You will never get a second chance to make a first impression.

19 Weeks - First bite: bananas.

Delicious bananas.

You can just let me do it—it might be faster. I really LOVE these bananas.

These here. In this bowl. These are called bananas? Did I mention how much I like them?

For the record. I'm into bananas.

Born Again

18 Weeks

Every day I am inspired by Ren's curiosity and raw openness. Captain Obvious here, but it's true: he's pure. He isn't offended by anything or hampered by guilt or fear or pain... or fear of painful guilt. He seems to feel like he's awesome and everything and everyone else is too. And hilarious. We are all hilarious. Especially sneezing dogs. Which, come on, sneezing is pretty funny. Especially when dogs do it. We shouldn't bless them, we should point, and laugh, and applaud. He's right. It's hilarious.

Once upon a long time ago, I lived in Los Angeles. My mother was visiting and we went to see a show at The Groundlings. To this day we reminisce about a sketch that resonated with us and we still quote it often. A claustrophobic patient admits to a therapist that his greatest fear is he will be physically forced into a box, never to be seen again. Unable to see the good in life, he whines and complains about his imaginary, life-altering fear until finally the doctor gets so fed up she overwhelms him with cardboard and screams:

"STOP IT OR I'LL PUT YOU IN A BOX!!"

And he's cured—realizing he was just one step away from manifesting his worst nightmare.

What if we woke up tomorrow and absolutely everything was new? We have no fear? No fears that drill so deeply within we ironically forge them into our every day—what if? What if we lack the instinct to flinch when a loud noise bursts into our life's soundtrack or to side-step when a person reaches out to shove? What if we have no fear or anger of past hurts—all is forgiven? ALL of it, including how we feel about ourselves. Besides being able to sit up without help, pretending to begin anew might help us rediscover a little thing called joy.

Achoo.

Generation Slap

17 Weeks

By the time our son can go to college, 'going to college' may be something entirely different. It occurred to me today that I learned about the Internet—at the time, a tiny, viral program made solely out of a few image-less, DOS chat rooms—while in college. No one had a 'personal computer'. We went to the computer lab like we went to the laundry mat. I used a typewriter to do my term papers. Spell check was my roommate and the delete key was a little bottle of stuff secretaries got high off of. 

Right now, I'm writing this blog entry from my phone. 

That sentence did not exist twenty years ago. And I would have been hospitalized had I said it. 

Top Tent Poles

16 Weeks

Ten Rookie Mistakes

10. Don't buy too many of the same size diapers. We stocked up on size 2 because, well, I'm not clear on why, except we still haven't quite settled on the concept that Ren keeps growing. I mean, we MARVEL at his obvious cell divisions and watch in complete awe over every new physical feat, but we still haven't put it together that just because a clothing tag or box instructions say one thing doesn't mean they relate to our son. We gave away several bags of size 2 diapers and packed up a stack of never-worn 6 month pajamas. One man's thick skull = another man's fortune.

9. If he is acting like he's about to poop, he's about to poop. The signs are the same whether you're four or forty. We all know what happens before we need to excuse ourselves to the water closet to return after, lighting a match. And yet, at least every third sleepy morning or so, I lay our boy on his changing table, ignore a grunt or a toot and pull off his diaper. Then I do laundry. Again.

8. Not every yawn means he's sleepy. Just like big folks, babies get bored with the same old jokes. When we finally got a feed-play-sleep schedule down, one yawn and we'd helicopter over, snatch him out of his toys, and put him in the crib for precious winks. This made him annoyed. You would be irked too if every time you scratched your face someone appeared behind you and slathered an anti-itch salve across your forehead. It would make for awkward office meetings. And dates. You'd never have a date. Ever.

7. Coffee is still your friend. "I'm nursing. I don't want to overstimulate." I used to say this a lot until I went back to work. And perhaps stupidly, I still imagine a life outside of the office and diapers. A sleepy, cranky, unhappy mommy is a sucky mommy. If you are a human who juggles, why cut off your finger tips? Sure, he might, maybe, sort of, kind of, be a teeny tiny leettle bit sensitive to caffeine that you ingest. Drugs are not for kids, we know this. But one cup of life-saving energy will probably be filtered out of your system by the time it flows through your milk sacs. Balance. Too much of a goodie-two-shoes is boring and teaches nothing about the world. He's a human too, don't forget.

6. Even Jesus knew a hooker. "Live. Laugh. Love. Dance like no one is watching. You have one chance to make a first impression. Do unto others. Turn that frown up side down. Don't sweat the small stuff. Say yes! Live every day as if it's your last." But not always. Perfect doesn't exist. I spent a large part of Ren's first weeks on this planet filled with anxiety that I wasn't present or thankful or good enough to enjoy him or to appreciate him or be there for him. For whatever reason, I wasn't worried about being a good mom—milk: check, diapers: check, survival skills check list: check—I was worried about being a good enough nueral system. Was I making and retaining moments, memories? How do I maintain a consistent appreciation for my situation so the universe doesn't take it away from me? I can't die before I live! Again, balance is important. If you don't stop to complain or cry or have a selfish moment to yourself, you will explode. And then again, more laundry.

