This year hasn't been easy. There's always something to be worried about--something that isn't done, something that can't be fixed, something that can't be changed. As usual, I spend a good amount of time worrying. It can be difficult to remember the good things sometimes.
Lately, even though the worry is still there, an overwhelming sense of calm overrides it. Despite all the problems I have to deal with every day, there's one thing that is constant in my life.
I am blessed.
I am blessed to have a beautiful family.
I am blessed to have a loving husband who works hard to support our family, so I can stay home and help that family grow.
I am blessed to have siblings that help me remember my childhood (and sometimes, to help me pretend I'm still a child).
I am blessed by my aunt, who lets my children call her grandma and provides the comfort I sometimes need in the absence of my mother.
I am blessed by my grandmother, still healthy and full of life (and opinions...).
I am blessed to have a niece to spoil, since ALL THREE of my children are boys!
I am blessed by the roof over my head (even if it leaks sometimes).
I am blessed to be warm by a fire with wood provided by parents who love us.
I am blessed by the phone calls and text messages I get from friends and family every day (whether I manage to answer them or not).
I am blessed by my children's love, and by more hugs and kisses than I could count in a lifetime.
I am blessed to have good friends to talk to when I need to cry or to complain or to laugh.
I am blessed to live so near my family, and to always have help when I need it, whether it's a babysitter, a piece of advice, or help buying new tires for my car.
I am blessed. By these and so many other things. And for every time that I get frustrated, angry, or worried, I have ten blessings to remind me why life isn't really so bad.
No, nothing is easy. There is always something to worry about. But counting blessings is a lot more comforting.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I hope you're enjoying your blessings as much as I am enjoying mine.
11.25.2010
11.19.2010
Six Word Fridays: Home
 |
| From Making Things Up |
Doesn't have to be a house,
Or even have a single door.
Just comfort from your loving arms.
A home I treasure forever more.
11.18.2010
The Mother I Remember
It has been 11 years to the day since my mother passed away. The pain of losing her has dulled over the years, but I still find myself in tears sometimes, thinking of how much I miss her. Lately, I've been thinking about her more than I have in a long time. I'm not crying as much as when she first died, of course, but I am missing her like it just happened yesterday.
I have been trying to figure out why I've been thinking about her so much lately. Is it my own growing family? Or maybe it's the stress of my life that I ache for her to calm? Maybe my hormones are to blame. I know it could be a little of all of these things. But last night, as I lay in my bed crying tears in to my pillow, I thought long and hard about my mom. And I realized that I've been missing her so much because I feel like I've forgotten her.
When I first started thinking about it, I felt like I couldn't recall anything specific about her anymore. How did she sound? What did she smell like? But the longer I thought, the easier memories of her became. It isn't that I've forgotten, it's just that, out of necessity, I've pushed them to the back of my mind. I can't describe exactly how much my mom meant to me, but I can tell you that if I remembered her so vividly every day, my eyes would never be dry. Her absence is a hole in my soul. I miss her dearly.
I miss the woman who could solve any of my problems with a hug and a stroke of my hair. She taught me how to spell (by needing things spelled for her all the time) and how to balance a checkbook (by making me balance hers). She was strong, street smart, and kind. I can't recall her without a smile on her face. She laughed in the face of temper tantrums and commanded respect without hardly ever raising her voice. No matter how sick she got--how the lupus warped her skin in to a patchwork of red blotches--she was always the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She had an enormous heart, and for me, love radiated whenever she was in my vicinity. Smart, honest, beautiful--my mother epitomized them all.
There is a way to hug my whole family at once, to make us recall the glue that once cemented our family together, and all it takes is a single word. Jackie.
I miss you, Mom. I hope you're resting peacefully, and I hope you can feel the love we all still hold in our hearts for you.
