This past Saturday night, while pulling into the grocery store parking lot, the thought struck me that I will be 29 this year.
One year closer to thirty.
I'm not sure why I somewhat panicked at the thought; I typically enjoy my birthday. When asked my age, I usually push it forward by saying "I'll BE ____ this year" instead of stating my actual age at the moment, making it seem like I'm a tad older. The reason for this response primarily rests upon seeming more mature and experienced, especially because I have spent (and continue to spend) most of my life around others older than me.
But now, at 28, a piece of me wants to freeze my age, my life, in time. I want to always enjoy the thrill of pursuing my career. I want to be the younger one, working hard and broadening my capabilities, but old enough to be taken seriously. I also want to be just young enough to still be hip but old enough to somewhat afford it.**
But really, I want C to stay in this adorable pre-tot phase where the minute details of the world are incredibly intriguing. Where finding the letter A and number 8 in a parking lot causes excitement. Where seeing a new face walk in the door makes her literally jump for joy (a jump that consists of bent knees, raised arms and confident yell of "JUMP!" while pushing up to the tips of her toes). Where we play and sing together, where she still takes a nap, where we cuddle while reading books.
Over the course of writing this post, the realization hit me that while I'm apprehensive about my own aging process (am I where I thought I would be? Am I on my way? Am I at a point in my life where I can remember my parents being that same age?), this isn't at the core of my anxiety.
To be sure, I'm concerned that my fantasies of the future won't come to fruition. It is nice to have a bright hope of what is to come in my imagination, rather than actually face it. I think most of the time I would rather picture my life with more children, wonder where we will settle, and day dream about the family vehicle and different activities that may fill our time. And so I go on guessing, rather than actually moving forward to make something happen. The unknown can be a bit daunting, right? Not to mention the potential of failure.
But what I think I'm truly worried about is losing control.
I'm frightened at the aspect of the child I already have growing up, going to school, getting on the internet, having a phone, and spending more time interacting with people that aren't family than with people who are. I'm scared that the horror stories I've heard of people I actually know happening to my child. And the older she gets, the less control I have over the world that surrounds her.
How do you protect your children? Can you protect them for the rest of your life?
I'm also fearful that one day my sweet daughter will not want my protection or influence. That she will grow up and have a different life and may not want me to be a part of it, or may only let me play a small role. It makes me sad.
So, I selfishly want time to slow down. I want to remain the center of her universe.
Looking back, I feel quite badly for my own parents. They love and care for me (right now, as they did in the past, and as I know they will continue to do so), just as I do for my own child. I hope my own daughter isn't like the kind of daughter I was (I like to think I've slightly improved). I hope she is a good kid, who makes good choices, and always puts her family first. I just wish I knew the magic formula to guarantee such a result.
So, in the midst of resolutions to lose weight, floss and read more, and to organize, I've got nothing. There is a lot riding on 2013 - but a lot rode on 2012, and even the years prior. Before I know it, it will be 2014 and I'll be thirty and C will be turning three. But right now, it is 2013, I'm still 28, and my body is still warm from holding my 16-month-old in my arms with her head resting on my chest.
**I'm not saying that I am indeed hip, but I do like to try to be cool. Don't we all?
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Amateur Realizations
I just need to get a few things out there:
1. I started "pinning" last week and already have a love-hate relationship. While I realize the value of the site, I also realize the time-suck/waste factor. It is almost as confusing as that one time in high school where I was really good friends with a boy but we weren't boyfriend-girlfriend, but it kind of felt like it, but he had a girlfriend. Oy vey.
2. My child recently parroted me saying "shoot" and "heck." She also already loves TV. How do I know? She constantly brings us the iPad to pull up the PBS Kids app, cries if we turn off before she was done watching (she lets us know by ungluing her eyes and walking away), and knows when to clap and cheer for certain Sesame Street shorts. She also wreaks havoc in church every Sunday and I don't do anything to stop it. For example, she stands/plays peek-a-boo at the podium while someone teaches, helps play the piano during a hymn, and rummages through various purses. This last Sunday, she somehow got a dollar bill and wouldn't loosen her grip for anything - not for toys, or treats, or any other distraction. Basically, I'm failing at decent parenting. I have a disruptive, cursing, media-obsessed, kleptomaniac daughter. My over-achieving self now sits in a corner and cries while my lazy self continues to lounge on the couch and not care. It is like when I was in high school and in band and worked relatively hard and thought it was really cool, but I'm now realizing that it really wasn't. Should I care about that?
3. While I'm no Shakespeare, I never thought I was a terrible writer. However, after my last post, we were bombarded by questions of our safety and well-being. My husband just stared blankly at the kind soul asking if I was okay at the church trunk-or-treat. People, it was a METAPHOR. My life FELT like a car accident. Obviously, I'm really terrible at writing because even my wisest, most-respected friend asked me on our last phone about if I was in a car accident. It is like that one time while teaching Sunday School where I tried to make a joke and nobody laughed or understood and it was really quiet and I got really warm and it was super awkward and uncomfortable. But I've always thought I was kind of funny?
4. I feel awful for Holly Petraeus. This isn't necessarily a realization, but rather recognition and awareness. I just feel terrible for this woman.
And for your viewing pleasure, a few cute photos of C that aren't on Facebook or Instagram because they were sent to my by my awesome baby sitters:
Don't worry, working in a cubicle is super fun, too.
1. I started "pinning" last week and already have a love-hate relationship. While I realize the value of the site, I also realize the time-suck/waste factor. It is almost as confusing as that one time in high school where I was really good friends with a boy but we weren't boyfriend-girlfriend, but it kind of felt like it, but he had a girlfriend. Oy vey.
2. My child recently parroted me saying "shoot" and "heck." She also already loves TV. How do I know? She constantly brings us the iPad to pull up the PBS Kids app, cries if we turn off before she was done watching (she lets us know by ungluing her eyes and walking away), and knows when to clap and cheer for certain Sesame Street shorts. She also wreaks havoc in church every Sunday and I don't do anything to stop it. For example, she stands/plays peek-a-boo at the podium while someone teaches, helps play the piano during a hymn, and rummages through various purses. This last Sunday, she somehow got a dollar bill and wouldn't loosen her grip for anything - not for toys, or treats, or any other distraction. Basically, I'm failing at decent parenting. I have a disruptive, cursing, media-obsessed, kleptomaniac daughter. My over-achieving self now sits in a corner and cries while my lazy self continues to lounge on the couch and not care. It is like when I was in high school and in band and worked relatively hard and thought it was really cool, but I'm now realizing that it really wasn't. Should I care about that?
3. While I'm no Shakespeare, I never thought I was a terrible writer. However, after my last post, we were bombarded by questions of our safety and well-being. My husband just stared blankly at the kind soul asking if I was okay at the church trunk-or-treat. People, it was a METAPHOR. My life FELT like a car accident. Obviously, I'm really terrible at writing because even my wisest, most-respected friend asked me on our last phone about if I was in a car accident. It is like that one time while teaching Sunday School where I tried to make a joke and nobody laughed or understood and it was really quiet and I got really warm and it was super awkward and uncomfortable. But I've always thought I was kind of funny?
4. I feel awful for Holly Petraeus. This isn't necessarily a realization, but rather recognition and awareness. I just feel terrible for this woman.
And for your viewing pleasure, a few cute photos of C that aren't on Facebook or Instagram because they were sent to my by my awesome baby sitters:
 |
| Raking leaves with YaYa while mom works in a cubicle |
 |
| Playing at the park with Auntie while mom works in a cubicle |
Friday, September 14, 2012
Amateur Letter Writer
Yes, I'm a mom. Yes, I have a blog. Here is the obligatory letter to my child who can't read, published for the rest of the world to see.
Corinne,
Even just typing out your name still amazes me. I have a kid - and her name is Corinne! Who ever saw that one coming? Your dad named you. It was tough finding a first name that went well with the middle name "Mary" (that was a must - I'm named after my mother and BOTH of my grandmothers... or maybe I'm just really self-absorbed and want a name-sake), and he didn't like my favored "Penelope" (Penny for short). We (I) hemmed and hawed at the hospital (I thought you looked more like a "Jordan"); but it was I who wrote down your name not only the birth certificate form our last night there, but also on the newspaper release (you didn't know how you were a famous Labor Day Weekend baby in the local paper?) the day of your birth.
We took you home, where we were locked out, because we gave my parents both of our house keys. That was fun. You were hungry, your other grandparents were actually there decorating the yard, and the neighbors had friends arriving to visit. Once we settled, I left you with your Aunt Christy and I slept. And you slept. Have I mentioned how much I love our village?
So you were a terrible sleeper, and I was a terrible nurser, but whatever. Now you'll eat anything in your path (including, but not limited to, cardboard, paper towels, apples, stray Kix, peas, and broccoli heads).
You like to rip things open with your teeth, like some crazy medieval king ripping into a leg of meat.
You also hate juice, and will only drink milk from a bottle. As a result from all of this, I now have a post-partum, post-nursing body! Good times. But I digress, this is about you (really!), and not me.
Your dad is still in charge of bath time, but I'm the lucky duck who gets to rock you before bed. Lately, though, you'd rather play (cry) in your crib for a few minutes than sit still with me. But to make up for it, just last night, you woke up crying around 4:30 AM and I got to cuddle with you! You sure do have a funny way of making me feel grateful for the oddest things.
You are now officially a toddler. And that's exactly what you do! You toddle around - a mix of hesitant steps and head-down, ram-speed crawling make up your main modes of transportation. Your baby steps are like a planned free-fall: you know where you're going and exactly where to stop the motion control and just land in your predetermined destination.
You astound me as an example of human development. Weren't you just learning to roll over? And now you're repeating words and actions? Oh, and whistling? Where did that come from?
I get a kick out of your stubbornness - just when we feel like we've taught you something new, you won't repeat it when we ask you to in front of others. I think you get some kind of twisted satisfaction from performing only on your terms and making us look like giant idiots. I also think this might be a sign of things to come.
