Addy Whips Her Hair Back and Forth.
>> Thursday, January 13, 2011
Just another Thursday night at the Porterfield home.
With One Push of an Elbow.
>> Tuesday, January 11, 2011
It's amazing to think how much of your life is wrapped up in your computer. This thing--a thing bought in a store, no less--holds so many of your memories, your work, evidence of how you've spent your time, the data of your life. And then with one little push of an elbow, it's suddenly all hanging in the balance.
First off, I know I am an idiot. It doesn't matter that my dad scolded me 20,000 times growing up to keep liquids away from the computer. It doesn't matter that I am now the adult, the parent, I was (am) still silly enough to keep a cup of water on my computer desk, and then subsequently freak out at the prospect that I just lost everything on that powerful little MacBook Pro. (A huge purchase Jason and I made only one year ago, the fruit of my first real, big-girl job.)
I thought I was so smooth, lifting the computer nearly instantaneously in the air when the cup of water tilted over. I wasn't fast enough. A small puddle landed on the keyboard. Then my MacBook shut off. And then it wouldn't come back on.
Now, by the the Grace of the Computer Gods, I'm typing this on an old Apple keyboard, hooked up to my MacBook, which I have successfully gotten to turn back on. (A tip given to me by my good friend Candice's husband. Thanks so much, Rob, for knowing what you're talking about.) The laptop's keyboard doesn't seem to be working, but after some Command + Alt + P + R reboots, the computer seems to have turned back on fine (albeit slowly). Each one of my precious photos, each one of my thousands of documents, designs, purchased music and movies, has been carefully transfered to a backup hard-drive.
We're not really in the position to buy a brand, spanking new computer right now (we're trying to buy a house, and a new MacBook just isn't in the cards), but I will happily keep using this machine, hooked up to an old Apple keyboard or not, until the Computer Gods take her away for good.
All I can say is this: thank God for external hard-drives. Ninety-percent of my job is done on this computer, and the thought of working (and, um, functioning) without it makes me feel a little lost. And I promise, Dad, this time I really, really, will never have liquids near the computer again.
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Stupid Scoop.
To the baby-powers-that-be, I ask of you. Why, oh why, can you not think of a better place to put the little scoop in new cans of formula? Each time I approach it with as much carefulness as I can muster, and each time I have to dig a little further to find the little guy, tossing expensive white powder all over my just-cleaned kitchen counter in the process. And if my hands are at all wet from just washing them or my counter the process gets even dirtier and grosser from there. Can we not put it at the top, or even-gasp!-somehow outside of the container?
Seriously, though.
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White Christmas.
>> Thursday, January 6, 2011
I know this hiatus has gone on way too long. There's not a real reason, except that for a fleeting moment I thought this blog had run its course. But then I slowly realized that my life as a mother felt a little weird without it.
A glimpse of our hectic, family-filled, present-crazy, now-our-living-room-is-so-full-of-toys-I've-run-out-of-good-storage-options, WHITE Christmas.
Two + One
Adelyn is the only one I need. As naive as it may sound at 24 years old, I think I'm set.
This of course doesn't take into account the fact that, you know, shit happens. Been there, know that firsthand. And this doesn't take into account the fact that people are ever evolving, and that you can't pick and choose your life story at 24 years old.
But. BUT. I have this feeling, deep down in my gut, that me plus Jason plus Adelyn is exactly what my life needed and is exactly the plan God or Yahweh or fate or whatever master designer designed.
This could be completely different if I had married the guy who wanted five kids. Jason, though, feels the same way I do.
After two plus decades of battling a chronic illness, I never thought I'd have a picture perfect pregnancy. I pretty much did. As someone who never spent much time envisioning herself as a mother, I never thought that, one day, I'd have this amazing, always-life-inspiring joy to whom I gave life. And as someone who always tried to envision her future with the utmost precision, planning and plotting and dreaming crazy dreams for herself and her career, I never imagined the sort of upheaval that a new life brings along with it.
It's been almost a year since Adelyn was born. Almost two (!!) since I first found out about her existence. And now that our lives have really started to take shape and I'm starting to be able to see the big picture, I just can't imagine starting again. The pregnancy, the health worries, the waiting, the anxiety, the newborn phase, the figuring out how to adapt your career, the everything.
Why does this make me feel like a bad mother? It does. I can't shake it. Popular opinion always says that babies need siblings. Only children are spoiled, unadjusted, look at the world with a self-centric view. I don't want that for Adelyn. But is that reason enough to do it all again for her sake, even though her selfish mother doesn't really feel like it?
Now, just writing this, I'm starting to second guess myself. I'm feeling the urge to fill this post with disclaimers (unless I change my mind; don't hold me accountable for my opinion at 24; this could all change; never say never). Only those disclaimers aren't coming from my gut, my core, they're coming from the part of me that wants to sound good, selfless, motherly.
And then, of course, there's always this, this same sentiment that I'm sure crosses the mind of every first-time parent. How, oh how, could I ever love something else like I do Adelyn? It's inconceivable.
But just like it did two Junes ago when my life turned upside down--you cannot foresee whatever it is that is supposed to happen. You are powerless against it, no matter how carefully planned your life.
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