Sometimes I hate my boyfriend.
And being a stay at home mom.
And...oh yeah, my life.
I know I'm not supposed to complain.
From an outsider's perspective things probably don't look so bad.
But sometimes I feel like a prisoner in my own home.
My boyfriend's a good guy, he really is.
He works at a job he's grown to hate just so that I can stay home and take care of our daughter and for that, I truly appreciate him but what he doesn't understand is that
I WORK TOO!
Much, much harder than he does.
Because when you're a stay at home mom, hell, ANY kind of mom
YOUR JOB NEVER ENDS.
I don't get sick time, vacation time, lunch breaks or weekends off.
Hell, I don't get to shit, shower or even shave my legs without my daughter barging her way into the bathroom with me.
Once upon a time I had a life.
I lived in Boston and took the Red line to work everyday.
I exercised at Healthworks five mornings a week, took classes at Umass part-time, and on weekends I went to the Kendall Square theater to see all of the movies Ebert had raved about the week before.
I did all of these things blissfully alone.
Now, my alone time consists of the hour or so I get before the baby wakes up each morning and the few minutes I can keep my eyes open after she goes to bed at night.
I know that this will all be worth it one day.
But today...I just needed to bitch.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Friday, October 14, 2011
At Last
It's become cold here in Chicago.
So cold that my fellow mommies and I are discussing who has the best deals on Winter coats.
So cold that I broke out the comforter last night.
So cold that in lieu of our morning trip to the park, I decided to take Amira out during the slightly warmer afternoon instead.
This time last year, an Autumn walk meant no more than dressing my daughter in layers and avoiding the lakefront at all costs. But even if worse came to worse and she caught a minor cold, it wouldn't be that big of a deal for us.
Things are slightly different now.
Today, if my daughter were to catch a cold I'd have to immediately put her on her nebulizer.
I'd have to fill the bathroom with steam and rub her down with Vicks and wait for her breathing to become regular enough for her to get a good night's sleep.
Because at long last the inevitable has finally occured.
After 2.5 years, I've finally weaned my daughter.
I will never again nurse her through an illness.
I will never again nurse her when she falls and hurts herself.
I will never again put her to my breast and know that she'll be sleeping sweetly within 15 minutes...no matter HOW wired she'd previously been.
My baby's not a baby anymore.
And as much as I've longed for this moment over the past 6 months (when nursing began to feel more like a burden than a blessing)
I'd be lying if I said it wasn't bittersweet.
So cold that my fellow mommies and I are discussing who has the best deals on Winter coats.
So cold that I broke out the comforter last night.
So cold that in lieu of our morning trip to the park, I decided to take Amira out during the slightly warmer afternoon instead.
This time last year, an Autumn walk meant no more than dressing my daughter in layers and avoiding the lakefront at all costs. But even if worse came to worse and she caught a minor cold, it wouldn't be that big of a deal for us.
Things are slightly different now.
Today, if my daughter were to catch a cold I'd have to immediately put her on her nebulizer.
I'd have to fill the bathroom with steam and rub her down with Vicks and wait for her breathing to become regular enough for her to get a good night's sleep.
Because at long last the inevitable has finally occured.
After 2.5 years, I've finally weaned my daughter.
I will never again nurse her through an illness.
I will never again nurse her when she falls and hurts herself.
I will never again put her to my breast and know that she'll be sleeping sweetly within 15 minutes...no matter HOW wired she'd previously been.
My baby's not a baby anymore.
And as much as I've longed for this moment over the past 6 months (when nursing began to feel more like a burden than a blessing)
I'd be lying if I said it wasn't bittersweet.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
...And Found
I've lived in Chicago for 3 years now and every summer Lorenzo and I take the baby home to Boston to visit my family.
There was not much different about this vacation. I saw my family, my friends, and my old co-workers but because, upon our arrival, my best friend Maggie hadn't returned to Boston from her vacation yet, I was able to spend some time alone with her youngest daughter, Cat.
I am so grateful for that occasion.
Cat, who had just completed her freshman year of college, came to my mom's house to visit us as soon as she learned we were in town. Having not seen each other in a year we had a lot of catching up to do.
"Tell me all about college," I began.
And after filling me in on the classes she'd taken, her major, and her new friends, Cat gave me the details of her break up with her high school boyfriend. As much as it had hurt her at the time, she was doing much better now and knew it had been for the best.
Like Cat, I too had gone away to college with my high school boyfriend and like Cat, we also broke up before the end of the first year.
But...
I didn't handle things as well as she had.
