How Boyhood the movie is changing my life

By now, I’m sure you’ve heard of the incredible feat of a movie in Boyhood, which was filmed with the same actors over a period of 12 years. Having simply seen the previews, and hear a review on the radio, I decided to take myself out to see this 2 hour and 45 minute film that is being touted as an award winning movie with very little action. It, by all accounts, has broken many cinematic rules. There’s no plot, besides simply watching a boy grow up, and the actors (Patricia Arquette, Ethan Hawke) committed over 12 years to make this film. The main character, Mason, played by Ellar Coltrane, was only 6 when he started the project. 

So there I was, sitting in a dark movie theater for a matinee showing with five other people. A young couple, who I judged to have no children yet, and older couple who seemed like grandparents, and a guy about my age. The five of were there to see the magic. 

But it wasn’t magic. Not at first. It was cute seeing the six year old boy’s antics, and how he related to his older sister, and his mom, and the scenes from life that unfolded before my eyes. Halfway through I felt bored. There was no action. Tiny episodes of drama, but mostly interpersonal relating. Scenes from year to year were marked by Mason’s haircuts. I was sitting in this theater thinking “what? what? this is it? this is what I paid good money for? Really? This is all there is? The cinematography isn’t even that spectacular. And the soundtrack? Is there even a soundtrack?”

These thoughts were much like the thoughts I have when meditating, or halfway through yoga. Monkey mind. I sat back for the rest of the film, followed the loose plot, and then BAM. (uh, spoiler alert for those who haven’t seen the film…do not read on…)

BAM

Mason graduates from high school. His mom, played by Patricia Arquette, is sitting in her new apartment with her now-grown son, in that awkward teenage-almost-college-student-scruffy way is packing up his belongings. And she starts to cry. She says, “I just thought there’d be more.” At least that’s how I remembered it. She might have said “I just thought there’d be more time,” but nonetheless, I started to cry. Little tears rolled down my cheeks, not a full on sobbing mess, I can keep it together of course. 

The final scene is Mason hanging out with some of his new college buddies, and he has this conversation about the idea of ‘seizing the moment,’ rephrasing it by saying, “I think the moments seize you,” and suddenly the movie was spectacular. I think that was the magic in it. That I couldn’t tell how beautiful it was until it was over and I looked back, remembered earlier scenes and saw how the tied in to the ending. That life was unfolding and no matter how mindful in the here and now, there is something powerful in that moment of reflection, introspection, nostalgia. It was pure magic. 

And would it be crazy to say that a movie could influence me to want another child? No, that’d be totally daft, right? But I found myself, as I was watching the scenes unfolding, and the nostalgia I felt at the end when she said ‘I thought there’d be more time,’ that the reason I have only wanted 1 kid is not because I am afraid another will distract me from BIG life goals like curing cancer (or travelling to India) or doing a career I love…but that it will distract me from doing things like Buzzfeed quizzes. Now that might sound silly, but it’s true. When I get angry with Potamus for ‘interfering’ with my time, or not going to bed because I ‘just want a fucking minute to myself,’ It’s not because I want a minute to myself to do art or yoga or spend time with friends. Because I manage to find time to structure into my life to do those things. It’s that I want him to ‘go the fuck to sleep’ so I can scroll, scroll, scroll through Pinterest on my phone. 

I was asked once if I would get to be that 80 year old woman if I would regret not trying to have another kid. And I know the answer would be ‘no,’ if it meant I could be the best parent to 1 kid while pursuing my amazing life goals. I will regret not trying for another kid if it’s because I wanted to pin recipes to pinterest that I know I’ll never use. You know? 

Parenting is my mindful meditation. I get to drop into something deeper beyond buzzfeed quizzes and the monkey chatter of my thoughts. This isn’t a pregnancy announcement, or even an announcement that we will be trying any time in the near future (soonest will be next summer), but something settled in my body and heart when I watched this film. I realized that it is hard, and amnesia sets in at some point and I will say to myself, “I just thought there’d be more time.” 

