Noise Reduction
quiet reflections on life in a loud worldArchive for January, 2007
What’s so great about a six pack?
Yesterday I finally recycled an Observer Magazine that had been cluttering the kitchen table for a couple of weeks. Covered with a picture of a skinny model, the accompanying text read ‘Skin and Bones’ and something about how a Brazilian model starved herself to death. I’d set it aside like a rubbernecker, but in the end I never found the energy to read it. Who needs it? Another depressing story about the harm we women do to ourselves in our quest to be beautiful? Ay yay yay.
A few months ago, I delivered the hobbit into this world. I didn’t gain all that much weight during pregnancy and now what I did gain is mostly gone. Last night though, I was noticing the soft little belly that remains and before the mind could begin problem solving – must go to gym, or maybe just do some situps every morning, or maybe pushups would be better… – I asked it: what’s so bad with a soft little belly? Women buy all sorts of products that promise to make the skin soft and smooth, but discover a little extra softness in the middle or in the bottom or, God-forbid, stretching itself out lazily where firm triceps should be, and panic sets in. What did I read on the tube the other day? That the British spend more on plastic surgery than they do on tea? Ay yay yay indeed. And take it from this native of the USofA, the British are far less neurotic about their weight than Americans. Every time I go home to California, I am stunned by the amount of time that people I know – mostly women, let’s admit it – spend criticizing their bodies and talking about diets. It’s enough to make me throw off all good sense and eat six pints of ice cream with whipped cream on top.
I know, I know, there is a serious obesity crisis going on in the US and Britain. But I’m not talking about people who struggle with obesity. I’m talking about healthy women, and, as I understand it, increasingly men, who look at themselves in the mirror and feel an urge to change things. To be thinner. To be firmer. What’s so great about firm? We like soft pillows, soft peaches, soft snow and soft babies’ legs for a reason – they are pleasing and comforting to touch. I mean, how often do you find yourself craving a cuddle with a six pack of sodas? I can say for myself I never have.
I’ve heard of places in the world where curves are still valued. Some days I want to move to one of these places and stay.
Trouble with hiccups? The hobbit knows…
Here’s something the hobbit taught me last night: when the hiccups are bugging you, give a shout. He was all ready for sleep except for one thing. Hic-up, hic-up. To help, I patted his back and bounced him a little, but on they came. Hic-up, hic-up. Then, suddenly, he let out a resounding, declarative shout and that was the end of that. Eyelids grew heavy and he grew limp in my arms. Ahhh, sweet slumber.
Just one more little thing you can learn from life with baby. Give it a try?
Simply beginning
I had high expectations of this blog. I wanted to make a big splash writing wise entries about politics and the state of the world. But it’s over a week since I created the darned thing and I’ve barely responded to the few comments I’ve received. So today I decided I’ve got to start simply. I’m a new mom. That’s a fact. I’ve got a wee little baby that I like to call the hobbit because he eats as often as they do. His life is simple, so my life is simple. We wake, we eat, we play, we wind down, we sleep, we wake, we eat… It doesn’t get more basic than the life I am living right now, and honestly, I am alright with that. A few years ago, I worried myself sick thinking about becoming a mother. I worried about my identity collapsing and my mind becoming mush, and most terrifying of all, about the prospect of losing the respect of the world outside my door. My mom was first and foremost a mom, and I remember the itchy-scratchy defensive-protective feeling I used to get when people would ask the dreaded: Did your mom work? ‘Sure, she worked,’ I would say. ‘She just didn’t get paid.’ I remember the day my mom got a letter from the Social Security Administration saying that she wasn’t entitled to medicare because she’d not worked the required minimum ten years. Ay yay yay! She hadn’t worked the required minimum? This made me angry on the outside but on the inside it worried me: What if I become a mom? What will happen to me?
Well, here’s what’s happened: my identity has collapsed, my mind feels a little mushy, and my days are almost entirely devoid of nice things like the respect of colleagues, the praise of a boss, the the esteem-affirming smell of a paycheck. Nothing I do these days increases my chances of being a beneficiary of the Social Security Administration (whether Social Security will exist when I reach the retiring age is another question entirely). Yet, I am not distraught. Living the simple life of a baby has its benefits. I have opportunities to study the human smile for example. The sight of my hobbit’s smile unleashes such delight in me, and what is interesting is that, because his smile is more of a neurological twitch than a response to something, I can see that it is just the basic physical act – the simple smile – that unleashes the delight. What an amazing little feature of human existence! Lips curl, cheek muscles contract, eyes brighten and boom, the spirits of another human being are lifted. That’s a nice thing.
Right now the hobbit is sleeping, though any minute he will wake ready to eat. I’ve had almost two hours of quiet by myself and this is another nice feature of the simple, basic life with baby. I am grateful for quiet time with myself. Perhaps as grateful as I used to be when I was growing up number 7 of 8 and on occasion managed to find it. It is a simple reward for taking good care of baby, but it is a welcome one. And the four a.m. feedings. As long as I can get a nap once in a while, I like them. The other morning I walked into the sitting room to feed the hobbit and was delighted by the sight of snow on the trees. What beauty! I sat on the sofa, listening to the hobbit’s eager breathing and gulping, and I gazed out at a deep purple-blue sky and snow-dusted winter trees, and I thought: Would I want to do this forever? No. But am I very happy that I am doing it now? Without a doubt.
The blank page is as intimidating as ever, but here I go…
It is a few minutes before ten and my eyes are getting tired. Too much time spent choosing a theme. Too little time spent writing. That will have to wait until tomorrow, or the next day. It all depends on when and how often my little hobbit gets up wanting to feed.
Here’s to beginnings.
