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.