You are quite the generalist - every fruit at the store is an apple, every picture is of daddy, and every 4-legged anmial gets a "woof woof." You are also polite - each speakerphone call merits a hello, and anything that should be fun deserves a hearty "wheee-ooo---wee." You fake laugh better than anyone I know; and while at the moment I find it adorable, I hope I can help you be confidant enough in your own skin that you don't feel a need to always fit in with the crowd.
I still struggle accepting your growth out of the infant stage - I forget that you actually need something to cover your feet in a public place, useless baby spoons litter the diaper bag, and I finally went through your clothes to pack up everything that is too small. I'm actually glad you're so bald - it makes you feel more like a baby and less like a little kid.
I also struggle with the thought of having more children. I can't imagine loving another person the way I love you. I feel very satisfied with being your mother - I love where we are in our life right now. I also know that it might be a little selfish to not have a sibling for you - no one to turn to when all the adults in your life overwhelm you, no one on which to blame a mess, no one to perhaps give you nieces or nephews or cousins for your own children. I've discussed this concept with many, and know that it is indeed possible to have more than one child and love them in the same capacity. Maybe one day.
Your dad and I pray every night in gratitude for the joy you bring to our lives - and I know you bring happiness to the lives of countless others. You're the best, Corinne. To summarize, I can't help but think of an awesomely cheesy Rod Stewart song:
For the morning sun in all it's glory,
Meets the day with hope and comfort too,
You fill my life with laughter, somehow you make it better,
Ease my troubles, that's what you do.
There's a love less defined,
And its yours and its mine,
Like the sun.
And at the end of the day,
We should give thanks and pray,
To the one, to the one.
Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness, take away all my sadness,
Ease my troubles, that's what you do.
Be rest assured, I will continue to amaze you with how incredibly lame and sappy I can be. It will surprise you at times, but doesn't everyone like surprises, anyway? I know I'm surprised at how much you've changed my life, and how I can't really remember what life was like before you. It's like the past two decades have been random events just slowly evolving to this pivitol moment in time. To be sure, while the next two decades will be a whilwind, there's not much that I'd rather be doing than being your mom.
Corinne,
Even just typing out your name still amazes me. I have a kid - and her name is Corinne! Who ever saw that one coming? Your dad named you. It was tough finding a first name that went well with the middle name "Mary" (that was a must - I'm named after my mother and BOTH of my grandmothers... or maybe I'm just really self-absorbed and want a name-sake), and he didn't like my favored "Penelope" (Penny for short). We (I) hemmed and hawed at the hospital (I thought you looked more like a "Jordan"); but it was I who wrote down your name not only the birth certificate form our last night there, but also on the newspaper release (you didn't know how you were a famous Labor Day Weekend baby in the local paper?) the day of your birth.
We took you home, where we were locked out, because we gave my parents both of our house keys. That was fun. You were hungry, your other grandparents were actually there decorating the yard, and the neighbors had friends arriving to visit. Once we settled, I left you with your Aunt Christy and I slept. And you slept. Have I mentioned how much I love our village?
So you were a terrible sleeper, and I was a terrible nurser, but whatever. Now you'll eat anything in your path (including, but not limited to, cardboard, paper towels, apples, stray Kix, peas, and broccoli heads).
You like to rip things open with your teeth, like some crazy medieval king ripping into a leg of meat.
You also hate juice, and will only drink milk from a bottle. As a result from all of this, I now have a post-partum, post-nursing body! Good times. But I digress, this is about you (really!), and not me.
Your dad is still in charge of bath time, but I'm the lucky duck who gets to rock you before bed. Lately, though, you'd rather play (cry) in your crib for a few minutes than sit still with me. But to make up for it, just last night, you woke up crying around 4:30 AM and I got to cuddle with you! You sure do have a funny way of making me feel grateful for the oddest things.
You are now officially a toddler. And that's exactly what you do! You toddle around - a mix of hesitant steps and head-down, ram-speed crawling make up your main modes of transportation. Your baby steps are like a planned free-fall: you know where you're going and exactly where to stop the motion control and just land in your predetermined destination.
You astound me as an example of human development. Weren't you just learning to roll over? And now you're repeating words and actions? Oh, and whistling? Where did that come from?
I get a kick out of your stubbornness - just when we feel like we've taught you something new, you won't repeat it when we ask you to in front of others. I think you get some kind of twisted satisfaction from performing only on your terms and making us look like giant idiots. I also think this might be a sign of things to come.
You are quite the generalist - every fruit at the store is an apple, every picture is of daddy, and every 4-legged anmial gets a "woof woof." You are also polite - each speakerphone call merits a hello, and anything that should be fun deserves a hearty "wheee-ooo---wee." You fake laugh better than anyone I know; and while at the moment I find it adorable, I hope I can help you be confidant enough in your own skin that you don't feel a need to always fit in with the crowd.
I still struggle accepting your growth out of the infant stage - I forget that you actually need something to cover your feet in a public place, useless baby spoons litter the diaper bag, and I finally went through your clothes to pack up everything that is too small. I'm actually glad you're so bald - it makes you feel more like a baby and less like a little kid.
I also struggle with the thought of having more children. I can't imagine loving another person the way I love you. I feel very satisfied with being your mother - I love where we are in our life right now. I also know that it might be a little selfish to not have a sibling for you - no one to turn to when all the adults in your life overwhelm you, no one on which to blame a mess, no one to perhaps give you nieces or nephews or cousins for your own children. I've discussed this concept with many, and know that it is indeed possible to have more than one child and love them in the same capacity. Maybe one day.
Your dad and I pray every night in gratitude for the joy you bring to our lives - and I know you bring happiness to the lives of countless others. You're the best, Corinne. To summarize, I can't help but think of an awesomely cheesy Rod Stewart song:
For the morning sun in all it's glory,
Meets the day with hope and comfort too,
You fill my life with laughter, somehow you make it better,
Ease my troubles, that's what you do.
There's a love less defined,
And its yours and its mine,
Like the sun.
And at the end of the day,
We should give thanks and pray,
To the one, to the one.
Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness, take away all my sadness,
Ease my troubles, that's what you do.
Be rest assured, I will continue to amaze you with how incredibly lame and sappy I can be. It will surprise you at times, but doesn't everyone like surprises, anyway? I know I'm surprised at how much you've changed my life, and how I can't really remember what life was like before you. It's like the past two decades have been random events just slowly evolving to this pivitol moment in time. To be sure, while the next two decades will be a whilwind, there's not much that I'd rather be doing than being your mom.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Amateur Identity
For some time now my thoughts have drifted around the idea of identity. It started with my family, continued with this article on slavery in Mauritania, then again while visiting teaching earlier this year. About a year ago, pending motherhood consumed who I was and the effect it would have on my other identities - wife, friend, co-worker/employee, Sunday school teacher, family member in various capacities. Sometimes I feel like it finally seems as though those specific roles nestled into a comfortable place around my primary role as caretaker to my daughter. Other days, not so much.
Every now and then, I feel a little lost as to who I really am. I know I'm not exactly the same person I was 10 years ago... but doesn't she still reside in my basic persona? While obscure band t-shirts and canvas all-stars no longer crowd my closet, experiences of that age brought me to who I am now. I found parts of myself - hooking onto the liberal arts, establishing life-long friendships, and most importantly stopping in my tracks overcome with the love I felt from my Savior.
Now, those not-so-obscure-anymore bands remain on my iPhone, and I continue to find great strength in the women I met that year. When Corinne was just a few months old, I fed and rocked her to sleep every night. On one particular evening, my eyes rested on her peaceful, sleeping face and I siltenly plead for her to have friends like the ones I do - people who inspire her to be honest, hard-working, intelligent, well-rounded, happy, fun, active, and spiritual. People who she can always count on, no matter how much distance may separate them. I stared down at her for a long time, hoping that she could only be so lucky.
I know that I can work on instilling those same attributes as a parent, but I also I know how critical it is for her to have a good, solid group of friends. Thanks to such influences when I first arrived BYU, I stayed in Provo and realized my self-worth and testimony. During that time, I came to fully accept my identity as a child a of God who can receive innumerable blessings - like personal revelation and forgiveness.
I know that this identity is at my core, and will never change. While I may falter in my faith or understanding of this concept, it is an identity that will always be there, ready for me to accept.
When I first began writing this post, I had lines written describing former selves - the girl consumed by cryptic song lyrics and late-night (early morning?) parties... but once I began to recall that evening in the rocking chair, this post slowly morphed. While my past identities matter, they don't define me. Those identities slowly morphed, too.
At times I struggle, thinking I have no sense of self... I don't run marathons, letterpress, or sew. I grasp at the disappointment of not having an identity - I'm not a cool hipster, a super mom, or corporate success. Thus, I began exploring this dissatisfaction of self and began to write.
That night with Corinne proves that my current identity mainly focuses on my role as a mother to Corinne (possible in part by being wife to Scott, of course). But there is so much more to it! My persona as a mother stems from who I've become through my relationships with those around me, relationships that led to a grand turning point of my self-actualization. When I get down to it, I think that is all that really matters. The angst I've felt off and on for the past few months seems so futile - why feel bad that I'm not a crafter or a cook? That's not my identity. My hobbies (or lack thereof) do not define me (thankfully). Right now, I need to be at peace with letting my family - both earthly and heavenly - do is instead. I like to think I'm pretty good with that.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
It Takes A Village
Be forewarned: this is yet another post mixed with bringing up baby. Shocker, right? But no baby pics. I post enough of those on Instagram. However, I do feel that having a child has made me more introspective than normal. And I promise, this ties into things other than how amazing my daughter is.
For the past couple of months I can't help but think about how I could never raise a child on my own. For example, a few months ago after a Sunday dinner at Scott's parents' home, the entire family participated in helping Corinne learn how to crawl on all fours. The poor gal was downward-dogging all over the place or inadvertently scooting backwards, and it was time to get her moving with purpose. We placed books under her hands, and my father-in-law pumped her legs, my sister-in-law stabilized her middle, all while I moved the books in sync with her legs. That was all it took (three grown adults on the floor) - and the wee lass hasn't looked back since mastering her new skill of freedom.
