Eat, Sleep, Create

Showing off the big muscles he grew from eating his veggies

Sleeping princess (and her frogs)

First attempt at finger painting. She H-A-T-E-D it.

Little girl's first masterpiece... in crayon

Building Courage... and Houses

I have a confession I've not been able to write here yet. I am one of those moms. The ones who go overboard too often. I blame medical school for this. Med school is somewhat rigorous. When I finished it and started being a stay-at-home mom, I filled the void left by patient care and studying with obsessing over every aspect of parenting. Some of that has subsided with time (and a second child... oh, just LET her climb up the pantry shelves and fall on her head and get it over with). Some has not. One area that hasn't changed is my love of incessant "enrichment-type activities." I blame my degree in education for that one.

And so... you might as well know the truth about me... my son has a weekly "theme." We check out books from the library, do projects, occasionally take field trips and even make snacks all week long around the theme. This week we talked about building houses. We checked out the books:

• Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel by Virginia Lee Burton This was a wonderful choice for my almost-4-year-old. It's a sweet story, complex enough to hold his attention but moved quickly enough not to lose it.
• The Little House by Virginia Lee Burton This was not strictly about construction, but since we talked mostly about building houses and it featured a house, and since it does deal with urbanization (and thereby indirectly with construction) and mostly because it isa classic and a Caldecott winner, we checked it out. It is a good story, but sad (with a happy ending). Luckily, the sadness was mostly above my son. He likes it because there's a train in it. So there you go.
• Building a House by Byron Barton Lots of bold, simple drawings like all of Barton's books. This book is probably a little simple for my son, however it was still a good description of the steps in the building process.
• Building with Dad by Carol Nevius This was a neat book that opened up instead of to the left. It features a child helping his dad build a new school... his new school. Theillustrations are life-like and drawn from different perspectives than most (from low down looking up, for example).
• Block City by Robert Louis Stevenson This is an illustrated version of Stevenson's poem from "A Child's Garden ofVerses." I loved it because it'sdifferent from most of what we read and again, it's aclassic. Though to be honest, it was my son's least favorite of the five.

Our activities for the week included:

• Making a blueprint. My son had a fantastic time painting the paper blue, but the concept of the floor plan wasprobably a little to complex for him. We followed the directions here: http://www.notimeforflashcards.com/2010/05/be-an-architect.html (As an aside, there will be a LOT of this website here because I love, LOVE, LOOOOVE it.)
• Making a house "H" (and "h"). Each week,we talk about a letter. At first we tied it to learning the names of uppercase letters, then lowercase letters, and then the sounds letters make. He knows all of those now, so now we are practicing writing them. The link is here:http://www.notimeforflashcards.com/category/lowercase-h We also did an uppercase H with no chimney, but a roof on top.
• Building a skyscraper. We also work on a number each week. Right now I think learning to write the alphabet is enough for him and numbers have never been as easy for him as letters are. So we still focus on recognizing the numbers (which he does, but only through "10") and counting. We based the skyscraper on this one: http://www.notimeforflashcards.com/2009/02/shapes-in-the-city.html, however instead of focusing on window shapes, we talked about "10" and put 10 windows on each side of the building. This was a great project because he's used it lots to play cars and trains with.
• Visiting a construction site. Luckily this was easy since there is a lot of construction in our neighborhood. After making our own blueprint and reading books about the steps in building a home, we talked about different homes in different stages of construction.
• Building houses out of his snacks. I gave him graham crackers and cantaloupe and apples cut in triangles and squares so he could use the crackers as houses, the triangles as roofs and the squares as windows.

We had a fantastic week-before-the-4th. We took a trip to Great Wolf Lodge, which I HIGHLY recommend as a family vacation. We made the trip with 3 other families and we all had a fantastic time. The place is a hotel/resort/water park. It does have some outdoor pools and slides, but most of it is indoors so it's open year-round. And while the water attractions (pools, slides, lazy river, gigantic fort with a 1,000 gallon bucket that dumps water every so often) are incredible, there is so much more. There's an arcade, a teen lounge with video games, story time in pajamas in front of the huge great room fireplace at night, and a fun game with magic wands that open chests and light up paintings all over the hotel. It was fun and will be even MORE fun when Miss I-Am-Not-Afraid-Of-Anything-And-Do-Not-Hold-My-Hand-In-the-Pool-Because-I-Can-Swim-ALL-BY-MYSELF (no she can't) is a little older.

