...what does a girl who lives in the middle of nowhere in Nevada need a fashion degree for?

But there's always that little voice that says: maybe you could start a fashion scene around here once you start making designs that sell. But how does one become a Marc Jacobs or Ralph Lauren? The idea is you make clothes and then you sell them...but how do you get people to buy them? That's where I always hit a wall when it comes to thinking about starting my own business...where do I get patrons from? Does anybody know how this works?

At any rate tonight's wisdom for the modern woman is: though we may think we can do literally everything at once, all day long, maybe today is the day to rule out one more thing that we don't want to do...with our lives, or even just on our to-do list--even if we could do it.

Day 1

Welcome to my new blog. This will be a somewhat informative page about what it's like being a modern woman. I will be discussing all of the things I'm passionate about: life, wine, food, pastry, men, fashion and growing things. Welcome aboard...it may be a strange ride.

To me, a modern woman is a hard thing to describe because people expect us to be everything at once. In the 50's it was easy for a woman to know her role, but now the lines have become muddled. Now we're expected to have a full time career to help pay the bills, have great credit so we can buy a house or a car in our own name without anybody else's help, not need anybody else's help ever (except when we're "acting like a girl"--and then they can't believe we didn't ask for help), and maybe, just maybe, we're expected to not want a significant other in our lives. Because after all, if we don't need them, why should we want them?

However, we're also expected to come home from a hard day's work and (if we do have a male or kids in our life, or I guess it could just be a dependent female, but especially if there's children involved) clean the house, cook the dinner, wash the clothes, fold the clothes, put everybody else's clothes away--unless we want them on the floor next to the bed where they inevitably get washed again the next week because we don't know if they're clean or dirty a week later--and make everybody's lunches for the next day. Am I the only one in this house who knows how to make a sandwich and put a yogurt into a bag? Or cut a watermelon into small bite size chunks? Well, he can't have them in slices...his hands are dirty at work and he doesn't want to get junk on his fruit....gasp!

At any rate, the posts that follow will be about the struggles to maintain the balance of a modern woman's life...when we don't know what the rules (or roles) are anymore. In a world where we're expected to do the gardening, decorating, cooking, cleaning...but also the fixing of broken dishwashers and replacing garbage disposals, and hanging blinds, patching holes, and various other manual tasks that used to be reserved for the male role of the household. Sidenote: I'm going to say male role to include female and male domestic partners as well as straight men--because every relationship has different roles, and I don't intend on excluding any population.

Summation: This is a blog for working women (or people in a working woman's role) about working women; it's about bringing home the bacon, and then being expected to cook it too.

First day:

Tonight I would love to mention the wine I'm drinking right now: Opolo Vineyards, Mountain Zinfandel from Paso Robles, 2009. It is very delicious with hints of chocolate and spice, but very fruit forward. I wish I had made a chocolate creme brulee for dinner...but alas, life as a modern woman does not afford one the opportunity to always make a delicious dessert to go along with a dinner. It was hard enough to go to work this morning, a doctor's appointment this afternoon that lasted way longer than expected and still get home in time to make homemade beef stroganoff and artichokes with garlic aioli sauce before my guy arrived home. In truth, I made the garlic aioli very simply using store bought mayo, because I didn't have time to make it from scratch too, but I wanted something delicious to dip my artichoke leaves into that my boyfriend would eat. Being with me for over a year, and me being a chef, his tastes have gotten very picky lately and he won't eat plain mayo on his artichokes.

A Recipe for Garlic Aioli:

1 Cup Mayo (if you choose to make fresh mayo, I recommend Julia Child's recipe--so good!)
3 small garlic cloves
2 TB lemon juice
TT kosher salt and pepper (TT means to taste)

and then I also like to add
1 fresh cayenne (or 2 small thai) chili peppers with seeds--from my garden
a dash of dried or fresh basil (if fresh, 1-2 small leaves)

And then put it all into the food processor until the garlic cloves are chopped. Season to taste.

This recipe can be used for many things...drizzling it over steamed asparagus, dipping sauce for artichokes, spread for sandwiches...the possibilities are endless. Let me know how you like it...that is, if anybody ever reads this thing...haha!

What else to say on my first impression?

Ok, how about this. I read an article in a Vogue magazine recently--I have a subscription because I'm addicted to fashion in addition to my many other passions--that had a story about a girl who was struggling to figure out who she was, and I guess that's me too. At any rate, she got some advice from somebody along her journey that she was supposed to be a writer, and she realized that it took figuring out what she wasn't that ended up helping her figure out what/who she was. Because of that article I started figuring out who and what I was NOT...but I kept coming back to things that I might be: a writer, a chef, a sommelier, a vineyard owner. So I've been trying to explore those might be-s, and I realized something revolutionary: Nobody Has To Pay Me To Write For Me To BE A Writer. All I have to do is write. So there we go.

Now I AM a writer.