Shortly thereafter, following yet another Sunday dinner, my mother-in-law worked on teaching Corinne to crawl up on something using a box like unto a mid-sized cardboard priority mailer. The very next day while getting ready for work, I turned to see my hard-working daughter sitting atop the landing at the bottom of our stairs (one step up from the main floor). Then this:
Corinne constantly surprises me with new tricks: clapping her hands, saying "uh oh," and playing peek-a-boo. While I know I do those things with her, I can't take the credit - it goes to everyone around her who influences the course of this growing human being's life.
And it isn't just those in close proximity. Many friends in far-away places also take part in the shaping of my daughter. Those who I've watched for years, raising their own the best they can, who impress me with their love, wit, and creativity. Who inspire me with a goal and a vision of a family.
There's also those who were in my own village as a child, who will probably never fully comprehend (or let alone even have an inkling of) the effect they had on my life and on what kind of person I am now. The youth leaders, the teachers, the parents of friends, the older kids; some of their parts consisted of short cameos, but their presence proved crucial nonetheless. Some still actively participate in the drama (Comedy? Romance? Tragedy? Depends on the act and scene, I suppose).
This reminds me of a question I brought while teaching a scripture study class at church yesterday - how has the testimony of another person affected your own testimony?
Did a person ever walk through your village and leave an abiding footprint?
One of my most vivid life-shaping experiences occurred my sophomore year at BYU. I've never been your ultra-conservative, ever-faithful, never-asking-questions kind of person. I want to know why I shouldn't go against the grain. I want to push the limit of my understanding and beliefs.
At that time, I wavered with my stance on abortion rights. My tent stood adamantly in the pro-choice camp (for many reasons, which may or may not be discussed another day). Yet, I questioned myself. I knew what my church preached and struggled to gain testimony of this pro-life concept.
One nondescript Sunday, hymns were sung, bread and water were partaken, and talks were given. The overall theme was that of tithes and offerings. Half-listening, thinking "I already pay my ten percent," I was blind-sided by one girl's closing testimony. She spoke of sacrifice. More importantly, she testified of the critical and gut-wrenching sacrifice of her birth mother's choice to let another family raise and adopt her. Her mother could have decided to terminate - it wasn't convenient to be pregnant or have a child; but terminate she did not. She made the most selfless decision from what seemingly began as quite a selfish one. Thanks to her mother's sacrifice, she grew up in a loving and faithful home, and ended up receiving an education at BYU. She felt unending gratitude to this woman and the choice to not only let her live, but live with another family.
Tears stung my eyes and I knew. I knew without question what I believed. Someone in my village quickly crossed my path, but left me with a life-changing impression. That day I chose to promote life; and just like when Corinne learned how to crawl, I haven't looked back.
I pray that I can bring up my daughter in a good village - one filled with laughter, confidence, stability, and affection. One that lends itself to random people coming in and shaping her to do good things. I'm grateful for the sea of faces I see when I think about the village that raised me; and the one that I continue to surround myself with today. But when I really think about it... I feel as though I never really left one and went to another; rather, my village just keeps on getting bigger and better.
For the past couple of months I can't help but think about how I could never raise a child on my own. For example, a few months ago after a Sunday dinner at Scott's parents' home, the entire family participated in helping Corinne learn how to crawl on all fours. The poor gal was downward-dogging all over the place or inadvertently scooting backwards, and it was time to get her moving with purpose. We placed books under her hands, and my father-in-law pumped her legs, my sister-in-law stabilized her middle, all while I moved the books in sync with her legs. That was all it took (three grown adults on the floor) - and the wee lass hasn't looked back since mastering her new skill of freedom.
Shortly thereafter, following yet another Sunday dinner, my mother-in-law worked on teaching Corinne to crawl up on something using a box like unto a mid-sized cardboard priority mailer. The very next day while getting ready for work, I turned to see my hard-working daughter sitting atop the landing at the bottom of our stairs (one step up from the main floor). Then this:
Corinne constantly surprises me with new tricks: clapping her hands, saying "uh oh," and playing peek-a-boo. While I know I do those things with her, I can't take the credit - it goes to everyone around her who influences the course of this growing human being's life.
And it isn't just those in close proximity. Many friends in far-away places also take part in the shaping of my daughter. Those who I've watched for years, raising their own the best they can, who impress me with their love, wit, and creativity. Who inspire me with a goal and a vision of a family.
There's also those who were in my own village as a child, who will probably never fully comprehend (or let alone even have an inkling of) the effect they had on my life and on what kind of person I am now. The youth leaders, the teachers, the parents of friends, the older kids; some of their parts consisted of short cameos, but their presence proved crucial nonetheless. Some still actively participate in the drama (Comedy? Romance? Tragedy? Depends on the act and scene, I suppose).
This reminds me of a question I brought while teaching a scripture study class at church yesterday - how has the testimony of another person affected your own testimony?
Did a person ever walk through your village and leave an abiding footprint?
One of my most vivid life-shaping experiences occurred my sophomore year at BYU. I've never been your ultra-conservative, ever-faithful, never-asking-questions kind of person. I want to know why I shouldn't go against the grain. I want to push the limit of my understanding and beliefs.
At that time, I wavered with my stance on abortion rights. My tent stood adamantly in the pro-choice camp (for many reasons, which may or may not be discussed another day). Yet, I questioned myself. I knew what my church preached and struggled to gain testimony of this pro-life concept.
One nondescript Sunday, hymns were sung, bread and water were partaken, and talks were given. The overall theme was that of tithes and offerings. Half-listening, thinking "I already pay my ten percent," I was blind-sided by one girl's closing testimony. She spoke of sacrifice. More importantly, she testified of the critical and gut-wrenching sacrifice of her birth mother's choice to let another family raise and adopt her. Her mother could have decided to terminate - it wasn't convenient to be pregnant or have a child; but terminate she did not. She made the most selfless decision from what seemingly began as quite a selfish one. Thanks to her mother's sacrifice, she grew up in a loving and faithful home, and ended up receiving an education at BYU. She felt unending gratitude to this woman and the choice to not only let her live, but live with another family.
Tears stung my eyes and I knew. I knew without question what I believed. Someone in my village quickly crossed my path, but left me with a life-changing impression. That day I chose to promote life; and just like when Corinne learned how to crawl, I haven't looked back.
I pray that I can bring up my daughter in a good village - one filled with laughter, confidence, stability, and affection. One that lends itself to random people coming in and shaping her to do good things. I'm grateful for the sea of faces I see when I think about the village that raised me; and the one that I continue to surround myself with today. But when I really think about it... I feel as though I never really left one and went to another; rather, my village just keeps on getting bigger and better.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Amateur Champion
One evening in the car on our way home from dinner at my in-law's house:
"Could you just tell me when you're not tired? Please stop telling me when you are tired."
"Did I just say I was tired?"
"Yes. And you've said it about four or five times already tonight."
"Oh... sorry... didn't realize it." (Obviously because I'M TIRED).
"Yeah... you also say it about four or five times during the day, too... so I'm just always going to assume that you are tired unless you tell me otherwise."
I can honestly say I had no idea how plagued my speech was; I suppose my broken record started to sound like nails on a chalk board. I don't blame him.
In other news, I've passed New Mom 101. After one of Corinne's baths last week, I was proceeded to rub her down with lotion (sans diaper), per our usual evening ritual. Being our child, she passed some pretty foul flatulence. Thankfully her little toots dissipate quickly, so I commenced with the lavender-scented baby massage.
If only I heeded our dear daughter's warning signal! She fired off another one; and before I could let out an "oh my!" she proceeded empty her bowels.
But did it get all over the towel, bed, and me? No way, Jose! In my ever-evolving mothering skills, I grabbed a nearby diaper and got it under her sweet little bottom in the nick of time. Operation save the sheets was a success!
Also of note last week, she basically slept through the night once. This resulted in my bringing bagels and cream cheese to work in honor of the event.
Needless to say, I'm celebrating the little victories these days.
"Could you just tell me when you're not tired? Please stop telling me when you are tired."
"Did I just say I was tired?"
"Yes. And you've said it about four or five times already tonight."
"Oh... sorry... didn't realize it." (Obviously because I'M TIRED).
"Yeah... you also say it about four or five times during the day, too... so I'm just always going to assume that you are tired unless you tell me otherwise."
I can honestly say I had no idea how plagued my speech was; I suppose my broken record started to sound like nails on a chalk board. I don't blame him.
In other news, I've passed New Mom 101. After one of Corinne's baths last week, I was proceeded to rub her down with lotion (sans diaper), per our usual evening ritual. Being our child, she passed some pretty foul flatulence. Thankfully her little toots dissipate quickly, so I commenced with the lavender-scented baby massage.
If only I heeded our dear daughter's warning signal! She fired off another one; and before I could let out an "oh my!" she proceeded empty her bowels.
But did it get all over the towel, bed, and me? No way, Jose! In my ever-evolving mothering skills, I grabbed a nearby diaper and got it under her sweet little bottom in the nick of time. Operation save the sheets was a success!
Also of note last week, she basically slept through the night once. This resulted in my bringing bagels and cream cheese to work in honor of the event.
Needless to say, I'm celebrating the little victories these days.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Amateur Birth Story
The wee one is just over 4 months and I'm still coming to terms with my birth story. I read so many before having Corinne and appreciated all of the women who shared such a personal, intense experience, so here I am paying it back. First, however, I must begin before that fateful August afternoon...
All through out my pregnancy, I ate up every birth story I could find online like a ravenous, starved wild beast. I became enthralled with black and white photos of women in hospital gowns and their accompanying words, like "ring of fire" and "birthing ball." One of the most important scenes that stuck with me was the beauty of immediately having your child latch after birth and feed him/her. It sounded so heavenly, so peaceful, so whole; creating an instinctive and timeless love between mother and child.