After Great Wolf Lodge, we headed to Austin for a few days at a lake house with my in-laws. If they'd allowed me to, I would still be standing at the back window staring at the scenery. The Hill Country is so beautiful. The weather was relatively cool, we rented jet skis one day, swam in the lake lots and spent a lot of time relaxing. It was a welcome change from the routine.

It's always hard to come back to reality after a great vacation, but we've managed to have fun amidst sitting around sulking about not living at a water park or in a lake house with a phenomenal view. Yesterday, I set up an obstacle course for the kids in the living room. Such a simple thing, but I don't do things like that for them nearly enough. Much giggling ensued as they crawled through a tunnel, knocked down big cardboard blocks with a ball, jumped over (on in my daughter's case, tried not to fall over) "hurdles," and mostly jumped into a huge pile of pillows. Truth be told, they would have had just as much fun just jumping into the pillows over and over.

Today we took a trip to Barnes and Noble. We have tried a new chores/rewards method with my son which is working well. He has a small glass bowl and a plastic bag full of arts and crafts pom poms. He has a list of responsibilities, each earning different numbers of pom poms. When he does something on the list, he checks to see how many pom poms he gets and puts the correct number into the bowl. When the bowl fills up, he gets to choose a reward. Today he chose a trip to B&N to play with their train table (which is SO much better than his train table) and pick out a new train (Annie and Clarabel). Ok, ok. It's a reach. It's not as cool and using a magic wand to open treasure chests or riding a jet ski down the Colorado River. But he was having fun, she was having fun and so I had fun.

The Good, The Bad and The Silly

Pretty much describes every day in the life of a family with small kids.

Good things happen, generally just when you have finally decided that they never will. Just when you look at your chubby-thighed cherub of a 14-month-old and envision her graduating from high school without ever uttering a single word (and maybe, just maybe, as they hand her a diploma, she'll get so caught up in the emotion that she'll float momentarily out of sulky teen angst, look directly into my eyes and say, "Mama?" And there will be tears and rejoicing! )... Um... What was I saying? Right. Good things. In any case, just when I had given up on ever hearing my youngest speak, she did. We were in the car driving from somewhere in TX to somewhere else in TX and she was fussing, "mamamamamamamamaaaaaaaaaaa...." All of a sudden, you could almost her the lightbulb click on. She stopped, said, MAMA?!" and twisted around in her carseat to look right at me. She has since said, "Mama!" seven billion times, to which I always reply, "Yes, baby? Good Job! Yes, MAMA!" and smile. And she smiles back, satisfied and proud. So good.

And as much as you expect your child to never meet milestones you want them to meet, you also get totally taken by surprise when some sweet stage you hope never ends actually ends. This past week my son fell and bumped his head. He fussed, I held him close and kissed his bump. He pulled away, rubbing the offending spot and said, "Mommy, kissing doesn't help anymore." Ouch (ironically, a kiss would have helped MY owie).

Luckily, even though parenting (and scorpions) sometimes hurt, you can pretty much count on at least one good laugh a day. Last Saturday I was walking through the kitchen and stepped right on a scorpion. I have been wondering when this would happen since we've seen our fair share of the little hateful jerks in the past 2 years. I am only glad it was me and not one of the kids (though I would have been ok with it being my husband and not me). In any case, I sort of exclaimed loudly and everyone came running to see what happened. I cautioned my son not to get too close and he leaned over my mortally wounded opponent and exclaimed, "Oh. my. LORD. He is so cute! Can we keep him as a pet? Please, please, pretty please?" I have no idea where he comes up with this stuff. I also have no idea what made him think of Santa on a 95 degree day in July, but I did catch him peering up the chimney tonight calling, "Santa? Saaaaanta!" I asked if he thought Santa was up there and he said, "I dunno. Probably."

Good, bad and silly. Just another week.

Spring Evening

Here are some shots of the kids during a recent evening outdoors.

One Thing Leads to Another

Our neighborhood finally voted to approve an itty bitty miniscule increase in homeowners association fees in order to have curbside recycling. Hooray! Though we did our best to recycle before, I'll admit that sometimes it was just easier to throw the bottle in the garbage than it was to separate it all out and lug it to the recycling center (where workers always found some fault with what we brought in and took GREAT offense to it). But now it's so easy and it feels really good to be cutting our garbage pile so drastically. We wondered how much more we could cut down by composting as well. So last weekend, we also bought a compost bin and cut the trash heap down even more. My goal is one garbage bag per week. We're not there yet, but I am determined.