I have been trying to figure out why I've been thinking about her so much lately. Is it my own growing family? Or maybe it's the stress of my life that I ache for her to calm? Maybe my hormones are to blame. I know it could be a little of all of these things. But last night, as I lay in my bed crying tears in to my pillow, I thought long and hard about my mom. And I realized that I've been missing her so much because I feel like I've forgotten her.
When I first started thinking about it, I felt like I couldn't recall anything specific about her anymore. How did she sound? What did she smell like? But the longer I thought, the easier memories of her became. It isn't that I've forgotten, it's just that, out of necessity, I've pushed them to the back of my mind. I can't describe exactly how much my mom meant to me, but I can tell you that if I remembered her so vividly every day, my eyes would never be dry. Her absence is a hole in my soul. I miss her dearly.
I miss the woman who could solve any of my problems with a hug and a stroke of my hair. She taught me how to spell (by needing things spelled for her all the time) and how to balance a checkbook (by making me balance hers). She was strong, street smart, and kind. I can't recall her without a smile on her face. She laughed in the face of temper tantrums and commanded respect without hardly ever raising her voice. No matter how sick she got--how the lupus warped her skin in to a patchwork of red blotches--she was always the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She had an enormous heart, and for me, love radiated whenever she was in my vicinity. Smart, honest, beautiful--my mother epitomized them all.
There is a way to hug my whole family at once, to make us recall the glue that once cemented our family together, and all it takes is a single word. Jackie.
I miss you, Mom. I hope you're resting peacefully, and I hope you can feel the love we all still hold in our hearts for you.
11.05.2010
Six Word Fridays: Change
 |
Sometimes we are afraid of it.
Usually we don't notice it happening.
It is fluid, like puddles forming
While rain streams from the sky.
It feels abrupt, sometimes, but isn't,
Because even those abrupt, altering moments
Don't immediately change who we are.
Change takes time--happens so slowly.
We are likely not to recognize
Ourselves from the changes we've incurred
But when we look back again,
Will we know how we've transformed?
11.02.2010
Unplugging James
My older son, James, turns 4 on Saturday. I can hardly believe it's been four years already. At the same time, however, I can't believe it hasn't been more than four. For as dear as my little James is to me, I am constantly challenged by him. Because he is my first. And every new thing he does is something I haven't seen before. It can be cute and funny and rewarding--but it can also be exhausting and perplexing and frustrating.
I suppose my real problems have arisen quite recently; James was the easiest kind of baby there is. He could sit happily in a swing while I went to the bathroom or cooked dinner. He rarely cried without a good reason. I couldn't help thinking, way back then, that parenting a newborn wasn't as difficult as I was expecting (then #2 came along, and boy, did he prove me wrong).
When James was a toddler, the story was much the same. While I sometimes worried about him, wanting to make sure he met his "milestones" when he should, there still weren't many problems. He was easy to discipline and listened exceptionally well. The terrible twos were markedly mild, and on the whole the threes have been fairly uneventful.
But now, my little one, my first born, is swiftly changing from toddler in to boy. Sometimes I'm shocked at how much of a little personality he has--how grown up he seems. And then I realize, it's just that he's not a baby anymore. And I think we're both having some problems with the transition.
A month or so ago, James started changing in a way I didn't like at all. He has become increasingly moody, lazy, and disinterested in the world around him. It's like pulling teeth to get him to play with a toy, and he can quite often be found brooding on the couch, thumb in mouth, pouting that he can't watch TV.
Initially I chalked this up to my own lack of energy in the preceding months. I wasn't the same Mommy I used to be from August to October. We didn't do nearly as much as normal, because I was having severe, all day "morning" sickness. We did a lot more sitting in the grass reading books than we did running around the park. I thought once I started feeling better and got us out of the house more, he'd snap out of it.
The opposite has been true. The problem was exacerbated when my husband introduced him to his XBox. This was a terrible choice for a child that's already obsessed with sitting on the couch; I wish I would have protested it. But, I must be honest, it was nice to see a spark of happiness in his eyes, and it was terribly cute how excited he got to play "Lego the Company," (as he calls the Lego: Indiana Jones video game his dad gave him to play).