As with all insane first-time mothers, I created a birth plan that emphasized such an event, in addition to things like "Please don't offer me pain medication. I'll request it if I need it;" "I'd like 24-hour rooming-in with my baby;" and "Do not offer my baby formula, sugar water, a pacifier."
Ha.
Needless to say, I had a dreamy romance with what I thought labor and delivery was like. The birth stories I read sang to my granola-eating/Chaco-wearing/alternative-medicine loving soul. I put aside the stark reality that I can barely stand to use eye drops or have a splinter removed from my foot, let alone depend on breathing and acupressure techniques to get me though a pitocin induced birth.
Let it be known that I did end up adding that if I MUST have any medicinal intervention, I would do an epidural, but I wanted to get to a 5 first.
So at my 41-week appointment, we set up the induction for a few days later (Wednesday or Thursday? I pick Wednesday because I met with the doctor who was on call once... and had not met the doctor who was on for Thursday. Like that really makes a difference? Ah, the joys of using a giant OB-GYN practice). Still not really dilated but at least effaced, the NST and ultrasound went well, predicting a somewhat larger baby at 8-9 lbs. Eek.
I go in Tuesday morning to get the gel. Spending the morning in the triage area hearing women actually in the throes of labor was not exactly pumping me up for the next day, to say the least.
I barely slept that evening - undoubtedly the nerves got to me; and considering I had to get up to call at 4 AM to see if there was room, it wasn't exactly a combination lending itself toward rest.
4:00: No room. Call in an hour.
5:00: Still no room, we'll call you by 8.
8:15: I call again, no room. Maybe try back in a couple of hours?
11:00: I call to announce my plans for going on a walk. Forget this, I have the day off and the sun is shining.
1:00: I get a call mid-walk (about 2 miles from my house). They are ready! (Of course... I'm at the farthest point in my walk, and desperately need a shower at this point).
2:30: Stop by Chick-Fil-A for my "last meal." Excitedly send texts to family/friends with the update.
3:00: Arrive for the big show. I realize the entire day was spent mostly in a "hurry up and wait" nature.
I settled in the bed with the monitor happily beeping the heartbeat in the background, pitocin slowly dripping into my body, and Modern Family playing on the laptop. We gave the nurse her goody bag and bonded over her love for Pandora. The bed quickly became uncomfortable (someone will make a killing if they can mass produce affordable birthing beds to hospitals), and I found excuses to constantly get up and use the rest room. I could barely feel the contractions, mesmerized by the rhythmic rolling hills coming off the print out. I began to get giddy at the thought that I could actually handle this entire ordeal of giving birth (while I set unbelievably high expectations for myself, I never really have faith that I can fulfill them). She upped my pitocin a bit and left at the 7 PM shift change.
Oh boy, did those contractions start to get intense. I think this is why I do half marathons instead of the full deal- I lose steam pretty quickly. The new nurse sweetly got me a huge yoga ball and Scott started to get a concerned look with each contraction that I did NOT breathe through. My parents stopped by (terrible timing - sorry, Mom and Dad), and I'm pretty sure the look on my face made them just as uncomfortable as I was, so they left after hanging around and trying to make small talk.
My new nurse had another patient start to go into active labor, so I lost her only to get the best nurse on the planet: Jennifer. I confidently believe she saved me and Corinne from an even more horrific birth.
Just before the new nurse left, she said she would check me again around 10 PM. Unable to bear the thought of going through more contractions like this, I tell Jennifer I'm ready for that epidural and pray that I'm at least at a 4.
It is all a bit hazy now, but I'm pretty sure I was around a 4 and the anesthesiologist had an opening - no waiting! They quickly raised the bed, we signed some forms, and I leaned over as far as I could with my legs dangling.
I'm all numbed up, the doctors leave, and I'm back to a reclined position when suddenly a jack hammer exploded at the nape of my neck and a helmet of excruciating pain closed over my head. I could barely speak and managed to cry out "my head!" while writhing in the pain that consumed my entire body. The baby's heart rate plummetted and Jennifer paged back the doctors and additional nurses. They covered my mouth and nose with oxygen while I dipped in and out of consciousness.
"Turn her on her left side!" Nothing. "Turn her on her right side!" Still nothing. Keep in mind, I could not feel a thing and my legs were giant blobs of jell-o. Finally they managed to get me on all fours. I'm on my knees and leaning on my elbows with a strong epidural and deathly headache. I just remember asking if the baby was okay and coming to the resolution that I would soon be whisked away to an emergency c-section... which at that point, I didn't care - as long as the baby was okay.
Okay. The word of that hour. I continued to mumble "Is she okay?" "Will she be okay?" "Is everything okay?"
And Jennifer patiently and efficiently handled my questions in addition to not only fighting my decline, but that of Corinne's as well.
In the meantime, I gave Scott one of the most frightening experiences of his life. He was utterly helpless and could only step back and watch these strangers try to help his wife and unborn child.
While on all fours, I was suddenly at a 7 and they broke my water in order to get her heart rate from a tiny wire attached to her scalp.
She was just fine. More than okay.
I, on the other hand, could barely think. My head was killing me. The doctor calmly sat at the foot of my bed and convinced me that I needed some narcotics (Stadol) to take the edge of my headache and allow me to rest before I need to start pushing. I was very hesitant, asking if it would affect the baby, making her groggy/drowsy... and was reassured that I had some time and it would work through my system and not affect her at all. I agreed, mostly because I felt like dying and was completely exhausted. I also received an anti-nausea medicine that made me super loopy; I kept on barraging Jennifer with questions and she quietly gave me short answers and tried to tell me that I needed to sleep.
The Stadol did nothing for me.
Meanwhile, Scott went downstairs to the waiting room to tell my mother, only to her extreme horror. When he came back to the room, he was surprised to find me awake and offered me a priesthood blessing. I don't recall the exact words that were said... except that my pain would subside. It was a very humbling and spiritual experience for the two of us and I quickly received enough relief to doze off and on for the next few hours.
Around 2 AM on September 1st, Jennifer came back to check me - 10 cm and ready to practice pushing!
She told me what every over-achiever needs to hear and said that my pushes were perfect. Finally, something going somewhat according to plan.
When the doctor came in to see, though, he wasn't as impressed. I guess it wasn't my best work, so he left and Jennifer kept cheering me on.
I loved pushing. I loved pulling on the dead weight of my legs, counting while I held my breath, and how my headache disappeared while I bore down. It felt so satisfying, and somewhat cleansing.
It felt right.
And our sweet girl was rocking out the whole way down - Scott begrudgingly gave into the pressure from Jennifer and went to see Corinne's little head wiggling back and forth while I pushed. Jennifer was surprised and awed at how active she was, and Scott smiled and chuckled in disbelief of what he saw. To be sure, it was nothing short of amazing.
The doctor came back and it was go time. He explained that I needed a little snip to help her out and I quickly agreed - anything to see this gal of mine. For Scott, he still says the sound of those scissors is one of the worst things he's ever heard. Nothing makes him cringe more that remembering that sound.
After one more quick little snip, her head slipped out and they tell me stop pushing (which was one of the most surprising things about labor - I had no idea that you just stop cold turkey and they pull out the rest of the body. Incredible!). Scott cut the cord and they placed her on me. All she did was lift her head and look around the room (which she continues to do ALL THE TIME. She just looks around, soaking in her surroundings). I worried that she wasn't crying and frantically tried to get my gown pulled down so I could feed her and have some skin-to-skin contact.
This is where most of my guilt and regret reside. I became a maniac, trying to force-feed my very disinterested child. Jennifer tried to gently tell me that it was okay for her to not eat right away, that a latch in the first few hours is good. The doctor commented that the kid "isn't supposed to exit the womb expected to do calculus." Scott just had step back, not knowing what to do, while my frustration escalated that we weren't "bonding" right away.
Everything I read said this was supposed to happen and be so magical! What is wrong with me? My baby? Why is my story not like everyone else's?!
It was terrible. They took her to clean, weigh, and measure her (all in-room) and I'm pretty sure I was still in a state of shock of what just happened. They brought her back and I was still in this crazy mode, yelling at Scott that he needed to come over to my bedside for family time.
Isn't that just picture-perfect? A hormonal monster shoving a breast in her daughter's face while crying and yelling with demands of special family time. Talk about a recipe for disaster. It was NOTHING like what I expected, let alone wanted. I was trying to force myself into other women's experiences, instead of living in my own. I yearned for what I had read instead of living for the excitement of what my OWN story would be.
The way I acted after giving birth to Corinne is one of my biggest mistakes for which I still haven't completely forgiven myself. Every time I think about it I shudder, lower my head in shame, and usually shed a tear or two for what could have been.
I know I need to move on and not dwell on what it wasn't. I know my focus should be on gratitude for my beautiful, healthy, baby girl and very loving and supportive husband.
So this is for all of those unfulfilled birth experiences; for those who don't have that magical moment in the hospital; for crushed expectations and lingering regrets. This is to help me get it out and let it go. Let go of the bad feelings I have about that day and the following weeks filled with sleep-deprived induced anxiety and emotional breakdowns.
I hope that the next time (and no, this isn't an announcement) I will remember to just be me, let my child be who she is, and to share that with my husband and other children. To let my family be who they are as individuals and not fit them into what I think they should be based off what I read in some random blog.
I will still enjoy reading accounts of other women; especially now that I've had my own experience, I appreciate their words even more. I will continue to peruse the writings of strangers, and when those feelings of jealousy creep in, I know I should probably stop and recall what I felt when I saw Scott sit with Corinne for the first time on the love seat in the hospital room. He sat with her for hours and just watched her fall and stay sleep; the love I felt emulating from him to her still makes my heart explode and eyes water.
Needless to say, it started as a wild ride and will continue in the same way with just as many highs and lows; I'm sure of it. But what I'm also sure of is that I am Corinne's mother and Scott's wife, and there is no other person I'd rather be.