I probably came as close to a nervous breakdown as one can get without needing psychiatric care. (THAT nervous breakdown would come years later...another post, another time)
Growing up, I never had any self-esteem. I have no idea why because I was surrounded by the most supportive, the most loving friends, family and teachers that anyone could ask for but...
Somehow I veered off track.
The books that had been a constant for me, the writing that had once sustained me were suddenly replaced with phone calls and love letters from boys.
The journaling that I had done, the poems and short stories I used to write...gone.
Instead, what mattered most was how pretty I was, how popular, how well-liked.
Somewhere along the line I lost myself.
Luckily, after many, many years I regained my sense of self-worth. And now, at 36, I enter a new phase of my life. My goal is no longer to be the sexy singleton. Today, I am a mother, a partner, and a role model to my little girl.
And I'm a writer, or at least, I plan on becoming one again.
To paraphrase something Toni Morrison once said there are two things I now know I have to do: I HAVE to be able to parent my child and I have to write. There are no longer any ifs, ands, or buts about it for me.
I have to write.
And that's exactly what I intend to do from here on out.
There was not much different about this vacation. I saw my family, my friends, and my old co-workers but because, upon our arrival, my best friend Maggie hadn't returned to Boston from her vacation yet, I was able to spend some time alone with her youngest daughter, Cat.
I am so grateful for that occasion.
Cat, who had just completed her freshman year of college, came to my mom's house to visit us as soon as she learned we were in town. Having not seen each other in a year we had a lot of catching up to do.
"Tell me all about college," I began.
And after filling me in on the classes she'd taken, her major, and her new friends, Cat gave me the details of her break up with her high school boyfriend. As much as it had hurt her at the time, she was doing much better now and knew it had been for the best.
Like Cat, I too had gone away to college with my high school boyfriend and like Cat, we also broke up before the end of the first year.
But...
I didn't handle things as well as she had.
I probably came as close to a nervous breakdown as one can get without needing psychiatric care. (THAT nervous breakdown would come years later...another post, another time)
Growing up, I never had any self-esteem. I have no idea why because I was surrounded by the most supportive, the most loving friends, family and teachers that anyone could ask for but...
Somehow I veered off track.
The books that had been a constant for me, the writing that had once sustained me were suddenly replaced with phone calls and love letters from boys.
The journaling that I had done, the poems and short stories I used to write...gone.
Instead, what mattered most was how pretty I was, how popular, how well-liked.
Somewhere along the line I lost myself.
Luckily, after many, many years I regained my sense of self-worth. And now, at 36, I enter a new phase of my life. My goal is no longer to be the sexy singleton. Today, I am a mother, a partner, and a role model to my little girl.
And I'm a writer, or at least, I plan on becoming one again.
To paraphrase something Toni Morrison once said there are two things I now know I have to do: I HAVE to be able to parent my child and I have to write. There are no longer any ifs, ands, or buts about it for me.
I have to write.
And that's exactly what I intend to do from here on out.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Lost
It's been 7 months since I've last written.
It's official.
Somewhere along the way I lost myself.
It's official.
Somewhere along the way I lost myself.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Just Do It
Deciding to become a parent was a difficult decision for me.
Learning how to parent wasn't much easier.
Amira was born on April 2, 2009 via emergency c-section. Because both she and I came down with fevers during her delivery, Amira was kept in the special nursery for the first four days of her life while I slept in a hospital room across the hall.
21 months later this is still the furthest apart my daughter and I have ever slept.
In the months before I delivered I read every pregnancy book, pregnancy magazine and Internet article on the subject that I could get my hands on.
And even though Fit Pregnancy, Vegetarian Pregnancy and other periodicals were useful to me along the way, in our society there is still only one, true pregnancy bible.
What To Expect When You're Expecting.
I read this book ferociously and only put it back in the bookcase to read its follow up, What To Expect The First Year.
Both books suggested that breastfeeding moms use a co-sleeper for the first several months of baby's life. Co-sleepers are like open faced cribs (minus the high railings) that are attached to a parent's bed. This makes it MUCH easier to breastfeed in the middle of the night. When it's time to nurse, Mom simply rolls over and baby is right next to her, but in a safe and separate sleeping space. Between the co-sleeper I'd purchased and the crib my best friends had given me as a shower gift, I knew Amira's sleeping arrangements were in place for the first couple years of her life.
I was wrong.
Nights were torture for us.
Like most newborns Amira seemed to wake up the minute we put her to bed in her co-sleeper. No matter how snuggly we wrapped her or how often we rocked her, Amira never seemed to sleep for more than an hour at a time, leaving me and Lorenzo exhausted, overwhelmed and desperate for advice.
But the solution to our problem didn't lie in any of my pregnancy books, or even from the mouth of a fellow mother.