Video games have now become an obsession. I've been setting limits and denying him, but our days are peppered with requests to play the game. I spend more time thinking of other things for him to do than I ever have before. I feel like we're sinking, and I'm afraid I don't know the way out of this hole. His moodiness has gotten worse, and it's hard to get him out of his little fog of electronic bliss. He doesn't even get excited to see his grandparents anymore--and they're the kind that hide candy in your pockets and bring you toys every time they visit.
I was thinking last night, as I lay in bed worrying about this problem, that this is our first real "big boy" struggle. He's developing distinct interests, and problems like this are bound to come up again. I'm not always going to like how he chooses to spend his time, and I have a feeling we'll spend quite a bit of time struggling over it.
For now, I'll keep denying and keep trying to get him interested in less reclusive activities. But I think both of us have a long road before we totally figure this out. We start ice skating lessons on Saturday, and he's getting a slew of actual Legos and other real toys for his birthday on Sunday. I'm hoping something catches his interest and helps me wean him from his video game addiction.
I'm definitely open to suggestions. But please, curb the judging on why I let my 4-year-old play video games in the first place. I'm still trying to figure out why I let that happen.
I suppose my real problems have arisen quite recently; James was the easiest kind of baby there is. He could sit happily in a swing while I went to the bathroom or cooked dinner. He rarely cried without a good reason. I couldn't help thinking, way back then, that parenting a newborn wasn't as difficult as I was expecting (then #2 came along, and boy, did he prove me wrong).
When James was a toddler, the story was much the same. While I sometimes worried about him, wanting to make sure he met his "milestones" when he should, there still weren't many problems. He was easy to discipline and listened exceptionally well. The terrible twos were markedly mild, and on the whole the threes have been fairly uneventful.
But now, my little one, my first born, is swiftly changing from toddler in to boy. Sometimes I'm shocked at how much of a little personality he has--how grown up he seems. And then I realize, it's just that he's not a baby anymore. And I think we're both having some problems with the transition.
A month or so ago, James started changing in a way I didn't like at all. He has become increasingly moody, lazy, and disinterested in the world around him. It's like pulling teeth to get him to play with a toy, and he can quite often be found brooding on the couch, thumb in mouth, pouting that he can't watch TV.
Initially I chalked this up to my own lack of energy in the preceding months. I wasn't the same Mommy I used to be from August to October. We didn't do nearly as much as normal, because I was having severe, all day "morning" sickness. We did a lot more sitting in the grass reading books than we did running around the park. I thought once I started feeling better and got us out of the house more, he'd snap out of it.
The opposite has been true. The problem was exacerbated when my husband introduced him to his XBox. This was a terrible choice for a child that's already obsessed with sitting on the couch; I wish I would have protested it. But, I must be honest, it was nice to see a spark of happiness in his eyes, and it was terribly cute how excited he got to play "Lego the Company," (as he calls the Lego: Indiana Jones video game his dad gave him to play).
Video games have now become an obsession. I've been setting limits and denying him, but our days are peppered with requests to play the game. I spend more time thinking of other things for him to do than I ever have before. I feel like we're sinking, and I'm afraid I don't know the way out of this hole. His moodiness has gotten worse, and it's hard to get him out of his little fog of electronic bliss. He doesn't even get excited to see his grandparents anymore--and they're the kind that hide candy in your pockets and bring you toys every time they visit.
I was thinking last night, as I lay in bed worrying about this problem, that this is our first real "big boy" struggle. He's developing distinct interests, and problems like this are bound to come up again. I'm not always going to like how he chooses to spend his time, and I have a feeling we'll spend quite a bit of time struggling over it.
For now, I'll keep denying and keep trying to get him interested in less reclusive activities. But I think both of us have a long road before we totally figure this out. We start ice skating lessons on Saturday, and he's getting a slew of actual Legos and other real toys for his birthday on Sunday. I'm hoping something catches his interest and helps me wean him from his video game addiction.