Feeling green has a way of making you think about other ways to take care of the earth. Buying local leapt to mind. Last weekend was Mother's Day and I really wanted to go have breakfast at the best restaurant in town on Saturday morning. So we packed up the kids and headed out. 'Twas SO good. On the way there we noticed the Saturday farmer's market I've been wanting to visit since we moved here, but never have. After breakfast we headed over to the market. I'd just been to the grocery store, so I didn't buy any produce, but I couldn't resist the fresh eggs. We decided to make the trip to breakfast and the market on Saturday a weekly tradition. I cannot wait to add fresh local veggies and eggs to our menu.

And speaking of Mother's Day, it was wonderful. I got to sleep in, then my son brought me a card he'd written all by himself (mostly) and gave me a huge hug. His sister followed close behind, breaking into a huge grin when she saw mama and toddling over for a hug. My husband got me an iPhone for Mother's Day. It was completely unexpected and completely exciting. A wonderful day to celebrate the miracle of motherhood.

Physically exhausting, Physically rewarding

Parenting little children is a physical endeavor. I cannot really speak to parenting older children since my oldest is only 3, however I assume it will be more mental than physical. The demands on a young parent involve using your body to care for theirs. There are tushies to be wiped, dressing and undressing, bathing, kissing boo-boos, meals to be prepared and fed, clutter to be cleaned, beds to be changed, and the list goes on. A mother is responsible for all of her own physical needs and all of her childrens', plus the vast majority of their household duties since they are simply too small to pitch in. While there are certainly mental challenges (how do I handle THIS new behavior?), the physical challenges predominate. And so do the physical rewards.

Last night, Mother's Day, I went in to kiss my son goodnight after his daddy tucked him in. I laid next to him and he wrapped his small arms around me. I hugged him. I know every inch of his body and his sister's. They are as familiar to me as my own. I marveled at how different it feels to hold him now than it did two years ago. How different he is than my daughter. He is so lean and long now; the baby fat has all but disappeared. He seems all arms and legs. There is no hugging a squishy little form now. It's more like hugging a tree. He told me he liked the sound of my breathing; he asked to feel my heartbeat and then asked me to feel his. He asked for butterfly kisses and giggled when I "kissed" his forehead. The he asked to lie quietly next to me. I cannot think of a better way to end Mother's Day (or any other day). Even now I can see that these physical moments with him are becoming more and more seldom. Sooner than I would like, I will have to settle for a stolen hug here are there.

My daughter is in the throes of stranger anxiety. When someone she doesn't know well speaks to her or comes too near, she buries her head in my shoulder and clings to me for dear life. I'll admit it. I love this stage. It's a normal part of her development to realize who her family is and that they are safe and will care for her needs. Each and every time this happens, I remember how much time I spent being the scary stranger, wondering if I'd ever be the safe mommy. Not to mention that I get these wonderful cuddles, her body melting perfectly into my neck and shoulder.

There are most certainly days that I am beyond wiped out by the time everyone is tucked safely into bed (everyday, in fact). It is physically exhausting to change, prepare, clean up and carry all day long. But the reward for all of that work, the snuggles of your babies, ah... I will cherish these moments forever. And while there are moments in every day when I think, "I cannot WAIT until they are old enough to do this themselves," I also know that all too soon they WILL be able to do it themselves. My son said it best the other night. "But, I don't want to get big. I just want to be who I am."

Winds of Change

Well, apparently it's been a year. Wow. How time flies. I started this blog mostly to have a place to unload my thoughts about infertility. Even though I had my beautiful boy at the time, I still felt infertile. There were complications following his birth that made it unlikely I would conceive again. And that was on top of the issues we already had that made 5 cycles of IVF and 2 miscarriages necessary to conceive him. Though I was blissful to have even succeeded once, I was still very hurt by the thought of never having another child. For one, I was an only child and hated it. And secondly, I wanted to be able to decide when we were done, not have it decided for me. So even having succeeded once, I was angry about our infertility.