What it’s like to get an IUD with a toddler sitting on your chest…

he wasn’t wearing fatigues and no choking was invovled, but this is what my exam experience looked like…

Potamus walked proudly into the doctor office with me, but as soon as we started heading back to the room he began having a meltdown. He completely lost it, sobbing uncontrollably, when the nurse put the blood pressure cuff on my arm. No amount of cajoling him (‘hey, it’s like your doctor kit at grammy’s house!’) got him to calm down. So he sat facing me all snuggled in on my chest. The nurse asked, (naively in my opinion) if I thought he’d go with one of the nurses while I got my procedure done. Hardly, my friend, hardly. But never worry, I, the ever resourceful mother, had planned to either let him sit on my chest, or was prepared for him to sob on the floor while the procedure happened.

Thank God the latter didn’t happen, because it turned out to be a 30 minute ordeal.

Perhaps I should have gotten a ‘babysitter’ (aka asked MIL to do it), but she’s watching him tomorrow for a few hours, and watched him on Tuesday. Plus, I’m a little bit masochistic or martyrish in that way. Like I get special brownie points for making a doctor visit even harder, more painful, then just having a copper T shoved into my cervix. But also, Potamus wasn’t feeling well today, and he’s coming off his first four full days at daycare this week, and I thought it’d be good for him to just spend some more time with me.

And also, it’s a good reminder of why I’m in the office. To prevent having to go to the doctor toting two tots together (say that twelve times fast).

The doctor seemed apprehensive of my plan, but Handy Manny on my smartphone is a pretty sure bet. And he doesn’t weigh more than 30 lbs, so I dropped trou, scooted my bum to the end of the table and hoisted Potamus up onto the top of my belly, lower part of my chest. With my feet in the stirrups, and my kids feet in my face, straddling me, and my smartphone nestled under my chin, I realized that yoga is possibly the best preparation for such an awkward experience.

I barely even felt the procedure, though the doctor managed to horrify me with some crime scene cleanup since she had “hit a blood vessel.” Nothing like gushing all over your doctor’s shiny clean floor. And the whole while she kept asking if I was doing okay and if I felt any cramping. I didn’t. Probably because a 30 lb toddler had me in a body slam choke-hold on the exam table. Also, I have a high pain tolerance. And a good grasp of breathing and relaxation techniques. Also, it wasn’t quite like labor, ya know?

 

Any awkward experiences that have been made even MORE awkward with your kid present?

Take Charge of Your Fertility

ancient birth control…beating off storks…

I grew up in a household that did not value body autonomy, especially not feminist ideals related to issues of fertility. My father’s favorite thing to say was “die to yourself,” using the example of Jesus dying on the cross and giving up “all his rights” in order to save us. This message translated into the overt belief that “you have no rights, because you are a Christian, and so you have to give up all your rights to follow Jesus.” As an adult I think my dad botched the true message, especially since there’s a difference between being told ‘you have no rights,’ and choosing to forgo your own desires to benefit someone else.

As a child, and teenager, it felt very hierarchical and patriarchal, that I, especially, as a woman, did not have a say in what happened to my body. When I chose to have sex with my boyfriend, at 2 months shy of 18, they believed I was trying to be “like her,” and assumed that my boyfriend took advantage of me. Because I certainly couldn’t make the choice with my own body. And while hindsight shows me that there was peer pressure from the other half of my relationship, it wasn’t anything close to rape, or even date rape. I made a choice with my body, and even if it was a choice I later regretted, it was still my choice.

