Variable Winds

Michigander's joke about the weather in our fair state. "If you don't like it," we say, "just wait a minute and it will change." But I think Dallas takes the real prize for changeable weather. In the seven days we've been here, the temperatures have swung like a pendulum between 80 and 50 - sometimes on the same day.

Weather is the really the least of anyone's concern right now. With a new baby in the house, life revolves around a tight little circle of feeding, sleeping, diaper changing, rocking. From the mother's perspective, I've heard it referred to as being in a "hazy, milky coma."

In the past couple of days, we've all been congratulating ourselves on keeping things on an even keel. The baby has been calm, we've all had our share of quality time, Mom has gotten a bit of much-needed rest. We even had a meal together last night.

But this morning two blurry eyed parents appeared, saying the Babe hadn't slept all night. It's Monday, and Dad has a phone meeting this morning, so he's trying to get himself awake and alert.

Life with a baby is as changeable as the weather, even the weather in Dallas.

Remembrance of Things Past

When we first learned of our impending grandparenthood, I lamented that I had very little recall of infant behavior. Friends assured me it would "all come back," but I was still skeptical.

Well, guess what? They were right.

Watching Connor and his parents get their bearings these first few days of life has brought back a flood of memories of my early days of parenthood. I remember how unsure I felt about everything, how I worried whether every little cry or tic or noise was "normal," how unsettling it was that every day was different and brought some new challenge. How strange it was to obsess over the amount and quality of pee and poop.

But this time is different because I now know all these things are part and parcel of being a baby and having a baby.

Right now on his third day of life, Connor's expectations revolve around being attached to his mother. Although I had completely forgotten that persistent need to "cluster feed" in preparation for real lactation to begin, I now remember experiencing it and how frantic I felt about it. Could it possibly be normal? Why does the child need to suckle every single minute? Am I going to be a milk cow for the rest of my life?

Most of all, with every difficult moment, I wondered "Is it always going to be this way?"

Of course now I know the answer to that question. Change is endemic to babies and children. Yesterday I was able to sit in a rocking chair and hold this sleeping baby for over two hours, and you can bet I savored every moment. When I was a young mother, I was often impatient with that process, thinking of all the other things I needed to be doing.

But now I know the opportunity for that kind of experience is relatively short-lived. Change will come, sooner rather than later.

Already today, Connor is more awake and alert, expecting more attention. He's enjoying walking through the house with his Daddy, listening to him retell the Peter Rabbit story, opening his navy blue eyes and trying to focus on the overhead lights, the whirling blades of the ceiling fan, his Dad's collection of model cars.

Tomorrow will be different too. And the next day after that. And all the days to come.

Today I'm just grateful for the remembrance of my past days of mothering, and even more grateful to have new memories to make with this little one.

We Interrupt Our Regular Programming...

Whether you've noticed it or not, the blogs have recently been on a rather tight schedule. For the past few months, I've been posting here at the Byline on Monday-Wednesday-Friday, at Bookstack on Tuesday-Thursday-Sunday, and Write on Wednesday on -well, Wednesday, of course. I've also managed to post several reviews and/or columns at All Things Girl, and have at least two more in the can for later this month. It's worked out quite well, and I'm pleased and proud of sticking to my self-imposed deadlines.

However, there is a definite possibility that intermittent interruptions could soon occur in the blogging schedule.

Later this afternoon I'm flying to Dallas for about a month, during which time my grandson is due to make his appearance. Thus, I suspect that blogging will take a definite backseat to baby tending.

Which is, of course, as it should be.

In the past several months, I have been continually overwhelmed by the love and support and general feeling of happy anticipation surrounding this baby's birth. There has been so much joy amongst all my friends that I feel as if my grandson is already wrapped in dozens of nurturing and loving arms. It has been a surprising and humbling feeling, to have so many people care so much about my little family and our newest member.

I am so very grateful.

I will keep you all posted with regard to baby Connor's arrival and the ensuing excitement. There will be much to say, but perhaps very little time to say it. In the meantime, thank you for your love and support and caring.

I can't wait for Connor to meet you all someday.

Making it Real

A new blogger, whose posts I've come to enjoy, wrote yesterday of her realization that blogging does not provide the meaningful interactions with people she was hoping to find when she began a few months ago. She is someone who needs to have personal conversations face to face, she says, noting that she felt the need to "sit down over a cup of coffee" and really talk to the people who were reading her words and leaving comments on her posts. I certainly respect that, though I will her miss her quirky and often poignant take on motherhood and marriage and the stuff of life. After reading her farewell post this morning, I started thinking about some of the other blogging friends who have passed through my life for a few months, maybe even years, at a time. People with whom I'd developed a "relationship" via the written word, people whom I considered friends, although just not the kind you can meet at the neighborhood java joint for a cup of coffee.

Are those relationships really less real because they aren't conducted face to face? It's true that being unable to talk in person also means being unable to "be there" for someone in all the physical ways we consider important in true friendship.  You can't take homemade soup to her house when she's sick, pick up her kids from school when she gets stuck at work, be a buffer between she and her mother in law at her annual holiday open house.

A few weeks ago I re-connected with a friend I hadn't spoken with in over 20 years. Our children attended grade school together for about three years, and we became friends while working together on various school related projects. I was delighted that we found our way back to each other (via Facebook, of course, the great social data base.) When I walked into the restaurant where we had arranged to meet, I recognized her immediately, and my mind was flooded with memories of staying late at the school, putting up display boards, creating newsletters and mailings, going out for coffee after drop-offs in the morning. I had a huge cache of physical memories to call upon, memories that added great meaning to our reunion two decades later.

So I wondered - would I be able to have the same meaningful reunion with bloggers whom I had interacted with for that period of time? Truthfully, probably not. The depth of our connection wasn't that great.

That isn't to say that a deep personal connection can't be formed through written communication. But you must be a person who is extremely comfortable expressing themselves through the written word. My son and daughter in law conducted their entire courtship via e-mail. This was almost 15 years ago, before Skype, and video cameras, and - yes!- even before Facebook. They grew to know and love each other through pages and pages of voluminous e-mails.

Obviously, the friendships we form in casual online connections aren't that developed or that strong. I do think most times it takes a personal connection to create the kind of lasting bonds that characterize true friendship. I have met a few bloggers in person, and there are others I long to meet as well, people who, when I read their posts, I would love to sit down and share coffee with them, go for a walk by the river with them, settle into their front porch swing with a glass of wine. So I understand what Shelva meant yesterday about needing the deeper connection that personal interaction brings.

Still, I enjoy the connection I have with my blogging friends. It's not completely real in every sense of the word, but there is a real sense of caring, encouragement, and support which is clearly communicated in each comment, blog post, or follow up e-mail.

That makes it real enough to matter to me.

How about you? Do you feel the need to make it real with your blogging friends? Or are you happy with the tangential online connection?