4am

Adjusting to a new time zone with a baby is truly a challenge. Luca is in our bed and he manages to squeeze me to the very edge with his tiny little body. Sleeping in the crib wasn't working. He's been through so much transition lately that I think it scares him to wake up in a new place again. We've slept at a few houses since we had to be out of ours a week before we left. It seems to make him feel more safe if he wakes up looking at us instead of an unfamiliar wall. He's needed to be breastfed almost every hour. He doesn't eat, he just needs to be calmed. Right now it's 4am. I just fed him and couldn't go back to sleep. It seemed easier to get up than to try to silence my thoughts for another few hours. I wish I could take advantage of him sleeping now. But alas, as soon as I lay down again (which I plan on doing after this post) he will surely wake up hungry.

This is our third night here and it still feels like a vacation. I think it will until the holidays pass and everyone who is visiting will leave. Then the fear, anxiety and claustrophobia will come crashing down. That word came to mind today when I was in the middle of the city center. It's a beautiful cluster of alleys and narrow streets but for a minute, when I had to remember how to get home, I felt it closing in on me.

There are a lot of things I didn't think about when I imagined life in Rome. I forgot about public breastfeeding and diaper changes. Oh Portland, you make life with a baby so easy. Changing tables in every clean bathroom, little signs in areas that are good places to breastfeed (I noticed the breastfeeding symbol most recently at the zoo). I tried to distract Luca today so that I wouldn't have to sit on a dirty curb, being passed by hundreds of people, trying to breastfeed. We managed to get home before the hungry cry started in. I did however change him in the middle of an alley; a truck narrowly passed and honked at me. The fat bald guy inside yelled something and shook his hand at me. Screw you mister, baby trumps fat Italian guys in trucks.

It's different than Portland, but as my sister-in-law wisely said, moving anywhere from there would be an adjustment as it's so comfortable to raise kids in the Rose City. It's also funny to see Luca here and think of him as a little Italian boy, as I think of him as a Portlander. His first word may very well be in Italian.

So even though he's a little criminal at night, trying to adjust, this kid is all smiles during the day. I think he's gonna like it here.

Five Days Out

We are out of the house. This is a good record to keep because I've been telling people it's been a tough couple of weeks. Now based on my last post I can see it's actually been a tough month. No wonder there are knots in my shoulders.

Whilst in the midst of all this it's hard to reflect. But I want to try.

As a new parent I've been talking a lot about fantasy v.s. reality. How the fantasy of "having a baby" is completely different than the reality of being a parent. I've talked about it so much in fact, that I have disconnected myself from all fantasy. Plans, organization and errands have buried my light. Stress sits on me, pushes my face into the carpet, and kicks me while I'm down. I've been getting frustrated and angry; and the bags under my eyes have grown darker. My back aches. I've forgotten everything except that I am a victim to this mess. But I created this mess. I am not victim to it.

I realized tonight, just 24 hours after the smoke cleared, that my soul has been suffocating. And pretending like you don't need to feed your soul is what happens when you become a victim to work and stress and society. It keeps you from your potential when you don't allow yourself to fantasize about what you want out of life anymore. I've been so focused on the reality of moving to Italy that I haven't allowed myself to get caught in the romanticism of it. Painting and literature, music and cinema, photography and poetry; these are the things I want to seek out in this new life, these are the things that make my soul breathe.

This weekend has invigorated me. These two days have helped erase the stress of four weeks. Last night I got to see the entire community of people that make Portland home. People who I love and cherish and will miss dearly. Tonight I had dinner with my favorite boys and played music with my brother. In a matter of 24 hours the light has returned, the bags have faded and I can stand up straight again. Now I am able to see how lucky I am, how privileged we are, how beautiful this life is and will be. Rome doesn't have to be hard. I don't have to be lonely. I can decide that it will be amazing. I can dream about filling my life with writing and music, with poetry and fantasy, movies and beauty. I'm starting over. The pen is bleeding onto a blank page. I am holding it steady, waiting for the right words to start my story.