All through out my pregnancy, I ate up every birth story I could find online like a ravenous, starved wild beast. I became enthralled with black and white photos of women in hospital gowns and their accompanying words, like "ring of fire" and "birthing ball." One of the most important scenes that stuck with me was the beauty of immediately having your child latch after birth and feed him/her. It sounded so heavenly, so peaceful, so whole; creating an instinctive and timeless love between mother and child.
As with all insane first-time mothers, I created a birth plan that emphasized such an event, in addition to things like "Please don't offer me pain medication. I'll request it if I need it;" "I'd like 24-hour rooming-in with my baby;" and "Do not offer my baby formula, sugar water, a pacifier."
Ha.
Needless to say, I had a dreamy romance with what I thought labor and delivery was like. The birth stories I read sang to my granola-eating/Chaco-wearing/alternative-medicine loving soul. I put aside the stark reality that I can barely stand to use eye drops or have a splinter removed from my foot, let alone depend on breathing and acupressure techniques to get me though a pitocin induced birth.
Let it be known that I did end up adding that if I MUST have any medicinal intervention, I would do an epidural, but I wanted to get to a 5 first.
So at my 41-week appointment, we set up the induction for a few days later (Wednesday or Thursday? I pick Wednesday because I met with the doctor who was on call once... and had not met the doctor who was on for Thursday. Like that really makes a difference? Ah, the joys of using a giant OB-GYN practice). Still not really dilated but at least effaced, the NST and ultrasound went well, predicting a somewhat larger baby at 8-9 lbs. Eek.
I go in Tuesday morning to get the gel. Spending the morning in the triage area hearing women actually in the throes of labor was not exactly pumping me up for the next day, to say the least.
I barely slept that evening - undoubtedly the nerves got to me; and considering I had to get up to call at 4 AM to see if there was room, it wasn't exactly a combination lending itself toward rest.
4:00: No room. Call in an hour.
5:00: Still no room, we'll call you by 8.
8:15: I call again, no room. Maybe try back in a couple of hours?
11:00: I call to announce my plans for going on a walk. Forget this, I have the day off and the sun is shining.
1:00: I get a call mid-walk (about 2 miles from my house). They are ready! (Of course... I'm at the farthest point in my walk, and desperately need a shower at this point).
2:30: Stop by Chick-Fil-A for my "last meal." Excitedly send texts to family/friends with the update.
3:00: Arrive for the big show. I realize the entire day was spent mostly in a "hurry up and wait" nature.
I settled in the bed with the monitor happily beeping the heartbeat in the background, pitocin slowly dripping into my body, and Modern Family playing on the laptop. We gave the nurse her goody bag and bonded over her love for Pandora. The bed quickly became uncomfortable (someone will make a killing if they can mass produce affordable birthing beds to hospitals), and I found excuses to constantly get up and use the rest room. I could barely feel the contractions, mesmerized by the rhythmic rolling hills coming off the print out. I began to get giddy at the thought that I could actually handle this entire ordeal of giving birth (while I set unbelievably high expectations for myself, I never really have faith that I can fulfill them). She upped my pitocin a bit and left at the 7 PM shift change.
Oh boy, did those contractions start to get intense. I think this is why I do half marathons instead of the full deal- I lose steam pretty quickly. The new nurse sweetly got me a huge yoga ball and Scott started to get a concerned look with each contraction that I did NOT breathe through. My parents stopped by (terrible timing - sorry, Mom and Dad), and I'm pretty sure the look on my face made them just as uncomfortable as I was, so they left after hanging around and trying to make small talk.
My new nurse had another patient start to go into active labor, so I lost her only to get the best nurse on the planet: Jennifer. I confidently believe she saved me and Corinne from an even more horrific birth.
Just before the new nurse left, she said she would check me again around 10 PM. Unable to bear the thought of going through more contractions like this, I tell Jennifer I'm ready for that epidural and pray that I'm at least at a 4.
It is all a bit hazy now, but I'm pretty sure I was around a 4 and the anesthesiologist had an opening - no waiting! They quickly raised the bed, we signed some forms, and I leaned over as far as I could with my legs dangling.
I'm all numbed up, the doctors leave, and I'm back to a reclined position when suddenly a jack hammer exploded at the nape of my neck and a helmet of excruciating pain closed over my head. I could barely speak and managed to cry out "my head!" while writhing in the pain that consumed my entire body. The baby's heart rate plummetted and Jennifer paged back the doctors and additional nurses. They covered my mouth and nose with oxygen while I dipped in and out of consciousness.
"Turn her on her left side!" Nothing. "Turn her on her right side!" Still nothing. Keep in mind, I could not feel a thing and my legs were giant blobs of jell-o. Finally they managed to get me on all fours. I'm on my knees and leaning on my elbows with a strong epidural and deathly headache. I just remember asking if the baby was okay and coming to the resolution that I would soon be whisked away to an emergency c-section... which at that point, I didn't care - as long as the baby was okay.
Okay. The word of that hour. I continued to mumble "Is she okay?" "Will she be okay?" "Is everything okay?"
And Jennifer patiently and efficiently handled my questions in addition to not only fighting my decline, but that of Corinne's as well.
In the meantime, I gave Scott one of the most frightening experiences of his life. He was utterly helpless and could only step back and watch these strangers try to help his wife and unborn child.
While on all fours, I was suddenly at a 7 and they broke my water in order to get her heart rate from a tiny wire attached to her scalp.
She was just fine. More than okay.
I, on the other hand, could barely think. My head was killing me. The doctor calmly sat at the foot of my bed and convinced me that I needed some narcotics (Stadol) to take the edge of my headache and allow me to rest before I need to start pushing. I was very hesitant, asking if it would affect the baby, making her groggy/drowsy... and was reassured that I had some time and it would work through my system and not affect her at all. I agreed, mostly because I felt like dying and was completely exhausted. I also received an anti-nausea medicine that made me super loopy; I kept on barraging Jennifer with questions and she quietly gave me short answers and tried to tell me that I needed to sleep.
The Stadol did nothing for me.
Meanwhile, Scott went downstairs to the waiting room to tell my mother, only to her extreme horror. When he came back to the room, he was surprised to find me awake and offered me a priesthood blessing. I don't recall the exact words that were said... except that my pain would subside. It was a very humbling and spiritual experience for the two of us and I quickly received enough relief to doze off and on for the next few hours.
Around 2 AM on September 1st, Jennifer came back to check me - 10 cm and ready to practice pushing!
She told me what every over-achiever needs to hear and said that my pushes were perfect. Finally, something going somewhat according to plan.
When the doctor came in to see, though, he wasn't as impressed. I guess it wasn't my best work, so he left and Jennifer kept cheering me on.
I loved pushing. I loved pulling on the dead weight of my legs, counting while I held my breath, and how my headache disappeared while I bore down. It felt so satisfying, and somewhat cleansing.
It felt right.
And our sweet girl was rocking out the whole way down - Scott begrudgingly gave into the pressure from Jennifer and went to see Corinne's little head wiggling back and forth while I pushed. Jennifer was surprised and awed at how active she was, and Scott smiled and chuckled in disbelief of what he saw. To be sure, it was nothing short of amazing.
The doctor came back and it was go time. He explained that I needed a little snip to help her out and I quickly agreed - anything to see this gal of mine. For Scott, he still says the sound of those scissors is one of the worst things he's ever heard. Nothing makes him cringe more that remembering that sound.
After one more quick little snip, her head slipped out and they tell me stop pushing (which was one of the most surprising things about labor - I had no idea that you just stop cold turkey and they pull out the rest of the body. Incredible!). Scott cut the cord and they placed her on me. All she did was lift her head and look around the room (which she continues to do ALL THE TIME. She just looks around, soaking in her surroundings). I worried that she wasn't crying and frantically tried to get my gown pulled down so I could feed her and have some skin-to-skin contact.
This is where most of my guilt and regret reside. I became a maniac, trying to force-feed my very disinterested child. Jennifer tried to gently tell me that it was okay for her to not eat right away, that a latch in the first few hours is good. The doctor commented that the kid "isn't supposed to exit the womb expected to do calculus." Scott just had step back, not knowing what to do, while my frustration escalated that we weren't "bonding" right away.
Everything I read said this was supposed to happen and be so magical! What is wrong with me? My baby? Why is my story not like everyone else's?!
It was terrible. They took her to clean, weigh, and measure her (all in-room) and I'm pretty sure I was still in a state of shock of what just happened. They brought her back and I was still in this crazy mode, yelling at Scott that he needed to come over to my bedside for family time.
Isn't that just picture-perfect? A hormonal monster shoving a breast in her daughter's face while crying and yelling with demands of special family time. Talk about a recipe for disaster. It was NOTHING like what I expected, let alone wanted. I was trying to force myself into other women's experiences, instead of living in my own. I yearned for what I had read instead of living for the excitement of what my OWN story would be.
The way I acted after giving birth to Corinne is one of my biggest mistakes for which I still haven't completely forgiven myself. Every time I think about it I shudder, lower my head in shame, and usually shed a tear or two for what could have been.
I know I need to move on and not dwell on what it wasn't. I know my focus should be on gratitude for my beautiful, healthy, baby girl and very loving and supportive husband.
So this is for all of those unfulfilled birth experiences; for those who don't have that magical moment in the hospital; for crushed expectations and lingering regrets. This is to help me get it out and let it go. Let go of the bad feelings I have about that day and the following weeks filled with sleep-deprived induced anxiety and emotional breakdowns.
I hope that the next time (and no, this isn't an announcement) I will remember to just be me, let my child be who she is, and to share that with my husband and other children. To let my family be who they are as individuals and not fit them into what I think they should be based off what I read in some random blog.
I will still enjoy reading accounts of other women; especially now that I've had my own experience, I appreciate their words even more. I will continue to peruse the writings of strangers, and when those feelings of jealousy creep in, I know I should probably stop and recall what I felt when I saw Scott sit with Corinne for the first time on the love seat in the hospital room. He sat with her for hours and just watched her fall and stay sleep; the love I felt emulating from him to her still makes my heart explode and eyes water.