Now I have my two. My son and my daughter. My improbable perfect family. I am content. I cannot say that we are done trying (and I also cannot say that we'll ever try again), however I do know that I can live my life happily and peacefully regardless of whether more children are in our future. Infertility will always be part of the mother I am and the person I am. I will never forget how painful our journey was. But I also would not change it now that I know the outcome. I am no longer angry. Thus, I've not had much to say for the past year. Life has been chugging along at a chaotic, happy pace.

So instead of abandoning the blog, I've decided to take it in a bit of a different direction. From angry infertile to busy mom. I know that there are a billion and one mom blogs out there, but it's not as if more than two people will ever read mine and mostly I am writing as a way to keep my thoughts and memories about this time in our life as a family. I am trying to figure out if it is possible to password protect the blog. I will be posting pictures of the kids and also using their names, so I feel more comfortable having a password.

So, let's get this party started. A few pics from our recent trip to Toronto:

To kick things off:

Silly boy at the Toronto Bluejays game.

The kids riding a hippo at the zoo.

Lil' Miss excited about the zoo.

But, can't you see that I'm NOT normal?!?

So the boy will be going to preschool in the fall. Today we got a big packet of information in the mail: medical forms, contact information, a class list, fall calendar... The fall calendar stood out. It listed the events that will occur in his classroom throughout the semester and which one parents would be invited to/asked to help at. Before that moment, I hadn't really pictured myself helping out in my son's classroom: assisting with holiday parties, chaperoning field trips, sewing costumes for pageants. Those things are such mom things to do. And I am being asked to do them, just like all of the other parents. But there are still so many days that I just don't feel like all of the other parents. I think my packet of information should have arrived amidst a bit more fanfare. Balloons, confetti, perhaps a marching band, Ed McMahon shouting: "Congratulations!!! You did it!!! You're a mom!!! And as a reward, you get to help out in YOUR VERY OWN CHILD'S classroom this year!!! Just like all of the other normal parents!!!" But instead, it arrived in a boring, white envelope, just like everyone else's. The person who put it all together and addressed it and sent it saw nothing special about my packet. Our mail carrier was not awed by it. But I'm still not like everyone else. Infertility sets you apart, makes you feel alienated from those around you who are conceiving their children with such ease. And when you finally do succeed in having children, everyone else treats you like a normal pregnant person, a normal parent. But you aren't. I'm not. And maybe I never will be. I don't love my kids any more. I am no more proud of their accomplishments. I am no more heartbroken by their pain and I am no less frustrated when they are difficult. But our journey to them was different, life altering in fact, and I suspect that it has changed the way I will view parenthood forever.

Quatro

...or more accurately, Quatra, is here. She arrived a month early, but perfectly healthy. And beautiful. And wonderful. I am still pinching myself. As happy as I was to be a mom to my son, I am doubly happy to be a mom to my son and daughter. Being a minivan-driving stay-at-home mom to the ever so mundane family of four- one boy, one girl (how very June Cleaver!) might sounds like unadulterated hell to some. I am not one of them. I am downright giddy, possibly pathologically so. No, it is not always perfect. In fact, it is never perfect and is sometimes even really rough. But one of the gifts of infertility is that when you have experienced the lowest low, the highs are that much higher and even the ordinary middle ground seems pretty darn good. As for my earlier proclamation that my uterus is closed for business... perhaps a Cinco wouldn't be the worst thing ever? A decision for another day (and for God, since I have long since learned that it's not our decision anyway). Today, I am happy. Truly happy.

Hello Again...

Yep, it's been a long time. Again. It's not that there has been nothing to say. It's just that sometimes it seems easier to write when you are in pain, frustrated, worried, or hurting. It's cathartic to put those emotions down. It's easier to throw sarcasm and anger at the world than it is to say, "Everything's... just fine." Don't misunderstand. I am blissfully happy with "just fine." It's just that I don't feel as compelled to write about it because I'd rather just be living it.

It's been ten months since we moved to our new town. While the house will probably not be the way I want it for years, it's fine for now. And I love living in it, and I love the neighborhood we're in. My husband's job is going well. His hours are very good and his partners treat him well. Sure, he has normal work frustrations, but nothing compared to what he had before we moved. The boy and I have settled into a comfortable routine. We spend our mornings at gymnastics or music class or the library story time or play group. And in the afternoons we play at home, often times with Daddy who is generally home by then. We've both made some good friends. We are happy.