It came from my sister and her solution was a simple one.
"Khadija, put the baby in the bed with you and get some sleep."
I was stunned.
"I can't, are you crazy? I can't do that. I'll kill her, I'll roll over and crush her in my sleep."
Fareeda burst out in laughter and replied, "No you won't.
"Yes I will, of course I will. Besides, you're not supposed to do that, the book says..."
"Fuck the book, you will not kill your child. When Treasure sleeps over my house she doesn't just sleep next to me, she sleeps ON TOP OF ME and we have NEVER had a problem, not once. Amira's your daughter, you won't roll over her, trust me, okay? Just trust me."
So I did.
It was the best parenting advice I've ever received.
Amira has slept curled beside me ever since. And though it would be many more months before she slept through the night, from that moment on we've all slept MUCH more peacefully in our queen sized bed.
Together.
And though this arrangement may go against commonly held societal standards, Fareeda was right.
Sometimes you have to put down the books and go with your gut instead.
Learning how to parent wasn't much easier.
Amira was born on April 2, 2009 via emergency c-section. Because both she and I came down with fevers during her delivery, Amira was kept in the special nursery for the first four days of her life while I slept in a hospital room across the hall.
21 months later this is still the furthest apart my daughter and I have ever slept.
In the months before I delivered I read every pregnancy book, pregnancy magazine and Internet article on the subject that I could get my hands on.
And even though Fit Pregnancy, Vegetarian Pregnancy and other periodicals were useful to me along the way, in our society there is still only one, true pregnancy bible.
What To Expect When You're Expecting.
I read this book ferociously and only put it back in the bookcase to read its follow up, What To Expect The First Year.
Both books suggested that breastfeeding moms use a co-sleeper for the first several months of baby's life. Co-sleepers are like open faced cribs (minus the high railings) that are attached to a parent's bed. This makes it MUCH easier to breastfeed in the middle of the night. When it's time to nurse, Mom simply rolls over and baby is right next to her, but in a safe and separate sleeping space. Between the co-sleeper I'd purchased and the crib my best friends had given me as a shower gift, I knew Amira's sleeping arrangements were in place for the first couple years of her life.
I was wrong.
Nights were torture for us.
Like most newborns Amira seemed to wake up the minute we put her to bed in her co-sleeper. No matter how snuggly we wrapped her or how often we rocked her, Amira never seemed to sleep for more than an hour at a time, leaving me and Lorenzo exhausted, overwhelmed and desperate for advice.
But the solution to our problem didn't lie in any of my pregnancy books, or even from the mouth of a fellow mother.
It came from my sister and her solution was a simple one.
"Khadija, put the baby in the bed with you and get some sleep."
I was stunned.
"I can't, are you crazy? I can't do that. I'll kill her, I'll roll over and crush her in my sleep."
Fareeda burst out in laughter and replied, "No you won't.
"Yes I will, of course I will. Besides, you're not supposed to do that, the book says..."
"Fuck the book, you will not kill your child. When Treasure sleeps over my house she doesn't just sleep next to me, she sleeps ON TOP OF ME and we have NEVER had a problem, not once. Amira's your daughter, you won't roll over her, trust me, okay? Just trust me."
So I did.
It was the best parenting advice I've ever received.
Amira has slept curled beside me ever since. And though it would be many more months before she slept through the night, from that moment on we've all slept MUCH more peacefully in our queen sized bed.
Together.
And though this arrangement may go against commonly held societal standards, Fareeda was right.
Sometimes you have to put down the books and go with your gut instead.
Friday, December 10, 2010
I Am Not My Hair...Or Am I?
Two days ago I received a phone call that tickled me.
It was from my sister, and her simple words have had me smiling ever since I heard them.
"Oh my God, Khadija, I absolutely love my hair."
This from the girl who, just a few short weeks ago, held back tears as she watched her once long hair being cut short to remove the last remnants of perm forever.
My sister's decision to go natural was shocking to say the very least.
Fareeda's always been the stylish, glamorous one.
Her appearance is never less than flawless and her chemically straightened hair had been beautifully styled to complement her image.
Style-wise, Fareeda and I are as different as night and day.
While Fareeda's always been cover girl trendy, I've always been a plain jane, refusing to wear make up ("If a man doesn't have to wear it, why should I?"), get my nails done ("It's just going to chip in a matter of seconds anyway"), or spend hours at the mall ("God, I hate shopping, let's go have lunch instead!"). But for all of our differences, eventually, both my sister and I would come to the decision to grow out our perms and "go natural" instead.
It's a decision that scores of Black women across the country have made as well.