I'm definitely open to suggestions. But please, curb the judging on why I let my 4-year-old play video games in the first place. I'm still trying to figure out why I let that happen.
10.17.2010
A Story of Births and Beliefs
The other night, I decided to watch a movie. I didn't know what I wanted to watch, so I clicked on the suggested movies of Netflix and let it help me decide. The Business of Being Born popped up, and it sounded fairly interesting, so I decided to watch it. I'd never heard of it before, but I figured there couldn't be a better subject for an expecting mother, right? I thought maybe I'd learn something I didn't already know.
I knew within 10 minutes that I'd made a mistake. Not because it was a terrible movie, but because it was going to be difficult for me to watch. Within a very short time, I was crying.
I cried because the story echoed over and over throughout the movie is similar to what happened to me when I gave birth to my first child. I cried because there was so much I didn't know then, so much that would have helped me make better decisions about the whole experience. I can't say for sure if things would have worked out differently if I had been more informed, but learning some of these things after the fact is like a sucker punch to the stomach.
When I was 36 weeks pregnant with my first son, I developed severe hypertension and borderline preeclampsia. The doctor kept reassuring me that my blood pressure wasn't so high that we needed to worry, and there wasn't much protein in my urine. But, to be safe, he sent me for a nonstress test to make sure my baby was doing ok. The test seemed to go fine; the nurse told me the baby looked like he was doing great. I left the hospital feeling absolutely relieved.
I didn't make it to my car before I got a phone call from my doctor's office.
"We need you to go back to the hospital. We're admitting you for further observation."
Apparently, although the baby was doing fine, they weren't so sure that I was. My blood pressure had increased, and they didn't want to risk it getting worse. So, my husband and I walked the 20 feet back in to the hospital and I was taken to the mothers and infants wing to spend the night.
The result of my overnight stay in the hospital was fairly inconclusive. My doctor ordered me home on bedrest, but he still didn't think there was too much need for concern. He thought if I stayed off my feet and relaxed, I'd be ok for the last few weeks of my pregnancy.
That was on a Friday. On Monday, I had another appointment. My blood pressure was still way too high, even though I very literally only got up to go to the bathroom the entire weekend (it was a very boring weekend at my house!). My doctor, still not seeming terribly concerned, gave me an option: take the risk of the blood pressure problem getting worse, or be induced?
It's hard to explain my decision making during this time. It was definitely altered by the fact that I was very excited to meet my new baby, and it was also altered by my ignorance about child birth. All I knew was that, even though he seemed calm, my doctor was paying me an inordinate amount of attention. And I was terrified about making the wrong decision. So, I consented to induction.
I hadn't dilated yet at all; my body was in no way ready to have a baby yet. I spent the night having suppositories to ripen my cervix (or something like that), and in the wee hours of the morning my water broke. So far, so good. Then, they brought on the Pitocin. I didn't want an epidural, so I tried to labor without any pain medication. The Pitocin contractions were horrible, and from subsequent conversations I've had with other mothers, I now know that they're not "natural." When you go in to labor on your own, the contractions start off slower and build in intensity. I went from nothing to full throttle in less than an hour. I was in terrible pain, and because they were monitoring my baby, I wasn't allowed to get out of the bed more than once an hour. I couldn't stretch or walk. I labored like this for 10 hours before I finally asked for an epidural; I had only dilated to 3cm.
A few minutes later, the nurses changed shift. My new nurse came in to introduce herself and look at my chart. She took one look at the fetal heart monitor and her eyes got huge. She asked my aunt to feel for the baby and rub my belly to help get his heartbeat up. Then she rushed off to find the doctor.
Again, my doctor didn't seem terribly concerned. Almost nonchalantly, he explained to me that my son's heartbeat was dropping dangerously low every time I had a contraction. Did I want to continue to labor, or just have a C-section?
