Lesson from a 9 month old

It is amazing what one can learn in 37 years. And even more amazing what one can learn in 9 months. Or what one can learn from a 9 month old person. I sit here scratching my head. My daughter has left me without much sleep for the past week. I can only gather that she has been just as sleep-deprived as I am. Yet while I sit bleary-eyed and barely able to focus on the ceiling, she sits on the floor, examining the wonder of her hand, the dog, the cat, the plant on the mantle. She is exploring her surroundings, and letting little shouts of joy escape every time she pulls herself to standing. Meanwhile, snot is running down her face and she has a bad case of the hiccups.

These days for me, a rough night of sleep requires 3 cups of coffee. Sinus congestion leaves me whimpering. A rainy day sends me into a sea of depression. But for my daughter, she plugs on...doing what she does. She laughs at just about anything. The same toys that she's been playing with for months bring her new joy every day, as if it was the first time she'd ever seen that wooden rattle. Actually, she can make do with an empty paper towel roll.

So I am sitting here on the sofa, contemplating how I am going to find the energy to get through the day...wondering how I am going to pack for my trip, get to work again, make some groceries. I found myself actually thinking about how little sleep I am going to be getting over the next few nights. Ridiculous, I know. And I look over at Colette, and she's busying herself with a set of stacking blocks. I decide (after a cup of coffee, of course) that I am going to try to take a lesson from her and just not worry about it. Maybe even just live in the moment and try to take every experience for what it is. Maybe there is hidden joy in taking out the trash. Maybe I will find the next great adventure at Whole Foods. You never know. Today, I am going to seek out the wisdom of a 9 month old.

Birth

Today is a weird day for me. And for a lot of other people. I woke up today thinking about birth. Not an altogether weird thought, given that I am a labor & delivery nurse. But then I turned on the computer and read that Osama bin Laden was dead. In a flash, I went through all sorts of emotions. Started with, "finally, they got that monster" and ended with "I am so sad for our world." I started to see postings from various people...and news reports that people were celebrating in the streets. At face value, this did not surprise me...or even bother me right away. But the more I sat with it, the more it began to bother me. And I want to try and explain why:

I work in an inner-city hospital. The population we serve is primarily poor or new immigrants. I love where I work. By working with so many people from so many parts of the world, I have seen birth in so many different ways. Every culture births their children in their own special way...but at the core, they also birth the same. No matter the culture, there is rejoicing at the entrance of new life. Time and time again, women enter into labor...they sweat, they cry, they moan...they swear. And at the end of their toils is new life. Fresh and unspoiled by the misdeeds of mankind. Pure innocence.

I have labored with women from almost every culture. American, Mexican, Equadorian, Hmong, Nigerian, Liberian, Somali...and there is one unifying element: the strength of the women...and the love of the families that welcome this new life. It has pained me so in recent years with our country's "war on Islam." Because there is nothing more intimate than birth. So I have sat with Muslim women through some incredibly long and hard labors. I have cried with them during their losses. I have been brought to tears at the sight of a Somali father leaning down into the curved ear of his new daughter as he prayed over her. It sounds like song to me. I have struggled when I hear people make statements like, "they do not respect life the way we as Americans do." Nothing could be further from the truth.

You can't be with families through this without feeling a connection. No, I don't pretend to have any special insight into the cultures of others. I don't need to. Because during labor, we find the commonness of our humanity to relate to each other. Even our lack of a common spoken language doesn't matter. So, I guess I have been going about my life with a world view where I seek to find what we have in common instead of where we are different.

And this is where I come to my troubles today. I am in conflict. I cannot celebrate. At core, I cannot find "joy" in the day. Instead, I just feel sorrow. Sadness that the world is continuing to operate out of a stance of "separate."

I can only pray for peace and for a day when we will seek out what we have in common.

On waiting for spring (and summer)

Today is May 1st. May Day. In years past, back in New Orleans...I would be sporting a tank top, shorts and flip flops. I would be drunk with sunshine. I would have already gone swimming.

But this is not New Orleans. This is Minnesota. And my new life (okay, not really new...I've been here 4 years) consists of a lot of waiting. Waiting for the snow to melt. Waiting for the wind to stop howling. Waiting for the thermometer to get into a reasonable range of comfort. Waiting for...spring. Or what I knew of spring. Spring here is messy. And cold. And wet. I am slowly coming to understand that really, what I am waiting for is summer. Because spring in Minnesota does not register as one of the seasons I enjoy. So I am waiting for consistent temperatures above 75 degrees. Which may or may not arrive in June. And then, we may get a heat wave...with temperatures in the 90's..for a week or two....and then poof! Its gone. My waiting all year....for a few glorious weeks of weather. (admittedly, the summers in Minnesota are quite beautiful, but I feel like we get a raw deal. 5 months of snow and ice for a few weeks of warmth? Something's not quite right about that.)

So, I am a southern girl. There is no way around it. I have purchased about 10 pairs of gloves and mittens in 4 years, and still my hands go numb after 15 minutes of being outside in winter. I have three pairs of winter boots. More hats and scarves than can reasonably fit in our hall closet. I have those silly hand warmer things. And silk insulated underwear. I always have two ice scrapers in my car...in July. And no matter what, it still seems like I am in the wrong place....now with way too much stuff.

This is tricky. My husband is from here. He loves the winters. (Really, he says he loves the four distinct seasons...but I have only been able to identify two of them). My inability to acclimate to the weather here brings him great sadness. I hibernate for 5 months (and I am not even using this term lightly...aside from going to work, I pretty much do not leave the house for 5 months...I even have my groceries delivered). I would say though, that this winter was the first one where I really just threw my hands in the air and gave up. I had tried for four years to find some enjoyment in winter. Sure, I complained. A LOT. But I still made efforts to find beauty in fresh-fallen snow. I tried to get outside for a walk. But when the thermometer plummets to minus 25 degrees, well...I can't do it. And so, my husband has to live with my unhappiness. I recognize that this is unfair. It's unfair to both of us.

So the discussions have begun again. Should we move south. Or, rather...I NEED to move south. For the sake of my sanity. I know that he doesn't find enjoyment in heat the way I do. So we are seeking a compromise. Now, there are reasons beyond climate that I want to move back south. Family, friends, way of life. And those are reasons for him to want to stay here. And his reasons are valid. And important. So he is not jumping at the idea of packing our stuff and moving. Understandably so. I mean, he sees my unhappiness, and I am sure he is thinking to himself, "If we move, is that going to be me?".

As of right now, we have no answer beyond the recognition that there must be some form of change. We love each other very deeply, so going our separate ways is not even in the conversation. Instead, we are researching. Using this as an opportunity to say, "Hey...let's find a place for both of us." Is it out there? Who the hell knows. But the fact that the conversation has started has lifted my spirits considerably. We'll just have to see where the conversation takes us.