My son is undeniably two. He tests the boundaries at every turn and loudly and angrily protests not getting his way. There are days I am doing well not to be halfway through my third bottle of wine by the time my husband gets home. But, all of that is normal (both for him and me) and his rapidly exploding vocabulary and grasp of the world is so amazing that the less desirable parts of living with a toddler just fade away.

And the pregnancy. After our rough beginning, it's so routine now that I sometimes forget to be continually amazed that I really am pregnant again. As of today I am 28 weeks along, in my last trimester. The baby appears to healthy, and is very active. We've had no further complications since 10 weeks. I am in the habit of not counting unhatched chickens, however I can't seem to shake the feeling that I might have two children soon.

So. That's all there is. See how boring that was? Blissfully boring, if you ask me.

Thankful...

This time of the year is sentimental for everyone. But it's really not uncommon to see me with tears in my eyes during the holiday season. It holds so much emotion.

I spent too many years sad at Christmas. I was always thankful for my family, my husband, the roof over my head, the food on our table and health. And I always knew that all of that is SO much more than so many people have. But at Christmas, there are reminders everywhere of children. They line up for Santa at the mall. They appear in sentimental commercials where they innocently sneak down the stairs to wait for Santa. They are adorable in the church Christmas Eve pageant. And our home was deafeningly quiet on Christmas morning. It was hard to be happy at a time when everywhere I turned I was reminded of the one thing that was missing. All I could do was wonder if it would ever be my turn to hold a tiny hand in the line for Santa; to make angel wings for the Christmas Eve pageant; to hear my child's laughter on Christmas morning.

And then three years ago on December 7, in a lab in North Carolina, 13 embryos came to be. Five days on December 12, three of them were placed back in my uterus. And five days before Christmas, my husband (who fielded all phone calls from the doctor to save me from hearing bad news from a stranger) told me that I was pregnant. Not for the first time. But for the first time the numbers looked very promising. The day before Christmas Eve he told me that the numbers were rising perfectly. By all indications, everything looked promising. And so for the first time ever on Christmas 2005, not even 5 weeks pregnant, I allowed myself to dream. One year later, on Christmas morning 2006, I had in my arms the most precious gift God can give. My infant son, perfect and healthy. And the memory of the prior Christmases, so filled with grief and longing, so filled with terrified hope, were as vivid as ever. The memory of pain will be with me forever, but the pain itself is gone. Now my Christmases include holding a tiny hand in the line for Santa, dressing my beautiful (yes, I am biased, but he seriously is) son in his Christmas best for Christmas Eve church and hearing his little feet pitter patter around to look at his presents on Christmas morning. And it seems as if next year we will add another little one to the mix.

So this season holds for me the memory of past hurt, the memory of desperate hope, and now a level of gratitude that can never be expressed with my feeble writing. Thankful... yes. So very, very thankful.

A New Day

It is gorgeous here. The weather is unseasonably warm (oh, who am I kidding... not really unseasonable for Texas), but not hot. The sky is that gorgeous deep blue of a clear autumn day and white clouds are floating in the sky. May sound idyllic and contrived, but it isn't. That's what sort of day it is. And it fits my mood to a T. I feel happy, peaceful, sunny and idyllic. I feel hopeful and excited. I feel patriotic and proud. I knew I wanted him to win. I voted for him. But I didn't realize how badly I wanted it until I woke up this morning feeling every happy emotion I can conjure. I am inspired. WE are inspired. I am ready. WE are ready. My son will never know a day when there was no way a minority could hold the highest office in the land. He will never think it odd that the children in the White House aren't white. It's not often that a parent is glad that things are the way they are now rather than wishing that they were like they used to be. But this is one of those times. I am so proud of this country. I am so proud to be an American (cue Lee Greenwood). I feel like standing on my roof today and cheering (which, unfortunately in my neck of the woods would probably result in me a-gettin' lynched by an angry mob). I feel light and free. Yes, we can. And yes, we did. And I for one think it's going to be a great four years.

"Penis is crying"

This is what my son said to me tonight. I'm not sure of he was referring to the fact that he'd just peed in the shower or if his penis was just feeling a little sad (it happens), but for whatever reason penis was crying.

One of the joys of living with a toddler is getting a glimpse into their view of the world. Today he told me that he wanted to go up into the clouds. When I asked him how we'd get there he said, "Take big steps." The he decided that there was a doggie in the clouds that needed feeding, so he started throwing imaginary food up into the sky. After his shower tonight he informed me that his shoes were tired. I love hearing his take on things. He is surprising. And creative. And funny. And lately, cranky. But we can overlook that for all the other things. Two is tough. And so very fun.