Which is why when Chris Rock released his movie, "Good Hair" I was struck by the untimeliness of the film. Black women in America are experiencing a hair revolution the likes of which we haven't seen since the 70's. I know very few sistas who still perm their hair, much less have a weave. One need look no further than youtube to find COUNTLESS videos of sistas talking about their decision to go natural, and showing off their various hairstyles. And for Rock to not interview a SINGLE sista in Hollywood who wears her hair naturally seemed deliberate to me. (I suppose he couldn't get in touch with Jill Scott, Erykah Badu, India Aria, Whoopi Goldberg or any other natural sista to provide an alternative opinion huh?)
But overly-simplistic movies aside, most American sistas of my generation share the same hair story. We're born with heads full of curly hair that our mamas love to style with ribbons and barrettes. As we get older our hair texture begins to change. Our curls tighten up, our hair becomes more kinky, and our mamas, never having been taught how to manage this hair, will eventually take us to the hair salon to perm this unruly mass. It's a win-win for everyone. Our mamas no longer have to deal with it, the stylist is getting paid regularly from a new client, and suddenly, we look like the girls on tv. Our hair becomes long, straight, and manageable.
Much like a white woman's.
I went natural about ten years ago.
I hated my hair.
Hated spending HOURS at the salon.
Hated knowing that my hair had to be "touched up" more often than other sista's because it was so thick and kinky and because I worked out so much that I was just going to "sweat out" my perm anyway.
I hated, hated, HATED my hair...
Until I went natural.
Suddenly, I could DO MY OWN HAIR.
Turns out the unmanageable is pretty fucking manageable after all.
It was impossible for me to keep my hair straight because IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE STRAIGHT IN THE FIRST PLACE.
My hair is black and thick and kinky and that's a-okay with me.
I LOVE the texture of my natural hair.
If I want to wear it straight (which I do once or twice a year) I can have it blow dried at the hair salon. And when I'm ready to wear it kinky again, I simply wash it and it returns to its natural state.
Life's a hell of a lot easier once you decide to stop fighting an unwinnable war.
And my sister's still a trendsetter.
She's had more hairstyles in the short time she's been natural than I've had in the past ten years.
And she turns more heads and gets more compliments today than she ever has before.
I have nothing against perms or the women who wear them. I truly don't care how anyone, besides myself and my daughter, choose to wear their hair.
The beauty of Black hair is that, unlike a lot of other races, we can do SO MUCH with it.
And the beauty of life is that it's never too late to discover that fact.
It was from my sister, and her simple words have had me smiling ever since I heard them.
"Oh my God, Khadija, I absolutely love my hair."
This from the girl who, just a few short weeks ago, held back tears as she watched her once long hair being cut short to remove the last remnants of perm forever.
My sister's decision to go natural was shocking to say the very least.
Fareeda's always been the stylish, glamorous one.
Her appearance is never less than flawless and her chemically straightened hair had been beautifully styled to complement her image.
Style-wise, Fareeda and I are as different as night and day.
While Fareeda's always been cover girl trendy, I've always been a plain jane, refusing to wear make up ("If a man doesn't have to wear it, why should I?"), get my nails done ("It's just going to chip in a matter of seconds anyway"), or spend hours at the mall ("God, I hate shopping, let's go have lunch instead!"). But for all of our differences, eventually, both my sister and I would come to the decision to grow out our perms and "go natural" instead.
It's a decision that scores of Black women across the country have made as well.
Which is why when Chris Rock released his movie, "Good Hair" I was struck by the untimeliness of the film. Black women in America are experiencing a hair revolution the likes of which we haven't seen since the 70's. I know very few sistas who still perm their hair, much less have a weave. One need look no further than youtube to find COUNTLESS videos of sistas talking about their decision to go natural, and showing off their various hairstyles. And for Rock to not interview a SINGLE sista in Hollywood who wears her hair naturally seemed deliberate to me. (I suppose he couldn't get in touch with Jill Scott, Erykah Badu, India Aria, Whoopi Goldberg or any other natural sista to provide an alternative opinion huh?)
But overly-simplistic movies aside, most American sistas of my generation share the same hair story. We're born with heads full of curly hair that our mamas love to style with ribbons and barrettes. As we get older our hair texture begins to change. Our curls tighten up, our hair becomes more kinky, and our mamas, never having been taught how to manage this hair, will eventually take us to the hair salon to perm this unruly mass. It's a win-win for everyone. Our mamas no longer have to deal with it, the stylist is getting paid regularly from a new client, and suddenly, we look like the girls on tv. Our hair becomes long, straight, and manageable.
Much like a white woman's.
