Hopeful resolutions

Normally, I don't abide by New Year's resolutions. There is nothing different about Jan. 1 than Dec. 31, whatever the year says. I'm much more likely to make seasonal resolutions -- specifically in September. Perhaps I'm just too attached to the academic calender. Something about school supplies makes me very motivated to be a better person. But gloomy, dark days with winter stretching endlessly before me just don't do it.

But in 2013, I shall have a baby. And this is very different for me from 2012. And since I only have three months(ish) of 2013 to enjoy baby-free, perhaps it is best to make some resolutions revolving around said offspring, since once he arrives my world will pretty much revolve around him anyway.

But knowing that children and childbirth tend to shoot all of our best-made-plans straight to hell, perhaps "resolution" is too strong a word. I may not be "resolved" to do much of anything once little Clark gets here. Perhaps instead these will be New Year's hopefuls.

Ah well, we'll stick with "resolution" anyway because it sounds more formal and poetic.

1. I am resolved ... to be more forgiving of myself. I clean the house once a week. I'm a little OCD, so when I get an idea or a project in my head, I pretty much just jump up and get it done. I take showers before noon on a daily basis. I eat three meals a day. Sometimes I even cook them myself. I always wear clean clothes and change when something has a stain on it. Obviously, this desire for excellence, cleanliness and self-respect has got to go in a post-baby society. Daily showers? Unlikely. Clean, baby-stain free clothes? Not happening. Three meals a day? I'm shooting for one hot and one out of a take-out bag or from the freezer. Those projects I want to get done? Well, honey, I keep telling myself, you've only got three months. Better get it in to high gear or that to-do list is going to wait a while.

2. I am resolved ... to not let my baby ruin my social life. This one is really tricky. I loathe those new moms who do nothing but attend their children. Their personalities become completely consumed by their new high-demand, low-rent-paying roommate. Babies take time, yes. But babies are portable. And with the right circle of friends, baby can come with you to everything you used to do (except maybe karoake night).

Here's the catch on this one for me: I have no social life. OK, fine, I have no real friends to speak of. The people I refer to as friends are really just coworkers I see at the office everyday or at church once a week that I also talk to on Facebook. We haven't yet transitioned into actual, physical, see-you-at-coffee or do-you-want-to-hang-out friendship. I had one of those here, and she moved away. The rest of my friends live in other states. My best friend is my spouse, and we do everything together. Mostly out of necessity, as he doesn't really have friends, either.

So, we come to No. 3:

3. I am resolved ... to make friends and have a social life before the baby shows up. I need women in my life. Women who maybe aren't mothers. Women who maybe are. New moms, old moms, women who never intend to be moms. I need a friend with whom I can bemoan the things the baby is doing to my body. I need women who don't give a crap about my baby and don't want to talk about it, but instead want to analyze culture, or literature, or film. Or sit in a coffee stand and examine the physical appearance of people walking by in a sarcastic, overly intellectual way. I need women that enjoy my company enough to put up with me bringing a baby around, even if they don't really like babies. And will also put up with the horrid state of my hair, clothes and body odor after I master resolution No. 1.

Not too much to ask of oneself in the New Year, I think.

An ode to the clothes I used to wear

Oh, bra!
My supportive friend.
I miss your sweet caresses,
your subtle lacey sexiness.
Your cleavage creation.

Your place in my wardrobe
has been taken
by a shapeless monster ...
comfortable, functional.
White.

No longer do my glistening orbs rise to the heavens.
Heavy with baby fat, they
prepare for their sustenance-giving purpose.
My proud objects of desire
reduced to a meal ticket.

Oh, underwear!
You skinny string bikini.
How you used to sufficiently cover me.
The knowledge of your meagerness
a comforting thought.

Now, you expand with me --
rising to the challenge
of containing my belly button.
A growing caboose
at the end of the baby train.

Oh, jeans!
Sweet, buttoned, zippered legwear.
I miss your waist bands,
your belt possibilities.
Your butt-lifting cling.

In your place, I have
miles and miles of fabric,
devoted to holding in a wayward belly
So much material
gone to waist.

My swelling, baby-making thighs
still stop traffic,
but only because of my slow meandering
through the crosswalk.
Not because of your denim.

Oh, pre-pregancy clothes!
You hang unworn, but not forgotten.
I touch you with fondness,
remember the good times.
The thinner times.

Wait for me, silky tunic!
Wait for me, button-up blouse!
I shall return to you.
You will hug shapely curves again.
Victory in after birth.