Archive for The Rest Of Me

Babies are not like giraffes

My little boy is 4 weeks old today and since his birth the question of why animals progress faster than human babies has come up quite a bit.

It takes roughly a year for babies to start walking and yet animals do it almost instantly. A baby giraffe for instance falls out of their mother from such a height that they are practically forced to stand before they even set foot (or hoof rather) on this planet. So if we claim to be so evolved, why do our little ones take so much longer to do the same thing?

Well, let’s rewind a little bit: the first time I was left alone with my son in hospital (a few hours after my c-section and I was still a bit out of it) It was time for him to latch. When I first got pregnant, I made up a to do list with a schedule to follow and that list included reading up on breastfeeding in the last trimester. I had all the info and extra advice from friends but somehow (and I’m still not sure how) I didn’t actually follow up on this until I was faced with this tiny human sucking his hand indicating that he needed to be fed.

So obviously I knew his mouth had to connect with my breast but that was basically all I knew. Oh and that I might not instantly have milk but that was it. So there we were – a 30year old ‘mother’ and her brand new (only a few hours old) baby. It’s probably the most important task a mother has to perform: feeding her young. I have to admit that at that point I relied on this tiny little – less than 4kg – being to show ME how it was done…

Luckily for me as soon as I got him close enough he did his thing and we were on our way. Later the lactation nurse came in and checked on us and pointed out a few basics I hope I would have thought of eventually if I actually took the time to think about it. For instance making sure his nose is not blocked by your breast and holding his head in place – my son was super strong so he kept bobbing around to find the perfect latch but also still tiny so still had to figure out how to really move his head.

Since then there have been other moments where I have relied on my son to show me the way. For instance when he cries it’s up to him to tell me what is wrong: hungry? wind? wet diaper? lonely? scared? tired?

I don’t think they do that in the wild: wait for their young to tell them how to raise them… so no wonder they are leaps and bounds ahead of us.

Obviously, eventually we learn to teach our kids manners and how to read and count and social skills – which is where we eventually surpass the animals out in the wild but when it comes to the basics we will always lag behind our wild counter parts since it seems we are doing it backwards

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A lot has changed since I have posted anything… I guess life got in the way or maybe I just thought I didn’t have anything worthy to share. Either way, I’m trying to get back to sharing my view.

So, here’s the short update:

I got married last year to the most amazing man who loves me despite all of my crazy…

I am 8months pregnant and expecting a little boy soon

I still live in a small town in Zimbabwe and spend a lot more time on work than I probably should

At the moment I can’t really focus on anything other than becoming a mother soon… spending time re-arranging the baby room and adding extra stuff I will probably not use to my hospital bag.

I’ve been very blessed and had an uneventful pregnancy so far. All going well. My husband and my family has been incredibly supportive. My friends have been amazing and I know I will be able to count on them once our little nugget arrives.

I have a lot to learn and a lot of tough times ahead but I know this little one will be worth it. I was reminded today of a post I wrote about 7 years ago to my future child and I hope I can live up to the idealistic promises younger me made…. I guess only time will tell.

“An Insistent Optimism”: Dealing with Depression and Anxiety in Springtime

*hug*

Lucia Lorenzi

As winter starts to fade away, as the daylight hours increase, as everything seems to start blooming and thriving, depression and anxiety are suddenly thrown into much starker relief than during the cold, dark, wintry, stormy days and nights of late autumn and winter.

At first, I couldn’t quite place why spring always felt so very awful. It was absolutely incongruent: wasn’t I supposed to be as cheery as a floral-print dress, as refreshed as a cool pint of lemonade? The seasons, indeed, seem to have odd emotional mandates: the thoughtfulness and reflection of autumn; the melancholy and mutedness of winter, the serenity and sensuality of summer, and, yes, the insistent optimism of spring.

It was this optimism that made spring so terribly painful: it was the feeling of the world coming suddenly alive again, everything thawing much too quickly, and all I desperately wanted to do to stay under the…

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8 Great Literary, Book Nerd, and Storytelling Podcasts

Check it out

Andrea Reads America

I am a huge fan of the podcast medium. I listen while I clean, while I walk, while I cook, while I dress after my shower. I do not subscribe to print periodicals that run book reviews, I am not a librarian, and I no longer work in a book store, but I am a reader who is interested in what’s going on in the book world, in reading culture, and who loves a well-told story. With limited time to consume print media, but with ample time to listen, I have become an avid fan of podcasts, and my hungry mind devours the bookish and storytelling podcasts below. These shows provide the literary fix I need as a word nerd. I plan special walks or add extra chores to my list when any of these drop new episodes. I hope you enjoy them, too.