So, this baby. It's another little IVF miracle. It was an abysmal cycle and I don't think anyone expected it to work, least of all me. But, here I am. Fourteen weeks pregnant. I believe in God and I thank Him nightly because this one sure shouldn't have happened. It didn't go well at first. There was a hemorrhage between the baby's sack and my uterus, but hopefully that is resolving. Hopefully the next 26 weeks will pass with a live and healthy baby being born uneventfully at the end. And if that happens, I plan to close my uterus for business forever.

Lucas, who has absolutely no concept of what it all means (and how can he, really... when we ourselves had no idea when we brought him home?), has taken it all in stride. He points at my tummy when asked where the baby is. He answers "Quatro" when asked what we will name the baby. We're not sure why he chose the name Quatro, but it seems fitting for the fourth member of our family. He's probably a genius.

So. Crying penises. Hungry dogs in the sky. Baby in belly. Just another boring day.

Uno, Dos, Tres...

...Quatro (my sweet son's chosen name for the fourth member of our family- pretty dang smart, if you ask me)

Due to join us on quatro de Mayo.

Why I Love Him

... my husband, I mean. The other night while I was showering, a memory surfaced. I'm not sure why it picked that specific moment to come up (I have my ideas, but that's a story for another day).

When I was 17 weeks pregnant with my son, we had our "big ultrasound" (where you find out the sex, but we didn't because we're the ones who enjoy driving everyone else nuts by not "needing to prepare"). Instead, we found out that my triple screen (for neural tube defects and genetic abnormalities) had come back abnormal and that there were some abnormalities on the ultrasound that were markers for genetic problems. One evening while we were still reeling from all of that, I was lying on the couch and had a huge gush of blood. I. was. terrified. It's funny how your brain protects itself. I was too scared to think at all, yet I had the presence of mind to gather all reminders of what had just happened and the pregnancy itself and put them away. I was so sure that the next time I walked through my front door I would no longer be pregnant.

The car ride to the hospital and wait in the emergency room were like a dream... a bad one. I didn't know what was going on inside, but I did know that it was bad. And it had to be over. It was too good to be true after all. I was numb, not really processing much. When they put the doppler on my belly and we immediately heard a strong "whoosh whoosh whoosh," I cried. I wasn't sure if it was relief that the baby was still alive or horror that I was about to deliver a live, healthy, very non-viable baby because my body was failing again. At one point they told me that they saw some tissue (like ruptured membranes) coming out, later they said no, it was just blood. Finally there was an ultrasound and we were no closer to figuring out what was going on. Over the course of hours and several doctors, we began to understand that I wasn't dilated, they didn't think my membranes were ruptured, the baby was doing well, and nobody knew where the bleeding was coming from. I was to be admitted overnight for observation.

While I waited in the ED for a room upstairs, my husband ran home to take care of the dogs and get clothes. Throughout the whole ordeal, he'd never shown any sign that he was shaken at all. And I was too distraught to realize that of course he was. He just calmly led me through the motions, held my hand tight when we listened for the heartbeat and when I got a catheter, sat close to me, joked, but only at the right time. He later told me that when he walked out of the hospital, he called our families to explain what was happening. First my family to ask them to call me since he was worried about leaving me alone. And then his. As soon as his mom answered the phone, finally relieved of his duty to be the strong one, finally able to be the frightened parent, he broke down and couldn't talk. Of all that we experienced that day, that is the only part of the story that still brings tears to my eyes.

I love him because he is my rock, and man do I need one. I love him because he's stood right by my side through the hell we've endured in our quest for parenthood. I love him because we've weathered storms together and understand this experience mutually. I love him because he allows me to grieve our losses in my own way. I love him because he loves being a Dad as much as I love being a Mom. And I love him because he is a darn good one, just ask our son.