Needless to say, it started as a wild ride and will continue in the same way with just as many highs and lows; I'm sure of it. But what I'm also sure of is that I am Corinne's mother and Scott's wife, and there is no other person I'd rather be.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Amateur Part-timer
Signs I've started back at work (thankfully only half days):
- a lot of pony tails/messy buns and maybe a hair band if I'm feeling especially festive (let it be known that I'm still showering on a decently regular basis. No B.O. for this gal, I do have my limits).
- my watch is on upside down .
- overkill on the lipstick to detract from the bags and circles under my eyes.
- bad breath from forgetting to brush my teeth (and by forgetting I mean consciously spending the last two minutes before heading out with my sweet girl instead of at the sink. Priorities, people. Keep in mind I still brush at night and this does not happen daily; but it has happened at least once).
- pantry is sans bread, fridge sans eggs.
- a growing list of thank you cards to write.
- slight feelings of mom guilt - mostly because I actually enjoy my job. I like what I do and with whom I work. What makes this guilt bearable is the fact that our wonderful family watched Corinne. I sure do miss her those 5 hours I'm gone every day, but knowing that it is her Grammy and auntie who share her coos and smiles makes a world of difference for me.
- a lunch that consists mainly of easy-on-the-go snacks - granola bars, fruit leather, an apple, and maybe a yogurt. All things that I can grab in a second while rushing out the door.
- a shelf of liquid gold in the fridge and a dishwasher full of pump accessories.
- a mug/thermos of mother's milk lactation herbal tea on the counter.
Needless to say, it's been just two and a half weeks, but I think we are falling into some kind of rhythm. This thanksgiving, I'm grateful for a super flexible job and top-notch baby-sitters. Without the two, I'm positive my life would be a living hell.
- a lot of pony tails/messy buns and maybe a hair band if I'm feeling especially festive (let it be known that I'm still showering on a decently regular basis. No B.O. for this gal, I do have my limits).
- my watch is on upside down .
- overkill on the lipstick to detract from the bags and circles under my eyes.
- bad breath from forgetting to brush my teeth (and by forgetting I mean consciously spending the last two minutes before heading out with my sweet girl instead of at the sink. Priorities, people. Keep in mind I still brush at night and this does not happen daily; but it has happened at least once).
- pantry is sans bread, fridge sans eggs.
- a growing list of thank you cards to write.
- slight feelings of mom guilt - mostly because I actually enjoy my job. I like what I do and with whom I work. What makes this guilt bearable is the fact that our wonderful family watched Corinne. I sure do miss her those 5 hours I'm gone every day, but knowing that it is her Grammy and auntie who share her coos and smiles makes a world of difference for me.
- a lunch that consists mainly of easy-on-the-go snacks - granola bars, fruit leather, an apple, and maybe a yogurt. All things that I can grab in a second while rushing out the door.
- a shelf of liquid gold in the fridge and a dishwasher full of pump accessories.
- a mug/thermos of mother's milk lactation herbal tea on the counter.
Needless to say, it's been just two and a half weeks, but I think we are falling into some kind of rhythm. This thanksgiving, I'm grateful for a super flexible job and top-notch baby-sitters. Without the two, I'm positive my life would be a living hell.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Amateur Celebration
So I've had a half-finished post sitting here for the past 2 weeks. Again.
I don't know what you do celebrate the various milestones of your child's life, but around here we go crazy.
First, when she turned 5 weeks old, we made a quick jaunt to NYC all in the name of friendship. Corinne is tres chic and quite anti-tourist, so we did what we love and do best, hang with our favorite pals and not take any photos. However, my BFF Laura documented the proof for us here. Tell me that sweet baby hand holding doesn't just melt your heart.
Then, around six weeks of age, Corinne went up a diaper size. Let's just say she let us know the hard way in one day (two side blow outs in a row, sweetie? Good one. And on one of the two pairs of jeans that fit me right now? Even better!). Unfortunately, this little lady's body is a NB size, but alas, her poos not so much. PAR-TAY!
Next, I've been able to practice 30 consecutive minutes of yoga a few times a week! Needless to say, Shavasana has never seemed so short. I could definitely stand more dedication to the corpse pose, what about you? I told you we go nuts around here
I've also started jogging again - so far I'm 3-1 for good vs. bad runs. Not terrible, considering the bad run happened after eating pizza and handfuls of gummy bears. To be sure, I've learned my lesson.
Another lesson - stretch out the time between washings for jeans unless you want some major motivation to run again and not eat gummy bears by the dozen. Oy, that was a tough one. I'm pretty sure I looked like I was having a dance party just getting those bad boys on my body.
Anyway, to celebrate 8 weeks of life, our gal got a cold. If I suction her sweet, little, red, stuffy, and runny nose again I'm guaranteed life-long hatred by my daughter. And by suction, I don't just mean the blue thing from the hospital, I'm talking serious suction: the nose frida. Click that link and tell me you aren't both disgusted and amazed all at once. This thing rocks the congestion with one quick breath.
For future celebrations, I head back to work just after her 9-week birthday. Wish me luck.
And now I'm done because I'm tired of typing with one hand while I let my girl sleep in the other arm, and I'd much rather snuggle than anything else:
I don't know what you do celebrate the various milestones of your child's life, but around here we go crazy.
First, when she turned 5 weeks old, we made a quick jaunt to NYC all in the name of friendship. Corinne is tres chic and quite anti-tourist, so we did what we love and do best, hang with our favorite pals and not take any photos. However, my BFF Laura documented the proof for us here. Tell me that sweet baby hand holding doesn't just melt your heart.
Then, around six weeks of age, Corinne went up a diaper size. Let's just say she let us know the hard way in one day (two side blow outs in a row, sweetie? Good one. And on one of the two pairs of jeans that fit me right now? Even better!). Unfortunately, this little lady's body is a NB size, but alas, her poos not so much. PAR-TAY!
Next, I've been able to practice 30 consecutive minutes of yoga a few times a week! Needless to say, Shavasana has never seemed so short. I could definitely stand more dedication to the corpse pose, what about you? I told you we go nuts around here
I've also started jogging again - so far I'm 3-1 for good vs. bad runs. Not terrible, considering the bad run happened after eating pizza and handfuls of gummy bears. To be sure, I've learned my lesson.
Another lesson - stretch out the time between washings for jeans unless you want some major motivation to run again and not eat gummy bears by the dozen. Oy, that was a tough one. I'm pretty sure I looked like I was having a dance party just getting those bad boys on my body.
Anyway, to celebrate 8 weeks of life, our gal got a cold. If I suction her sweet, little, red, stuffy, and runny nose again I'm guaranteed life-long hatred by my daughter. And by suction, I don't just mean the blue thing from the hospital, I'm talking serious suction: the nose frida. Click that link and tell me you aren't both disgusted and amazed all at once. This thing rocks the congestion with one quick breath.
For future celebrations, I head back to work just after her 9-week birthday. Wish me luck.
And now I'm done because I'm tired of typing with one hand while I let my girl sleep in the other arm, and I'd much rather snuggle than anything else:
 |
| Representing for her Mema and Aunt Anna |
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Amateur Thoughts
- Why don't we have three arms?
- The person who coined the phrase "sleep like a baby" could NOT have actually had a baby.
- I gave up cheese and my hips for this kid. Could she give up her all-nighters? Or learn how to soothe herself to sleep? I'm worried this foreshadows our future give/take relationship.
- How long do I get to abuse the new baby excuse?
That is all.
- The person who coined the phrase "sleep like a baby" could NOT have actually had a baby.
- I gave up cheese and my hips for this kid. Could she give up her all-nighters? Or learn how to soothe herself to sleep? I'm worried this foreshadows our future give/take relationship.
- How long do I get to abuse the new baby excuse?
That is all.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Amateur Parenthood 101
How you know you've started Intro to Parenthood:
- You've been hit my projectile poop at least twice; your baby decided to empty her bowels mid-diaper change; and she has soaked through her clothes, blanket, and onto the sheet at least once
- You want to ball up into the fetal position every time your baby latches on to feed
- You feel eternal gratitude for 2 hours of straight sleep time
- You have no sense of a schedule except for when people come by for dinner and you realize what time it is
- You take snacks to bed
- You do laundry multiple times a day, every day
- You become very selective with free time: give up Facebook for reading about healthy sleep habits; give up blog stalking for reading about breastfeeding; take advantage of the "new mom" excuse for not responding to texts, e-mails, or phone calls
But the previous are all just bonuses to the best parts of the class:
- You continue to wonder in amazement how you ever got to be a parent to the most beautiful, sweetest, baby girl on the planet.
- You stare at her and kiss her when you feed her, when you change her, and when she's sleeping with an overwhelming sense of unconditional love that you've never felt before.
- You don't stop praying for her success, for her to thrive, and for her to be safe, healthy, and happy.
- Nothing brings you greater joy than to be with your newborn child and husband. Just simply being in the same room together makes your heart grow 432,890 times bigger.
I can only imagine what Parenthood 201 brings.
Honestly, how could this not melt your heart? Introducing baby Corinne (pron. koh-RIN), at 4 days old, for your viewing pleasure, thanks to my dear friend Tara:
- You've been hit my projectile poop at least twice; your baby decided to empty her bowels mid-diaper change; and she has soaked through her clothes, blanket, and onto the sheet at least once
- You want to ball up into the fetal position every time your baby latches on to feed
- You feel eternal gratitude for 2 hours of straight sleep time
- You have no sense of a schedule except for when people come by for dinner and you realize what time it is
- You take snacks to bed
- You do laundry multiple times a day, every day
- You become very selective with free time: give up Facebook for reading about healthy sleep habits; give up blog stalking for reading about breastfeeding; take advantage of the "new mom" excuse for not responding to texts, e-mails, or phone calls
But the previous are all just bonuses to the best parts of the class:
- You continue to wonder in amazement how you ever got to be a parent to the most beautiful, sweetest, baby girl on the planet.