The New Yorker Fiction Podcast icon on iTunesThe New…

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A good day after a long weekend

After a long weekend of family, friends, fun and way too much food it’s not that easy to get back into the swing of things….

Today is like a double Monday! Not only do you have a long weekend to recover from, your week is shorter so you have to double more in less time. So why am I stating the obvious? Well, as hard as this day was it wasn’t my worst. I have had so many bad days over the last few years… Days that were horrible and sucked without a real reason for my misery. So when I get to walk away from a double Monday without feeling completely defeated -don’t get me wrong, I still wish that I had gotten more done today but a part of me is proud of what I achieved.

Usually by now I would be completely warn out by my anxiety. Usually my Sunday’s are filled with anxious anticipation of the negative persuasion because of the week that is upon us but I managed to allude the pressure I am prone to place on myself. And this morning I woke up and took it one step at a time rather than trying to attack an entire week’s tasks in one day. It helped.

Small things like taking a minute to show my bosses kid how to get to the high score in the Shrek game on my phone or having lunch with my friends even though I was only seconds away from bailing on them because of work pressure or that extra 2min I spent talking to a customer about her family or actually going through my music to choose a song I like to start the day with instead of relying on the random button and spending the next 5min skipping a bunch of songs I wasn’t quite feeling…

Music has been an amazing pick me up throughout the years and today I’m just really grateful that I’ve been able to get inspiration when I could have easily convinced myself that today was a day of doom…

Today I had a good day

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To the Woman Behind Me in Line at the Grocery Store

Just a reminder to all that we are on this planet together and there are still people who care walking among us 💞

My Patronus Is Coffee

Dear woman behind me in line at the grocery store,

You don’t know me. You have no clue what my life has been like since October 1, 2013. You have no clue that my family has gone through the wringer. You have no clue that we have faced unbelievable hardship. You have no clue we have been humiliated, humbled, destitute.
You have no clue I have cried more days than not; that I fight against bitterness taking control of my heart. You have no clue that my husband’s pride was shattered. You have no clue my kids have had the worries of an adult on their shoulders. You have no clue their innocence was snatched from them for no good reason. You know none of this.

What you do know is I tried to buy my kids some food and that the EBT machine was down so I couldn’t buy…

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“Found in Translation”

Lovely poetry

Cosmic Heroism

I come from a country

with eleven official languages,

where the first speech

was painted on cave walls

with the red ochre of our soil

and the charcoal of our fires.

A country of the Old People,

of Shaka, Cetswayo and Dingaan,

Smuts, Verwoed, Botha

Rolihlahla, Tambo and Sisulu.

The land of Saartjie Baartman

and spitfire sunsets.

I come from a country where

names were used to divide,

to oppress,

carrying a history of

separate development

that echoes in guttural growls

and clicks no colonial mouth

could ever find its way around.

I know the power of names

because I understand so few

in a country where many take

one name for the modern

One name for the traditional,

far removed from me.

I know the power of names

because I do not know so many,

cut off by barricades placed

in the townships of our past.

But I also…

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I Wondered What Life Was

No Hands

I was sitting on a curb in an empty parking lot, smoking cigarettes and wondering what life was. I had no idea what else to do. It just seemed right. I felt like I was in a movie, like there should have been melancholy music floating in the background. It’s ironic, though. I felt like I had to suck in dirty, life-threatening smoke to understand life’s meaning. I had to lose a few minutes to make sense of it all.

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The essay my mother wrote

Jeremy Podolski

Five years after her death, a 20-year old letter tells powerful story of a mother’s love

I was rummaging this week in my Windows documents folder – my generation’s version of a cobwebbed attic – looking for something I no longer recall, when I saw a folder simply labeled “Mom.”the essay my mother wrote mother and sonIt’s been more than five years since my mom died of ovarian cancer at much too young an age. Five years: a blink and an eternity all at once. I try desperately to remember the sound and cadence of her voice. I trip over triggered memories of time-bleached events, hoping to add new detail to my imperfect archive of childhood. Occasionally, I pick up the phone to call her, only realizing my folly when I struggle to remember her number.

Unexpectedly finding something that is about her, belonged to her or pictures her is like discovering treasure buried beneath a…

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Revealed: Apple and Google’s wage-fixing cartel involved dozens more companies, over one million employees

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