And Disneyland Rides in on His White Horse

I have belonged to an online community for women experiencing pregnancy after IVF since I was pregnant with my son. Though I have actually only met two of them in real life, I consider many of them friends and value their opinions highly. It's a unique mixture of intelligent, thoughtful, well-educated women bonded by a heartbreaking journey followed by the happiness of succeeding at one of life's fundamental joys. Being pregnant after failing for so long to either become and/or stay pregnant, while wonderful, can be really scary. Years of failure condition you to believe it will always be that way. You are painfully aware that it could all be taken away at any moment. The early days of parenting, I believe, are a shock for anyone. As it turns out, it is not a Hallmark commercial: calm and adoring mother, simply glowing in the light of her new little cherub, holding sleeping said cherub closely to her overflowing breasts while proud, admiring papa stands by ready to help in any way necessary as a soft light spills ever so gently through the sheer, billowing curtains. Noooo, not quite. And this can be a very big shock to someone who has been dreaming of and praying for this scene with increasing fervor over the course of years. So this community of women is a fantastic source of support and information for those of us navigating through a situation which often nobody we know in real life has.

In any case, there is a saying on the board oft-quoted to new moms who are somewhat dismayed to find that they spend all day caring for baby and the moment Dad walks in the door, baby couldn't care less if Mom is around or not. "Daddy is Disneyland." This is often true. Mom fixes boo-boos. Dad is fun. Mom cooks meals. Dad is fun. Mom finds the favorite shirt. Dad is fun. You get the idea. But, you know, that's not always a bad thing. Parents are different for a reason and having the different influences of each in a child's life is healthy and balancing, I believe. And, at least in our household, Dad has earned his Disneyland status.

After my last post, I had a little chat with myself about my lack of patience, did some reading on toddler behavior and discipline and woke up the next morning calmer and ready to respond to two-year-old-ism with a calm yet firm, rational yet loving approach. Additionally, I informed Disneyland that he would have to take Toddler to the park from time to time and give Mom a break. Which he happily agreed to. I also asked that he start giving baths since the transition from play to bath was a guaranteed battle at a time of day when I am generally running low on patience. He agreed to this as well. So the first night, instead of my method of giving a 5-minute warning, 4-minute warning, 3-minute warning, 2 minute warning, 1-minute warning, 30-second warning, etc. and then declaring it time for a bath, only to be met with a very angry toddler, towing said toddler up the stairs, wailing all the way... INSTEAD of all that, he simply said, "Hey, Toddler (not his actual name, you understand), race you upstairs!" and took off running. And heck if it didn't work. Second night, same thing. No crying. In fact, he GIGGLED all the way up the stairs. Well, duh! Why didn't I think of that? So Disneyland has saved the day (or rather, the night time routine). And I am fine with that. Peaceful evenings, happy Mommy. Thank God for Disneyland Daddy.

I am also happy to report that another bit of wisdom from my online community is also true. "Toddlers are like dogs. They can smell fear." Once I had a more solid plan for dealing with the tantrums and my frustration, he sensed that I am no longer afraid and hasn't even bothered. We're down from 3 meltdowns an hour to one a day. Haven't even had a time out in two days. I know that every day won't be so easy, but I feel like I've had a minor victory and that's enough for me.

Mommy Crappy

We spent last week as a family on vacation (at least two of us were) in the southwest. One of us was taking what we hope will be the last exam for the next 10 years. So my son and I came along to see a new city and have a little get away. Here's the thing. Two-year-olds don't really enjoy get-aways. At least my particular two-year-old doesn't. He'd rather be in his own house playing with his own toys and sleeping in his own bed. And when asking nicely for those things failed to get him anywhere, he resorted to making our lives just as miserable as his apparently was. Our last two days were spent listening to a screaming toddler object (LOUDLY) to every. single. thing. that happened. I was tired, hot (it was a hundred and freaking five degrees there), and my patience quickly wore quite thin.

Since being home, things have improved. A little. Which leads me to believe that some of his acting out was because he was tired and out of his element. And the rest was because he's two. And that's not going away anytime soon. We do battle a hundred times a day. In the car he wants me to get the toy he's just thrown onto the floorboard. At mealtimes, he wants more bread without having taken a single bite of vegetables. At night, transitioning from play to bathtime is a guaranteed tantrum. He screams at the top of his lungs. Time outs are ineffective. He'll happily sit in his time out spot for 2 minutes. Take away a toy- he couldn't care less. Yelling and hitting aren't options (for me, anyway), so I'm at a loss. And my patience, unfortunately, has not improved much at all.

I've been through med school so I am not at all unfamiliar with feeling like a total moron. But parenting has brought that feeling to a whole new level. Just when you are starting to feel confident- you're in a routine, everyone thinks your kid is great, you're in a happily symbiotic relationship- they up and change the game. And you're back to bumbling idiot. I always thought that parents had until their kids were teens to find out how little they (the parents) know. But, it happens from day one. How do I handle this? Why do they do that? Am I doing it right? How badly am I messing up?

