"Who Are You Wearing?"

We all know “Who are you wearing?” is reserved for the red carpet. I doubt anyone would come up to a mom like me on the street and ask that question. If they did, well, that would just be creepy.

Yet, for a year and a half, I had a very fine answer to this question. I wore a person of distinction almost daily. I wasn’t wearing Cavalli or Chanel...

I was wearing Claire.

Clearly, my daughter and I aren't red-carpet ready. But if we had the opportunity and Ryan Seacrest were to use his astute journalistic skills to query further about my extraordinary baby outfit, I would reply with great enthusiasm and pride. I would say that she's made entirely by hand. I would tell him that I worked on my creation for over nine months, and that she required intensive labor. I would say that I count my daily accessory as priceless and unique -- couture in the best sense of the word.

But he's probably not going to ask, and I probably won't walk the red carpet in my one-of-a kind creation. That's okay. I did get to do this:

And, now that Claire is older, I get to do this:

Clothes aren't really the point here, are they? Really, you barely noticed what I'm wearing in these photos, did you?

When I look at each picture, I do see a "who". I see my daughter. I notice myself in relation to another. I notice a connection between two people, between mama and child.

Sure, you can really, really like a dress on the red carpet. But love doesn't come from fancy clothes or make-up or big parties.

Love grows in the fertile soil of everyday, uncelebrated gestures.

No, I won't be walking the red carpet anytime soon. That's okay. My designer creation is a true labor of love.

And I didn't have to squeeze my toesies into Louboutin's either!

Moms and friends! Some of my lovely blogger buddies and I thought we would have fun combining the #365FeministSelfie with Award Season in this post and in a link-up. The #365FeministSelfie is all about showing women as they are, no filter, no primping, no perfection, and perhaps no makeup. Pretty much the complete opposite of the Award Season Red Carpet drama-rama. So we’re asking you...

Who are YOU wearing? Link up a post with a picture and/or some text below. And, remember, COME AS YOU ARE!





Ode to Moby (not the singer)

Claire loves her baby wrap. The many pictures on this blog will attest. I feel I could be a walking (literally) advertisement for Moby. In so many ways, it has been a godsend.

When she is bored and wants to explore her world, the Moby is much less bone-crushing than pacing around the apartment with her in my arms. She can’t walk, so I do the walking for her. When she is tired, the rhythmic motion lulls her better than any rocker. She nuzzles closely to my chest and listens to my heartbeat. It's hard to imagine a better bonding experience than that.

However, there are times when I’ve had enough and she hasn’t. Last night, I walked her around the park in the wrap for two hours! The Moby was the only thing that soothed her. She would look like she had finally fallen asleep…

Then, I would I try to stop. I felt tortured by her, driven like a Russian death march. I imagined myself her beast of burden. Her cries were like a master's whip that lashed me to keep going and move faster. My back hurt. My feet were throbbing.

I finally called George to come home from a meeting with a colleague. I feel lucky he was available. I feel lucky to have him. But sometimes, it’s only me. Then what? What do you do when you can’t do it anymore?

I’ve heard opinions from experts and family alike that this situation is our own making. We have created a baby who expects to be held. The remedy should be training her to self-soothe, while she is lying down on her back. I don’t agree. I am happy that she wants to be upright, engaging with the world and the people she loves at eye level.

It isn’t her fault that her mother is falling apart. Nor is it Moby's. I haven’t found an answer. I’m just glad I'm sitting down and writing this blog entry right now.