Preface

The packing has begun. The Rome story is in its preface. My multi-tasking mind hasn’t wrapped itself around what’s really happening yet. Instead it’s bursting with images of boxes, books, baby items, suitcases, airport baggage fees, rental agreements and, of course, Luca. Yes, the idea of living in Europe is romantic and exciting. I am very lucky. But, and there is always a but; how will I make money? We’re spending every red cent on house repairs right now. Ironically everything is breaking; the heater, the kitchen sink, the washing machine, and the fence blew down in the recent storm. My brother told me once that when things break it’s a good sign. It’s some kind of Native American theory that a thing breaking means change is on the horizon. Confirmed. In a way it’s good that it’s happening while we’re here, but where do I find that money tree I've heard so much about? I shouldn’t complain. I’m actually not complaining; I’m worrying. But I can’t worry I have too much to do.

I am also slowly realizing that this little blog is going to become my best friend on this journey. I will confess my fears and then revel in the days when inspiration hits. I will talk to you little blog with my natural voice rather than the second grader voice I have to use in Italian. It’s interesting how I’ve built relationships in that second grader voice. My friend Kara told me once, “It’s too bad Lorenzo doesn’t understand this side of you, the slang-talking, California side.” I’m not sure I know exactly what that means but if you hang out with me after a few drinks, in a dance club with a mirror, I might start slang-talking and choreographing dances. After six years of speaking English, Lorenzo gets it now. I can only hope that after a year or so of speaking Italian, that I will get his Roman-dialect speaking side too. I won’t hold my breath waiting for him to choreograph any dances though.

Where the Story Ends

Being a parent makes time accelerate. As Luca gets older each day, I conjure up images of him in Jr. High, High School and going off to college. People keep telling me it will go fast so I'm trying to prepare myself. It makes me wonder, when will my story end?

Not that I'm going to have a premature death to end my story, but when will the adventure of my life become obsolete? That moment, around his nineteenth year, when Luca straps on a backpack, kisses his mom on the cheek and boards a plane for India, will my story be important anymore?

I see him on a rundown bus, staring out of a dirty window. And he captures the present. In that moment he feels his soul burst with inspiration and gratitude. And in that present, his present, my story ends. I become mother to a boy who is growing into a man.

I had that moment. I had many moments. Sitting under a palapa in Costa Rica, rain coming down in sheets around me, writing songs with a girl from Indiana. Standing on a bridge staring at a crocodile I paid 1 peso to see, speaking with a Mayan in Italian. Standing in the middle of the Utah desert with Lorenzo, staring into my Super 8 camera at him snapping photos with his old Diana, thinking, "damn, we're pretty cool." In my moments, I didn't reflect on what my parents were doing. To me, their stories ended when I was born. The stories of my dad promoting concerts in his mid-twenties and hanging out with the likes of Miles Davis and the Rolling Stones. That shit just didn't happen after he became a parent.

Yes, I get ahead of myself, Luca is only three months old. But this is the reality of parenthood. At some point we stop searching our souls for the reason we're here. We put that responsibility in the hands of our kids. That moment scares me. But at the same time, I am anxious to feel relieved of the burden of this constant search. I love my life and my family and at some point I want that to be enough for me.

I guess the goal is to somehow mesh our adventures. Hopefully our adventures will be his adventures until that nineteenth year when he kisses me on the cheek...

Adventures in Babyland

No, I've never been a traditionalist. I didn't get a degree in something that would get me a job, I studied film. I've never had your regular 9-5 job and never wanted the whole 2.5 cars and a baby; or whatever that American dream is supposed to be comprised of.