5. Your hair and your floors can be dirty for a little while longer. So can the laundry. Sleep is important.

4. Wear a blouse you can discretely unbutton in public. My first day back at work I wore a one-piece dress with a high collar and was told to lock myself in my superior's office to pump. Three times I sat dressless behind my boss's desk with a noisy machine tugging on my breasts. If you're into that kind of thing, good for you.

3. Life, and death, goes on. Not everyone cares that you had a kid. Believe it or not, that 'Baby On Board' diamond you've suctioned to the car window doesn't make you special.

2. Anniversaries shouldn't become reunions. Don't forget how you got yourselves into this predicament in the first place. Your little treasure will grow up and move out and might, if you're lucky, call you once a week afterwards. That person you created this third being with is the one who will most likely be changing your diapers on the other end of your existence. Be nice to him/her. Enjoy him/her. Look up from the computer to thank him/her. And see Amour. You're partners in crime. Respect that.

1. Have a sense of humor. Del Close co-authored a fantastic book: Truth In Comedy that I once studied for an improvisation class. In my little world, this textbook is a spiritual manual. Like any good religious guide, there are definitions and rules. A wise man (my husband) once pointed out to me that, "structure is freedom." This makes sense in nature and nurture. So does Del's all-important, number one improv rule: break all the rules. Once you've mastered the basics, remember foraging your own way is an extremely useful and fulfilling tool for being alive. Flexibility is king. (And clean laundry helps the emperor's illusion.)

One. Singular Sensation.

15 Weeks, 3 Days

My mother-in-law laughs at me because I say I miss Ren when he takes naps. "That'll change!" I chuckle along with her trying to appear like I understand. His existence makes every cell in my body perk up. I'm a Ren junkie. Luckily, I'm wise enough to respect that he doesn't feel the same way. If he did, we'd have a Greek tragedy on our hands come high school prom.

This week, Ren's 108th day outside of my body, I am back at my desk. Thrilled to see my colleagues, finding myself captivated by the staff meeting, and utilizing my new perspectives. I didn't even inundate folks with photos of Ren. I compartmentalized. I was Work Jennifer. A new Work Jennifer. Refreshed Work Jennifer. Excited about processing gift receipts Work Jennifer.

Once upon a time a good friend expressed her annoyance at my compartmentalizations. The hats I wear—one at a time. "Why can't you just be a capital-W-woman that does all of these things rather than wear all of these different labels at different times? Wife. Pregnant lady. Artist. Aren't you all of those?" I remember feeling hurt by this because her approval meant something to me. And I didn't understand why she thought my life-long process wasn't a good one. I thought it served me well. It's how I became homecoming queen with a mother in the hospital and a stepfather behaving like a creep at home. It's what every acting class teaches you from day one. "Whatever is going on in your life—leave it outside the door." Focus on THIS and leave THAT for later. It's how I survive.

But I'd rather live than survive. And this week, I almost didn't make it. First world problems.

In one fell swoop the walls between the mommy department, wife department, home owner, working woman, artist, teacher, sister, daughter, friend departments came crashing down. I had to leave the janitor keys behind. It takes too much time to lock and unlock each door to every room. I'd even taken my compartmentalizing to a whole other level—I had closets in each of those rooms—filled with costumes. I'd change my clothes every time I went in there. "See? I have a suit on. Now I'm Professional Jennifer." Actors. Sheesh.

I went back to work on a Tuesday morning. I was on my hands and knees with my head in the toilet by Thursday night. My body simply can't waste time unlocking doors and changing clothes between every ball tossed in the air. Look Emy. You were right. I'm a Woman, a Person, who does many things. I'm not a paper doll. A year later it's clicked.

Unfortunately for me, and most importantly, Ren, I'd set aside eating and sleeping in order to manage all of the Jennifers, one at a time. I got so dehydrated from all of the FIRSTS of the week I made myself ridiculously sick. FIRST day I went back to work; FIRST day Ren was with a sitter—Greg was back on the road; FIRST day using an electronic leech-I-mean-breast-pump; Greg and I fought so hard I slept in another room; FIRST time the car got stuck in the ice in our driveway; FIRST time I listened to another of my brother's ranting messages and realized he's truly not long for this world; FIRST time back in the director's chair for a staged reading; FIRST time I had ever had to parent, work, create, partner without hesitation. Choose and move. And then found myself having to defend my parenting, my job, my commitment to my husband, my art, and my life choices ALL AT ONCE. The first time I've ever had such a tangible and immediate example of the age-old adage: yourself first, others second. If I'm not healthy, then Ren isn't healthy. For now, I'm Ren's food source. This was a tough week. For all of us. Greg had similar challenges. Started Tuesday morning with a burst blood vessel in his eye. He looked like we all felt—beaten before we'd begun. Thank goodness for caring partners and friends. They saw us crash and helped us on our feet. Even promised to hand us water along the next leg of the marathon.