A month ago I was happy Mommy. Today I feel like crappy Mommy.

Mommy Happy

Yes, so it's been 5 months since I've updated. Whoops. To sum up: got pregnant, moved to new town, got unpregnant, made some new friends, settled in, playgroups, playdates, played trains. And here we are.

This past weekend, my dear sweet son turned TWO years old! It amazes me that two years have passed since those emotion-filled, exhausted, hormonal, foggy first days of his life. They were happy, certainly, but a combination of health worries (him) and hormonal psychosis (me) and the reality of caring for a newborn and the absolute unfathomable enormity of finally having a child was just too much for me to really process at the time. Two years later, I still marvel that it finally happened, but I can generally (not always) do it without bursting into tears.

Our journey to him was rocky and unsettling. It was lonely and scary. It was isolating and hopeless. But, ultimately it was rewarding. And it was the journey that was meant for us. It has forever changed me. I am less confident, but also less arrogant. I trust less in myself, but more in God. I am less sure it will all be as I want it, but more sure that it WILL be ok. I am less likely to worry over insignificant things, and more likely to empathize with someone who is hurting. I am more aware of the possibility of it all being taken away, but I am more likely to enjoy even the smallest things. I catch in others glimpses of who I was and who I imagine I would be today without having traveled this road. And I am happier to be who I am now.

Motherhood is the most difficult task I've ever worked at. It is all-consuming. Once you are a mother, you are never NOT a mother. No matter where you are and who you are with, the reality remains that there is a human out there who is relying on you for something (food, safety, emotional guidance, education, medical care, transportation, prayers...). And never have I been more excited to work so hard. Never have I been more vested in the task at hand and the outcome. It's not easy. And it's not always happy. And it doesn't always bring out my best. But more often than not, it is phenomenal. More often than not, it is so wonderful it's hard to believe anything can be this good.

Tonight I was putting my son to bed. He was uncharacteristically snuggly, leaning his head firmly into my chest and holding one of my hands on his face. He would talk quietly to me for a minute, then we would rock in silence for awhile. I was loving every moment of this unanticipated moment of intimacy. Suddenly he spoke up. "Mommy happy." I couldn't have said it better myself, kiddo.

I Just Want This, Nothing More

Sometimes kids are very wise. This past weekend my son participated in his first Easter egg hunts. He caught on very quickly. The only thing he didn't really understand was the goal of collecting as many eggs as you can as fast as you can. He who gets the most wins. Instead, he'd find an egg, run to us with it in his outstretched little chubby hand, shake it, laughing, open it to see what was inside. Each egg he found was new, interesting, and enough for him. He could have picked up one and been perfectly happy to explore it. It was so very innocent and so very sweet. It saddens me to think that all too soon he will develop the "more, more, more" mentality.

It was a good lesson in being satisfied with what you have. It got me thinking about the morality of wanting another child so badly. Looking at my life from the perspective of most people, there is nothing to want. I have a wonderful, kind, well-employed husband, a beautiful, healthy son, the ability to stay home with him if I choose and the ability to work if I want to, a nice house in a nice neighborhood, food on the table, and so on. So why not just be content? I tell myself that if I am not happy now, another child isn't going to solve that. And I believe that to be true. It's not that I am not happy. I am so very grateful for the things I have. And if I never have another child, I will still be grateful. But I will also be somewhat empty. When we announced that we might not be able to have another, a well-meaning friend (whose wife was gigantically pregnant with their second) said, "Well, at least you have one." That's what I thought too before we had him. Please, just let me have one. (Be careful what you ask for.) The problem is that the desire is just as strong for the second, only in a different way. Before my son, I just wanted to be a mother. I wanted to share my life and home with a child. I had no idea what it would be like and I didn't care if the child was genetically mine. Now I know. Now I know how it feels to see and hear your baby's heartbeat for the first time, to feel those little kicks, to give birth, to nurse a baby. Those things mean so much to me. Obviously, there are ways for us to have a child without me being pregnant and I hope that if pregnancy is impossible, we can successfully pursue repeat parenthood in another way. But it will leave an empty place if my body can't participate again. I wish I could follow my son's lead and be perfectly content with this one, never needing another. But my son is the very one who is making that so hard.