I often wonder what kind of question this is to pose to a terrified woman in labor with her first child. Why didn't he offer any advice? Why was he treating this like routine? I broke down in tears, unable to answer. My husband answered for me. "If there's something wrong, do what you have to do." After a moment I concurred with my husband. If my baby was in danger, we should just do the C-section.
I've never gotten over the loss of a "normal" child birth. I feel like every intervention from doctors led me further down a path that inevitably led to a C-section. Could any of them have been avoided? Was I too scared to really think of the consequences of my choices? I'm not sure. But I do think there was definitely information I didn't have, that might have changed some of my decisions.
Ultimately, I know that it doesn't matter how my son was born. I love him just the same, and I'm happy to have him alive and healthy. But I still long for the experience of birthing a child.
On my doctor's strong suggestion ("It seems like you might have a small pelvis. You didn't make much progress while you were in labor last time. Better safe than sorry."), I opted for a repeat C-section the second time around. It is something I regret very deeply. I let myself get scared. My first birth experience was so full of scary moments that I didn't want to take any chances the second time.
Now, here I am, 16 weeks in to my third pregnancy. And from the moment I found out I was pregnant, I was very sure of one thing: I want to attempt a VBAC this time. I know there's a chance that something could go wrong. I know there's a 40% chance I'll have to have a C-section, anyway. But I want to try. And my doctor isn't terribly receptive to the idea. For now, he's humoring me, telling me there's a chance that I can. But his list of reasons I shouldn't keeps getting longer. I do trust my doctor's opinion, but I've also done a lot of self-education this time around. And I won't take no for an answer.
I'd like to be allowed to pick my baby up when it's born. I'd like to be able to walk up the stairs of my house and put my baby in its crib and (maybe) sleep comfortably in my own bed. I'd rather have the soreness and discomfort that comes with vaginal birth than the painful open wound in my abdomen that comes with a C-section. And I would like to know that my body can birth a baby on its own, without a long list of medical interventions.
Wish me luck...this is going to be a bumpy road.
I knew within 10 minutes that I'd made a mistake. Not because it was a terrible movie, but because it was going to be difficult for me to watch. Within a very short time, I was crying.
I cried because the story echoed over and over throughout the movie is similar to what happened to me when I gave birth to my first child. I cried because there was so much I didn't know then, so much that would have helped me make better decisions about the whole experience. I can't say for sure if things would have worked out differently if I had been more informed, but learning some of these things after the fact is like a sucker punch to the stomach.
When I was 36 weeks pregnant with my first son, I developed severe hypertension and borderline preeclampsia. The doctor kept reassuring me that my blood pressure wasn't so high that we needed to worry, and there wasn't much protein in my urine. But, to be safe, he sent me for a nonstress test to make sure my baby was doing ok. The test seemed to go fine; the nurse told me the baby looked like he was doing great. I left the hospital feeling absolutely relieved.
I didn't make it to my car before I got a phone call from my doctor's office.
"We need you to go back to the hospital. We're admitting you for further observation."
Apparently, although the baby was doing fine, they weren't so sure that I was. My blood pressure had increased, and they didn't want to risk it getting worse. So, my husband and I walked the 20 feet back in to the hospital and I was taken to the mothers and infants wing to spend the night.
The result of my overnight stay in the hospital was fairly inconclusive. My doctor ordered me home on bedrest, but he still didn't think there was too much need for concern. He thought if I stayed off my feet and relaxed, I'd be ok for the last few weeks of my pregnancy.
That was on a Friday. On Monday, I had another appointment. My blood pressure was still way too high, even though I very literally only got up to go to the bathroom the entire weekend (it was a very boring weekend at my house!). My doctor, still not seeming terribly concerned, gave me an option: take the risk of the blood pressure problem getting worse, or be induced?