- You stare at her and kiss her when you feed her, when you change her, and when she's sleeping with an overwhelming sense of unconditional love that you've never felt before.
- You don't stop praying for her success, for her to thrive, and for her to be safe, healthy, and happy.
- Nothing brings you greater joy than to be with your newborn child and husband. Just simply being in the same room together makes your heart grow 432,890 times bigger.
I can only imagine what Parenthood 201 brings.
Honestly, how could this not melt your heart? Introducing baby Corinne (pron. koh-RIN), at 4 days old, for your viewing pleasure, thanks to my dear friend Tara:
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Amateur Induction
My packed bag has been sitting in my car for weeks. I just topped it off with the latest Real Simple, last month's book club book on the Kindle (don't judge, I was planning on being out of commission), and goodies for the nurses.
I set my out-of-office message on my work e-mail and voice mail before leaving today.
My dear husband cleaned up the kitchen, ran the dishwasher, and started some laundry.
My dad moved into the spare room.
The baby's room is most complete with the greatest organization and semblance of any room in our house, even though she will be sleeping with us for the first bit.
I kept my "just in case I'm late" appointment with the acupuncturist.
My pre-labor pedicure is already fading.
I guess that means it is time to bring this little one into the world. Wish us luck that tomorrow goes smoothly. I can't believe I'm going to meet this gal soon.
Wild.
I set my out-of-office message on my work e-mail and voice mail before leaving today.
My dear husband cleaned up the kitchen, ran the dishwasher, and started some laundry.
My dad moved into the spare room.
The baby's room is most complete with the greatest organization and semblance of any room in our house, even though she will be sleeping with us for the first bit.
I kept my "just in case I'm late" appointment with the acupuncturist.
My pre-labor pedicure is already fading.
I guess that means it is time to bring this little one into the world. Wish us luck that tomorrow goes smoothly. I can't believe I'm going to meet this gal soon.
Wild.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Amateur Crazy Lady
So I'm due in less than a week and I spent this past weekend preparing for the little one's arrival by trying to find new curtains and reorganizing the storage area of our basement.
You might be thinking "wow, good for her!" but really you should be thinking "why the heck is she doing that, a baby doesn't need a valence in the front room or a way to maneuver around a dimly lit concrete floor."
You could also probably add to that "her poor husband."
I recently spoke with a dear friend who told me a story that helps emulate the point of this post. About five days before she gave birth, she arose early in the morning to begin cleaning their outdoor storage unit (come hell or high water, it seems). In the end, it turned out to be quite a frustrating situation. When she related her story to a co-worker the next day, her co-worker commented "well, it is definitely a good thing you cleaned out that storage area, because I'm sure the baby will be sleeping there."
Touche`, you wise and witty co-worker. Normal person's logic: 1. Crazy hormonal pregnant lady logic: 0.
To help you identify the onset of this very real and terrible disease, I provide you some commonly heard phrases associated with what I call CHPS (aka "chops," for crazy hormonal pregnancy syndrome):
"I'm on borrowed time! I don't have a timetable! My life isn't my own! I can't plan anything!"
"We will get nothing done after the baby comes! That means all of the electric sockets, vent covers, and light switch plates must be replaced NOW or it will never happen! NEVER!"
"I don't know how I'll feel after delivery! I don't know who should come to the hospital! Will I feel like celebrating with the whole world or will I want to be alone with my little family? I need a plan! I don't have a plan! I don't know what to tell people!"
"Life will be SO different. I don't think you understand. We have no idea how nothing will be the same. NOTHING."
"Where are your priorities? We have to get this done! This baby could come any minute and we won't be ready! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
Basically, symptoms include anything said with exclamation and/or a doomsday approach, an intense focus on items relating to a to-do list or making plans, frantically wiping down/picking up/straightening something while saying some of the above phrases, and a showcase of tears.
Sounds awesome, right? The worst part is that typically the one exhibiting the symptoms knows they are in the midst of a CHPS episode. However, even knowing that you are being a CHPS lady does nothing to repress the manifestation of the disorder. You actually openly accept the diagnosis and continue on, probably uncontrollably, until you find a friend who can sympathize and then you laugh together about how CHPS is nuts but what can you do?
Sister is a slave to her hormonal body, that's what you do.
So while I'm wading through the difficulties of CHPS with Scott, just be glad that you aren't an immediate family member of a CHPS lady. However, if you are in that unfortunate position, I'm pretty sure he will start a support group to escape the clutches of my current CHPS state of being.The support group will probably do something fun like get wings or chinese food, but the front will be a bike ride or run on the B & A trail.
You might be thinking "wow, good for her!" but really you should be thinking "why the heck is she doing that, a baby doesn't need a valence in the front room or a way to maneuver around a dimly lit concrete floor."
You could also probably add to that "her poor husband."
I recently spoke with a dear friend who told me a story that helps emulate the point of this post. About five days before she gave birth, she arose early in the morning to begin cleaning their outdoor storage unit (come hell or high water, it seems). In the end, it turned out to be quite a frustrating situation. When she related her story to a co-worker the next day, her co-worker commented "well, it is definitely a good thing you cleaned out that storage area, because I'm sure the baby will be sleeping there."
Touche`, you wise and witty co-worker. Normal person's logic: 1. Crazy hormonal pregnant lady logic: 0.
To help you identify the onset of this very real and terrible disease, I provide you some commonly heard phrases associated with what I call CHPS (aka "chops," for crazy hormonal pregnancy syndrome):
"I'm on borrowed time! I don't have a timetable! My life isn't my own! I can't plan anything!"
"We will get nothing done after the baby comes! That means all of the electric sockets, vent covers, and light switch plates must be replaced NOW or it will never happen! NEVER!"
"I don't know how I'll feel after delivery! I don't know who should come to the hospital! Will I feel like celebrating with the whole world or will I want to be alone with my little family? I need a plan! I don't have a plan! I don't know what to tell people!"
"Life will be SO different. I don't think you understand. We have no idea how nothing will be the same. NOTHING."
"Where are your priorities? We have to get this done! This baby could come any minute and we won't be ready! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
Basically, symptoms include anything said with exclamation and/or a doomsday approach, an intense focus on items relating to a to-do list or making plans, frantically wiping down/picking up/straightening something while saying some of the above phrases, and a showcase of tears.
Sounds awesome, right? The worst part is that typically the one exhibiting the symptoms knows they are in the midst of a CHPS episode. However, even knowing that you are being a CHPS lady does nothing to repress the manifestation of the disorder. You actually openly accept the diagnosis and continue on, probably uncontrollably, until you find a friend who can sympathize and then you laugh together about how CHPS is nuts but what can you do?
Sister is a slave to her hormonal body, that's what you do.
So while I'm wading through the difficulties of CHPS with Scott, just be glad that you aren't an immediate family member of a CHPS lady. However, if you are in that unfortunate position, I'm pretty sure he will start a support group to escape the clutches of my current CHPS state of being.The support group will probably do something fun like get wings or chinese food, but the front will be a bike ride or run on the B & A trail.
 |
| 38 weeks and full of the crazy juice |
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Amateur Letters
Dear Ankles,
I miss you. Tell those sausage toes to get lost - I'm tired of having caveman feet. Additionally, why are my calves a canvas for imprinting whatever they happen to rest upon? Can you check on that for me? I really appreciate it and hope to see you soon.
Dear Busch Gardens,
Did you know the only ride a pregnant woman can go on is the carousel? I do. You have this sign everywhere. Does this mean I'm not in good health or cannot use the seat properly? I suppose I should thank you for looking out for my safety and ensuring a day of people-watching.
Dear Patrick Henry Mall,
Thanks for love, it made my day. Whilst entering a row of parking, my husband lamented our lack of luck in finding a spot. At first we thought it was a to-go area, but to our pleasant surprise we could pull right in! You almost make up for your distant cousin, Busch Gardens. Perhaps you can lend him some tips for how to treat those great with child?
Dear Allergy-Induced Sinuses,
What did I ever do to you? I'm pretty sure you're the spawn of Satan. Did you know that I can't take any medication with a "d" suffix? What's that? Sorry, my ears are plugged and my head is stuffed, and I couldn't stop hacking up a lung long enough to hear you. Take this as your final eviction notice.
I miss you. Tell those sausage toes to get lost - I'm tired of having caveman feet. Additionally, why are my calves a canvas for imprinting whatever they happen to rest upon? Can you check on that for me? I really appreciate it and hope to see you soon.
Dear Busch Gardens,
Did you know the only ride a pregnant woman can go on is the carousel? I do. You have this sign everywhere. Does this mean I'm not in good health or cannot use the seat properly? I suppose I should thank you for looking out for my safety and ensuring a day of people-watching.
Dear Patrick Henry Mall,
Thanks for love, it made my day. Whilst entering a row of parking, my husband lamented our lack of luck in finding a spot. At first we thought it was a to-go area, but to our pleasant surprise we could pull right in! You almost make up for your distant cousin, Busch Gardens. Perhaps you can lend him some tips for how to treat those great with child?
 |
| Yep, still holding that belly. I think it is a chronic disease. |
Dear Allergy-Induced Sinuses,
What did I ever do to you? I'm pretty sure you're the spawn of Satan. Did you know that I can't take any medication with a "d" suffix? What's that? Sorry, my ears are plugged and my head is stuffed, and I couldn't stop hacking up a lung long enough to hear you. Take this as your final eviction notice.
*I'll spare you a picture relating to this. Just imagine a lot of tissues and cough drop wrappers strewn about aimlessly*
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Amateur Mother-To-Be
What did you feel when you saw those two pink lines?
Maybe you know how to answer that right away - maybe you were filled with pure joy. Maybe it was a confirmation that this is the moment you've been waiting for for a long, long time. Or, maybe you didn't quite believe it, but there it was.
Just typing that questions makes me sit quietly for a while. I think back to that Christmas Eve morning - how I wasn't even planning on taking a test that day, but thought, "hey, why not?" And I think back to previous mornings when I would take the test and what I felt during those long 90 seconds. I would go back forth - half hoping it would confirm a pregnancy but also talking myself down at the same time, saying to myself that "yeah, probably not..."