I knew there was Trouble in Triage on Thursday afternoon. Calm before the storm. All day my feet were hurting. I cursed my Texas insecurities and the society gods. "Heels." Sigh. "Don't get me started on the dichotomy of their necessity." I cursed my pregnancy and mother nature. "Heels." Sigh. "I guess my shoe size changed after all." I cursed the copy machine for being down the hall. "Heels." Sigh. "Butt in. Head tall. Don't blow out your knee over a fax." It was two o'clock. Deciding to let myself unlock the basic necessity compartment, I retreated to the bathroom for the first time since I woke at five forty-five that morning. I closed my eyes and released. A lot. "Do I have the flu?" I ignore this and look down at my favorite pair of Work Shoes and realize they hadn't seen my toes since before I became a human pea-pod. They look different. They look awkward. They look... wrong. And they were. They were on the wrong feet. HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE? That morning I had pushed on my shoes, ran out the door, down the porch stairs, across yards of ice that is our lawn and driveway, drove, crossed a parking lot, ran around from office to office, meeting to meeting for over EIGHT HOURS without realizing each shoe was on the wrong foot. I somehow created a worm hole in the Ginger Rogers metaphor. Fred Astair was great but she did everything backwards and in heels... ON THE WRONG FEET?!?! For that alone I make my case for my first fabulous Mother's Day gift.

Many lessons learned and thankfully, with little ripple effect for Ren. He's cool. He's Fonzie. I don't want my issues to wave out to Ren and make him Mr. Roper. I am woman, hear me roar. That's it. Just one thing now. Skeleton keys for me.

15 Weeks

One Size Fits All-most

14 Weeks

"Are your family members tall?"

"My mother is 5'8" and my father is 6'. Greg is 6' and—"

"He's going to be tall. He's— Wow. Yeah. He's going to be tall."

At Ren's three month doctor visit he was 14 lbs and 26" long. He is in the '12-24' sock size and has outgrown most of his footie pajamas that are for the 6 month olds. He can't sit on his own but he's started pulling up to a full stance. He balances under our grasp, locks his little legs, and looks all around the room as if he's preparing to view it from the ceiling in the very near future. When he's on his back he puts his toes in his mouth. When he's on his front—he now rolls over from back to front—he grunts and yells while he swims in the air. Like he's daring the atmosphere to turn to water so he can start training for the Olympics. Ren's bones seem to stretch in the night, so, naturally he must need to use the new muscles that go along with them. He's like watching The Incredible Hulk in slow motion. When I lift him out of his crib, I'm amazed his shoulders haven't torn through his onesies.

Do they have a Big And Tall store for babies?

Now, I've had the time of my life...

13 Weeks

Many folks ask about Ren's name. I tell them it came from Greg and there are several ways to explain the meaning. My elevator pitch is more like an escalator ride on China's Great Wall. The name Ren translates to many beautiful ideas in a variety of traditions and basically they all lead back to the same principle: compassion. 'Ren' also happens to be Japanese for Lotus as well as Kevin Bacon's most famous role and NWA's favorite MC.

Compassion. I have always thought it a human's greatest and most important trait—no pressure, kid—and I obsessively look for ways to incorporate it and appreciate it throughout my days, when I am not wallowing in the other side of being human. Not sure where I developed this passion. Perhaps because I hail from the U.S. belt of 'turn the other cheek' and I've a spotted history of creating a tornado's road of emotional damage. My past guilt-laden victimization forced me to change to a new view or face a life of bad television and anti-depressants. I have learned there is a dark side and I don't see the point in dwelling there. Pain, forgiveness, redemption, and move on.

Compassion. "You're going to be great parents," one of our favorite labor nurses says as she lets me take a teary picture and hug her shoulder. Within the four days of Ren's labor, birth, and recovery at The Neugarten Family Birth Center there were probably 20 to 25 other babies born within the same range of time. Somehow the administration, technicians, nurses, midwives, and doctors (all women except for the anesthetist) welcomed our family like we were being absorbed into another one. The earthy sisterhood was palpable and still polished professional. I was sure I'd end up best friends with everyone I met in that place... and yet, except for a couple of short, utilitarian check ups a few weeks after, the event, and relationship, is over. I replay it in my head often and were I to see any of those people again on the street, I'd probably jump to them like Jennifer Grey on Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. That's how they and Greg made me feel throughout the birthing process—like I could fly (not like I was starring in a Hollywood template).

Compassion. Each staff member at the Neugarten and MKMG doctor's offices are walking metaphors for the word. They are all 'Rens'. We had doctor's appointments where we discussed our strategies for packing for our new house as a PART of our birth experience. One moment in my labor, a nurse held me like an infant and later after Ren was born, she bathed me like one too. All of them were an empathic, integral part of what it means to bring a life into the world by way of pure love and they treated Greg and I like we were heroes for doing a thing they see every day. They didn't even blink when we asked how to change a diaper. The women of Neugarten are nurturing chameleons. They make you feel like they are blissfully laboring right along with you. Truly the stuff of life and death. Every. Day. TWELVE hour shifts. The Neugarten staff are direct descendants of Florence Nightingale.

Compassion. Thank you for sharing your skill, talent, and heart Kris, Elise, Maureen, Barbara, Bridget, Margi, Marsha, Wendy, Simone, and more... Watch your back. I'll be hopping into your arms the next time I see you.