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In the movie Lost in Translation there is a scene in which Bill Murray's character explains that, upon having your first child, "your life as you know it is gone...never to return." The movie has been one of my favorites for years. I just wish that I had known he meant my life.

In early 2010, I gave birth to the world's most perfect child. (Is there a parent who doesn't think his/her child is the world's most perfect?) In addition to being beautiful, he is brilliant and sweet and funny and hands-down the best thing that will ever happen to me. This kid is my entire world. I had somehow suspected through most of my life that he would be, which is why I fought very hard to have him. But about the post-childbirth apocalypse, I had absolutely no clue.

To say things have changed would be misleading. EVERYTHING has changed. Most of it has been good--some not so great--but everything is without a doubt different. And now the world changes once again. My little family and I find ourselves journeying from the big city to beautiful, calm Montana. Will the change be for the better? As with anything, the answer is sometimes "yes," sometimes "no," and always sought with massive quantities of hope. Come with me as I navigate the roads from fast-paced, big-city lawyer to Montana Momhood. Is there a line that can be walked? We'll see. But I can guarantee, at a minimum, it will be an adventurous road trip....

Saturday, August 13, 2011

A Blanket By Any Other Name

A good friend recently made a comment that makes me see how insane perspective can be.  We were having a little picnic in my backyard with our kids.  My son absolutely adores her kids, and I was beyond thrilled to find when I moved here that she and I have a lot in common.  As a result she has become a great friend.  Anyway, when it came time for our dining al fresco, I ran into the house and pulled out my supermom blanket.  Let me pause here to explain this thing.

The supermom blanket is a super-duper, totally awesome item comprised of wet-proof material on one side, and a soft, but washable blanket material on the other side.  Bonus?  It folds up into a bag so that your hands are free when toting it to the park or pool.  I freaking love the thing.  And I am particularly proud because I actually purchased it following the spectacular destruction of my career.  I want to say it was $20 or less.  I saw it as one of the items of the week in a parenting magazine (don't forget to vote for best blog!  yes, I am shameless) and had to order it.  I saved up for it and everything.  And I love it.  It was one of my more sensible purchases.

So, anyway, I look at the supermom blanket as a smart purchase, made after thought and only because of its totally reasonable price and lack of a label such as "Pottery Barn Kids" or "Prada."  Yeah, well, my friend laughed when I brought it out and commented that she was telling her sister-in-law about the supermom blanket and comparing it to her own use of towels on such occasions.  Oh.  Right.  Towels.  Perhaps THAT would be the sensible thing to do.  She meant it as a slam on her own lack of supermom blanket, but I cracked up because I really saw how silly such a purchase is.  In short, I am delusional as to what, exactly, sensible spending is.

For over a decade, it has been second-nature to me to just, well, buy stuff.  And I justify it.  I have totally used the supermom blanket and I stand behind it being one of the more awesome purchases a parent can make.  BUT sensible?  Not so much.  Sure, it frees up the hands when walking the 20 feet from my backdoor to the middle of my lawn.  Sure, our behinds don't get wet and our towels are free for toweling.  But sensible?  Not so much. 

I'm constantly fascinated by how wrapped up in our own worlds we can be.  I hadn't really even realized the world I had created (nor all the stuff in it) until I backed out a bit.  Parts are good, parts aren't.  But I think it's recognizing the difference that can be the battle.
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