But then I got married and the whole American dream put it's vampire teeth into me. I felt the pressure to buy a house, to get a new car, to secure my career and to have a baby. Society has this crazy power, stronger than anything biological. I fought with Lorenzo about how buying a house was a good investment, I convinced him that I needed a big yard for the garden I was going to plant. Now here I am with a house I bought during the housing bubble that I won't make a dime on, a yard overgrown with weeds, and a failed garden. Who am I and what happened to the spontaneous girl Lorenzo married?

He actually said that the other night when we talked about moving to Rome and I told him I was scared. He reminded me of how before Luca I would have just dropped everything. He also reminded me that most people don't have the opportunity to live in Europe. We have an apartment, a network of friends and family.

My twenty year old self would have a big talking to with this thirty three year old self. At twenty I dreamed of being a writer, sitting in outdoor cafes and riding my bike down a canal. No family cars or big houses with yards showed up in that fantasy. Somehow convenience has taken over adventure. I think my maternal instinct kicked in and has made me feel like I need to be rooted someplace. Plus, it's easier to have a baby in a place you are familiar with. (Funny how as I write this I'm now struggling to find things that make it easier.)

I guess I just know that fantasy and reality are two different things. I know that I will feel lonely and isolated because my Italian isn't great. I know that I won't have a job right away and I'll sometimes feel worthless without some type of goal. I know I won't have the network of friends I've built up in Portland.

But, I will be able to go on weekend adventures in places like Germany and France in the same amount of time it takes to get to California. And I'll enjoy a swim in the Mediterranean instead of looking at the northern Pacific and wondering if I'll get hypothermia if I stick my toe in. Yes, there are many positives. But then there's the talk I'll have to have with my mother who is smitten with her grandson and can hardly stand being a two-hour flight away. I'm not ready for that.

At this point, our fate rests in the hands of the housing market. Will it sell?

Experiments in Parenthood

First you ask yourself if you're ready to be a parent. Then you create a fantasy of this perfect little being smiling at you and calling you, "mommy." A child is born. The fantasy turns into reality. You feel trapped, tired; this perfect little being eats every hour and doesn't smile or call you mommy. Somehow you're still in love. After a couple weeks in the house, your restless self then asks, "What happened to my life? To my dreams and aspirations. Is my whole identity about being a parent?" (And yes after 2 months I can still blame these thoughts on hormones). But do you really want to say no to dinner engagements because he goes to bed at 7pm? Do you want to stay home instead of going on that road trip because its uncomfortable to pump milk at 70 miles an hour? Do you want to co-sleep and never have sex again?"

Lorenzo and I answered no to all of the above. We value our lives. We really believe that if we're happy, Luca will be happy. If we focus on how we were before he arrived, if we keep our marriage fun and healthy, we hope he will reap the benefits and have a good model for relationships. That explains why at two weeks we were in a plane to visit grandma, a week later we were in a car for three days coming home. At one month we were in a cabin on the river with friends and at two months we were driving to Canada.

It's impossible not to judge parents. Some people might think we're irresponsible. I think we're amazing. I read everything about parenting that I can get my hands on. He was never colicky. We figured out his signals early on and we provide what he needs before a breakdown. He sleeps well. At three months he's on a nap schedule and he only wakes up once at night to eat. We didn't force the schedule but we got to know him and he naturally fell into it. I breastfeed exclusively but I also pump bottles so that I can go out with friends, continue my dance class and take Italian lessons. He does go to bed at 7pm each night, but that might be in our friend's bed when we're over for dinner or in his bassinet if we're outside somewhere. He's a happy kid and we're happy parents.

But we've come across a new life dilemma. We're selling our house. Not because we have to but because as new parents we're not comfortable pushing a stroller down dirt roads with no sidewalks. Where people run, not for their health, but to get away from something. So what's next? We are not traditional people who work corporate jobs and live in the suburbs. We try to work jobs that give us lots of flexibility and independence and vacation time to travel. Without being tied down to a house we have opened up the possibility for a big move that we feel will reinvigorate and inspire us. And it scares me.