And so, today I finalized my choice to take charge of my own fertility desires to not have another baby (right now? ever?). Sure I consulted with Boof, but I chose this for my body. And it feels good, although a bit crampy since it’s settling in. Haha. But while I am bodily and spiritually confident in my decision, there’s this niggling back-of-the-mind thought that has entered a few times, and I know it’s based on my childhood upbringing. There’s this judgment that I am an evil-hell-going-feminist. That I have strayed so far from the party line that I’ll be burned at the stake. While a few close friends know of our my decision to get the IUD, most family hasn’t been let it on that decision. I’m mostly optimistic that they’ll be supportive, but there’s always a little doubt that they’ll still love me at the end of the day. And I worry, will I regret my decision?

I don’t feel completely different. But here I sit, a woman who can have unprotected sex from now until 10 years from now when the IUD craps out, without worry about getting knocked up. It feels liberating, although I’m sure it’ll take a little getting used to…

How does your values, or values you were taught, inform your reproductive choices?

Holding Off

I know there’s almost never a ‘right time’ to have a kid. But there are times that are better than others. And now isn’t that time. As I reflect on that negative pregnancy test from a few weeks back, I really feel that I dodged a bullet. Because while I know I would grow to love another child, right now isn’t the right time. What scares me, is will waiting be the right time, either?

If I am being 100% truthful, I only want 1 child. AND I also want a daughter, and a sibling for Potamus. It’s hard to hold those tensions. The more settled in I am lately, the more I realized that some of my angst of dealing with Potamus this summer was the projection and future-focus of the ‘what if’ having a second and how I was sure I wouldn’t be able to to do it. There was the infatuation with babies (certainly hormonal) that I hadn’t exprienced before Potamus was born, and seeing my friends with babies and this thought ‘oh, I want that.’

But do I want that? Or do I want what I once had, when I held this little human I created, who is now growing at such a rapid pace? I don’t know the answers to that, but Boof and I have been in a hard place relationally/emotionally/physically, and as parents. I think independently we do a good job parenting, but together we aren’t where we’d like to be. And I think that my desire to ‘rush to have another’ has been as a desperately perfectionistic attempt to a) bandaid a difficult situation, b) keep up with the joneses, c) give me more ‘ammunition’ when complaining about my identity/work-load balance/etc.

Even admitting all of that on paper is both cathartic and makes me wonder how many people will stop reading because surely I’m the worst woman ever (next to Miley Cyrus, of course 😉 ). It’s hard to admit that I was rushing in to a situation to try and fix an already hard situation, because we all know that’s the dumbest logic ever.

So I decided to make a decision. Instead of continuing to play ‘Russian Baby Roulette,’ by leaving the decision each month up to condoms or chance/fate/God, I am going on birth control. And I’m not going on the pill. I am choosing the IUD without hormones. It’s both an exciting and scary decision to make. Because  I know in my heart it’s the right choice, because it takes some control back on my own body, that feels it’s been subject to every whim and fancy, but it also means a decision has been made. We have decided to not have any more kids. …………….yet.

We will revisit the conversation next year. But even just saying that gets me nervous, because part of holding off means letting go of this ‘dream’ (that I’ve felt very influenced by media/friends/family) of having kids 2ish years apart…3 at most. Because now we’re talking 3.5 years apart at minimum. Probably more like 4.5. And that feels different to me, in providing a ‘sibling relationship’ to Potamus. Feels different adding an infant into a household revolving around schoolish activities. But that’s all getting ahead of myself, because, right now we are done having kids.

I’m looking at it that way because I love having one kid. I really love it. The thought of putting the IUD in has actually let me take exhale, as if I’ve been holding my breath for a really long time. It’s hard to describe, this feeling of contentedness and satisfaction and freedom with a choice. And yet, I’m worried about explaining this decision to others. So many people have opinions and beliefs about waiting for more kids, or what it’d mean to have one kid, but I know what’s right for us. And this is it. For now that is. And that’s what I need to keep in mind.

And, in it’s usual timely fashion, yesterday Offbeat families featured this article entitled 8 ways to help you deal when the time isn’t right to have a baby. I suggest you read it 🙂

How did you decide when/if to have kids (or have more kids)? How did you handle criticism or comments from family/friends? Any experience with the IUD you want to share?