I went natural about ten years ago.
I hated my hair.
Hated spending HOURS at the salon.
Hated knowing that my hair had to be "touched up" more often than other sista's because it was so thick and kinky and because I worked out so much that I was just going to "sweat out" my perm anyway.
I hated, hated, HATED my hair...
Until I went natural.
Suddenly, I could DO MY OWN HAIR.
Turns out the unmanageable is pretty fucking manageable after all.
It was impossible for me to keep my hair straight because IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE STRAIGHT IN THE FIRST PLACE.
My hair is black and thick and kinky and that's a-okay with me.
I LOVE the texture of my natural hair.
If I want to wear it straight (which I do once or twice a year) I can have it blow dried at the hair salon. And when I'm ready to wear it kinky again, I simply wash it and it returns to its natural state.
Life's a hell of a lot easier once you decide to stop fighting an unwinnable war.
And my sister's still a trendsetter.
She's had more hairstyles in the short time she's been natural than I've had in the past ten years.
And she turns more heads and gets more compliments today than she ever has before.
I have nothing against perms or the women who wear them. I truly don't care how anyone, besides myself and my daughter, choose to wear their hair.
The beauty of Black hair is that, unlike a lot of other races, we can do SO MUCH with it.
And the beauty of life is that it's never too late to discover that fact.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Rally to Restore Sanity to My Life
Two days ago, Nita (Amira's grandmother) introduced me to one of her friends.
"This is my grandbaby, Amira," she began. "And this is her mother, Khadija."
"Nice to meet you" I said.
"It's nice to meet you, too" said the lady whose name I've already forgotten. "And what a beautiful baby girl! But now it's time to start working on a little boy. Don't wait too long between babies because..."
I decided to take that moment to politely interrupt.
"Oh, no Ma'am." I said. "I'm not having any more kids."
"But you have to!" She exclaimed. "You have to have another one. She needs a brother or sister to grow up with." And then this stranger began to list the various reasons why my life won't be complete without another child. She was a perfectly nice lady and of course she meant no harm but...
I've heard this list before.
In fact, I hear it all the time.
Family members and friends, store owners and bus drivers, everyone seems to have a reason as to why I "HAVE TO" have another child.
These people all have one thing in common:
THEIR children are already grown and out of the house.
They seem to have forgotten how difficult it is to raise a toddler.
Forget about the poopy diapers and endless nursing...that's nothing compared to the loss of identity that I've encountered since becoming a stay at home mom.
Now I'm not saying this happens to everyone but...
I rarely leave the house without Amira.
"This is my grandbaby, Amira," she began. "And this is her mother, Khadija."
"Nice to meet you" I said.
"It's nice to meet you, too" said the lady whose name I've already forgotten. "And what a beautiful baby girl! But now it's time to start working on a little boy. Don't wait too long between babies because..."
I decided to take that moment to politely interrupt.
"Oh, no Ma'am." I said. "I'm not having any more kids."
"But you have to!" She exclaimed. "You have to have another one. She needs a brother or sister to grow up with." And then this stranger began to list the various reasons why my life won't be complete without another child. She was a perfectly nice lady and of course she meant no harm but...
I've heard this list before.
In fact, I hear it all the time.
Family members and friends, store owners and bus drivers, everyone seems to have a reason as to why I "HAVE TO" have another child.
These people all have one thing in common:
THEIR children are already grown and out of the house.
They seem to have forgotten how difficult it is to raise a toddler.
Forget about the poopy diapers and endless nursing...that's nothing compared to the loss of identity that I've encountered since becoming a stay at home mom.
Now I'm not saying this happens to everyone but...
I rarely leave the house without Amira.
I don't go to a doctor's appointment without WILLING the doctor to hurry up so that I can get home to my child.
I can count ON ONE HAND the number of times I've left my daughter at home in order to hang out with my friends and she is 19 months old.
In a rare moment of intimate coversation with Lorenzo he said, "I miss you, babe" and I answered, "I miss ME, too!"
I love my daughter, ya'll. That goes without saying. I CHOSE to stay at home with her for as long as I could and that was absolutely the right choice for my family but...
Now it's time to make some choices for me.
I used to be an admin at NESL, a student at UMass, a gym rat, a daughter, and a best friend.
Now I'm "just a mom" and as Gloria Steinhem and Oprah will tell you, it's just not enough.
Not for me anyway.
I want to be Lorenzo's girlfriend again.
I want to be the co-worker who brings donuts for everyone on Friday mornings.
I want to rediscover ME.
Because while my most important role, the one that truly gives me the most happiest, is that of Amira's mother...
It will never be ALL of who I am.
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