It's hard to explain my decision making during this time. It was definitely altered by the fact that I was very excited to meet my new baby, and it was also altered by my ignorance about child birth. All I knew was that, even though he seemed calm, my doctor was paying me an inordinate amount of attention. And I was terrified about making the wrong decision. So, I consented to induction.
I hadn't dilated yet at all; my body was in no way ready to have a baby yet. I spent the night having suppositories to ripen my cervix (or something like that), and in the wee hours of the morning my water broke. So far, so good. Then, they brought on the Pitocin. I didn't want an epidural, so I tried to labor without any pain medication. The Pitocin contractions were horrible, and from subsequent conversations I've had with other mothers, I now know that they're not "natural." When you go in to labor on your own, the contractions start off slower and build in intensity. I went from nothing to full throttle in less than an hour. I was in terrible pain, and because they were monitoring my baby, I wasn't allowed to get out of the bed more than once an hour. I couldn't stretch or walk. I labored like this for 10 hours before I finally asked for an epidural; I had only dilated to 3cm.
A few minutes later, the nurses changed shift. My new nurse came in to introduce herself and look at my chart. She took one look at the fetal heart monitor and her eyes got huge. She asked my aunt to feel for the baby and rub my belly to help get his heartbeat up. Then she rushed off to find the doctor.
Again, my doctor didn't seem terribly concerned. Almost nonchalantly, he explained to me that my son's heartbeat was dropping dangerously low every time I had a contraction. Did I want to continue to labor, or just have a C-section?
I often wonder what kind of question this is to pose to a terrified woman in labor with her first child. Why didn't he offer any advice? Why was he treating this like routine? I broke down in tears, unable to answer. My husband answered for me. "If there's something wrong, do what you have to do." After a moment I concurred with my husband. If my baby was in danger, we should just do the C-section.
I've never gotten over the loss of a "normal" child birth. I feel like every intervention from doctors led me further down a path that inevitably led to a C-section. Could any of them have been avoided? Was I too scared to really think of the consequences of my choices? I'm not sure. But I do think there was definitely information I didn't have, that might have changed some of my decisions.
Ultimately, I know that it doesn't matter how my son was born. I love him just the same, and I'm happy to have him alive and healthy. But I still long for the experience of birthing a child.
On my doctor's strong suggestion ("It seems like you might have a small pelvis. You didn't make much progress while you were in labor last time. Better safe than sorry."), I opted for a repeat C-section the second time around. It is something I regret very deeply. I let myself get scared. My first birth experience was so full of scary moments that I didn't want to take any chances the second time.
Now, here I am, 16 weeks in to my third pregnancy. And from the moment I found out I was pregnant, I was very sure of one thing: I want to attempt a VBAC this time. I know there's a chance that something could go wrong. I know there's a 40% chance I'll have to have a C-section, anyway. But I want to try. And my doctor isn't terribly receptive to the idea. For now, he's humoring me, telling me there's a chance that I can. But his list of reasons I shouldn't keeps getting longer. I do trust my doctor's opinion, but I've also done a lot of self-education this time around. And I won't take no for an answer.
I'd like to be allowed to pick my baby up when it's born. I'd like to be able to walk up the stairs of my house and put my baby in its crib and (maybe) sleep comfortably in my own bed. I'd rather have the soreness and discomfort that comes with vaginal birth than the painful open wound in my abdomen that comes with a C-section. And I would like to know that my body can birth a baby on its own, without a long list of medical interventions.
Wish me luck...this is going to be a bumpy road.
10.15.2010
Six Word Fridays: Favorite Things
|
| From Making Things Up |
Pumpkin spices in my morning coffee
Snuggling before getting out of bed
The Beatles, and some other classic rockers
Monty Python's Flying Circus (Argument Sketch)
Seeing my children learn something new
Fresh challah, straight from the oven
Weekly playdates with my best friend
A clean house by week's end
Cake (the band; sometimes the food)
Reading a good book without interruptions
Dancing (when no one is looking)
The list could surely go on
Stopping, for the sake of time...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)