I think I was mostly in shock. I sat back in the bed and looked at Scott who was getting ready to head into work.
"So... umm... I have some news." Definitely hesitant. Kind of giddy, but certainly anxious.
"I know. You're pregnant."
What the heck??? He said he just had a feeling that I was probably pregnant now. He just knew. Just like that - no tests, no lines, no 90 seconds. And it seemed so natural to him, like knowing I was pregnant was the same as knowing the next day was Christmas.
Ever since then, I've struggled with legitimately answering the ever-prominent, however mostly unspoken, issue of my level of excitement. It seemed like that was what you were supposed to say when you announce you're expecting "Yes, we are due in August and we are so excited." "We are very excited to have a girl" If asked, would I really say no? Of course not! I suppose, yes, we are generally excited. Yet, excitement is not how I would characterize the majority of my feelings toward carrying a child right now.
My feelings are more like this - scared out of my mind. I know it is the right time - we will be almost 27 and 31 and do want a handful of kids. Scott started a great job as a federal employee and we finally found a house. Also, not that pregnancy should be a bandwagon kind of thing, but many of our friends have children, mostly two now, or even three. I prayed to be able to have children, and there was my answer. And it was answered with each following test (I guess I'm one to double check), ultrasound, and heartbeat. It continues to be answered with every kick and hiccup I feel.
So here we are. We have the crib, the stroller, the car seat. We picked a color to paint her bedroom. We have a very small list of names we actually (kind of) agree upon.
But none of this makes me a mother. Let along an excited mother.
I see friends online who excitedly purchase outfits, take weekly belly pictures, write monthly letters to their unborn child, all in great anticipation. They are EXCITED. Me? I take the hand-me-down clothes and monitor with gratitude, but mostly without realizing that I will be using them soon. VERY soon.
Then, of course, my selfishness kicks in. Following a nice swim after work, I come home to eat a quick dinner with Scott while watching TV. All I can do is comment on how life will be so different in a couple of months. That nothing will be the same (except for probably the quick dinner). And I worry. I worry about how I will function on little to no sleep. I worry about how my body will recover. I worry about being responsible for another human being. I won't even begin to tell you how much I frighten myself just thinking about the act of giving birth.
As you can see, most of my worries are very self-centered. How terrible is that? I do have secondary concerns about my ability to parent, but there are really just that - secondary to myself. I do fret over screwing up this kid. But I think that it isn't as big of an issue because I know that if I am doing the right things - spiritually, physically, mentally, fiscally, then my children should be okay. If my own house is in order, then I believe that my children will see that example and things will fall into place (to be sure, with much guidance). If I am faithful and diligent in my spiritual beliefs and do the things to help make those beliefs stronger, the same goes for this child. If I set goals to be physically fit, mindful of others, and debt-free, then hopefully my child will witness the happiness those things bring and likewise have the same desires. Sounds so easy, right?
Knowing my personality, when I'm not sure how to do something, I'll look it up. I know I'll hit roadblocks, but I also know of the many resources at my disposal - scriptures, personal prayer and revelation, family, friends, and entire sections of book stores and libraries. I feel like it will be easier to fix something outside of myself rather that inside of myself. Unfortunately, to raise semi-decent children, I need to be semi-decent myself.
So what worries me the most is me. That I won't be diligent, I won't work hard, I'll get too tired, and I won't care. That I'll be too self-absorbed to see the needs of my children. That I'll be too lazy to build and ensure a warm, open, spiritual, orderly, and loving home.
Perhaps it is because I already see that I'm falling into this trap whilst pregnant. I always thought I had a vague idea of what kind of expectant mother I'd be - that I'd take the pictures, write little notes to my fetus, read a plethora of birth/pregnancy books, peruse baby sections of stores, compile a wish list of cute (albeit needless) goodies from Etsy. I thought I would be barefoot, refining my homemade bread recipe (still nonexistent), eating whole foods (not endless amounts of skittles), and decorating my new home to welcome baby (walls are still bare). I pictured weekends learning how to coupon and craft with the best, not to mention exercising with ease to maintain a decent weight.
What I didn't imagine was being utterly exhausted all the time. Or being hungry A LOT and wanting to come home and veg out to a movie. I didn't picture feeling so gigantic that I avoid cameras unless I'm having a particularly great day (this usually only happens when someone at work says something about looking great for being x weeks along). I felt so out of it, I stopped writing in a blog and journal, I stopped reading, and I let my thoughts wander to the negative. In essence, I let myself give up and resolved to that notion.
But you never hear about that part of it, do you? No pregnant woman ever says "well, actually, I'm incredibly nervous and have no idea how this will work out and effect my life and the life of my husband." Nope. Instead, they grin, say they feel great, and look forward to their due date.
A friend a church a couple of months ago said that she was finally excited to be a parent - 4 years after the birth of her son, and 3 kids later. I found great comfort in that. I'm sure it isn't something easy to admit, but I realized that this is what we do - we do what we need to do, what we should do, and press on. Even if we still maintain feelings of inadequacy, or lack the "right" feelings about parenthood, we have our children and we raise them the best we can. I guess I'm learning that it is okay to not be excited right now. It doesn't mean I've already failed. I can be scared - I just can't let it take over my life.
I also take much comfort in another thought heard at church recently: if we've tried our hardest, we haven't failed.
In the end, I think there is still hope for me yet. I can try harder to get ready. I can get excited. I can try hard to be a good parent. I don't know when I'll really feel like a mother, but I will try to be one. It's all I can do.
Maybe you know how to answer that right away - maybe you were filled with pure joy. Maybe it was a confirmation that this is the moment you've been waiting for for a long, long time. Or, maybe you didn't quite believe it, but there it was.
Just typing that questions makes me sit quietly for a while. I think back to that Christmas Eve morning - how I wasn't even planning on taking a test that day, but thought, "hey, why not?" And I think back to previous mornings when I would take the test and what I felt during those long 90 seconds. I would go back forth - half hoping it would confirm a pregnancy but also talking myself down at the same time, saying to myself that "yeah, probably not..."
I think I was mostly in shock. I sat back in the bed and looked at Scott who was getting ready to head into work.
"So... umm... I have some news." Definitely hesitant. Kind of giddy, but certainly anxious.
"I know. You're pregnant."
What the heck??? He said he just had a feeling that I was probably pregnant now. He just knew. Just like that - no tests, no lines, no 90 seconds. And it seemed so natural to him, like knowing I was pregnant was the same as knowing the next day was Christmas.
Ever since then, I've struggled with legitimately answering the ever-prominent, however mostly unspoken, issue of my level of excitement. It seemed like that was what you were supposed to say when you announce you're expecting "Yes, we are due in August and we are so excited." "We are very excited to have a girl" If asked, would I really say no? Of course not! I suppose, yes, we are generally excited. Yet, excitement is not how I would characterize the majority of my feelings toward carrying a child right now.
My feelings are more like this - scared out of my mind. I know it is the right time - we will be almost 27 and 31 and do want a handful of kids. Scott started a great job as a federal employee and we finally found a house. Also, not that pregnancy should be a bandwagon kind of thing, but many of our friends have children, mostly two now, or even three. I prayed to be able to have children, and there was my answer. And it was answered with each following test (I guess I'm one to double check), ultrasound, and heartbeat. It continues to be answered with every kick and hiccup I feel.
So here we are. We have the crib, the stroller, the car seat. We picked a color to paint her bedroom. We have a very small list of names we actually (kind of) agree upon.
But none of this makes me a mother. Let along an excited mother.
I see friends online who excitedly purchase outfits, take weekly belly pictures, write monthly letters to their unborn child, all in great anticipation. They are EXCITED. Me? I take the hand-me-down clothes and monitor with gratitude, but mostly without realizing that I will be using them soon. VERY soon.
Then, of course, my selfishness kicks in. Following a nice swim after work, I come home to eat a quick dinner with Scott while watching TV. All I can do is comment on how life will be so different in a couple of months. That nothing will be the same (except for probably the quick dinner). And I worry. I worry about how I will function on little to no sleep. I worry about how my body will recover. I worry about being responsible for another human being. I won't even begin to tell you how much I frighten myself just thinking about the act of giving birth.
As you can see, most of my worries are very self-centered. How terrible is that? I do have secondary concerns about my ability to parent, but there are really just that - secondary to myself. I do fret over screwing up this kid. But I think that it isn't as big of an issue because I know that if I am doing the right things - spiritually, physically, mentally, fiscally, then my children should be okay. If my own house is in order, then I believe that my children will see that example and things will fall into place (to be sure, with much guidance). If I am faithful and diligent in my spiritual beliefs and do the things to help make those beliefs stronger, the same goes for this child. If I set goals to be physically fit, mindful of others, and debt-free, then hopefully my child will witness the happiness those things bring and likewise have the same desires. Sounds so easy, right?
Knowing my personality, when I'm not sure how to do something, I'll look it up. I know I'll hit roadblocks, but I also know of the many resources at my disposal - scriptures, personal prayer and revelation, family, friends, and entire sections of book stores and libraries. I feel like it will be easier to fix something outside of myself rather that inside of myself. Unfortunately, to raise semi-decent children, I need to be semi-decent myself.
So what worries me the most is me. That I won't be diligent, I won't work hard, I'll get too tired, and I won't care. That I'll be too self-absorbed to see the needs of my children. That I'll be too lazy to build and ensure a warm, open, spiritual, orderly, and loving home.
Perhaps it is because I already see that I'm falling into this trap whilst pregnant. I always thought I had a vague idea of what kind of expectant mother I'd be - that I'd take the pictures, write little notes to my fetus, read a plethora of birth/pregnancy books, peruse baby sections of stores, compile a wish list of cute (albeit needless) goodies from Etsy. I thought I would be barefoot, refining my homemade bread recipe (still nonexistent), eating whole foods (not endless amounts of skittles), and decorating my new home to welcome baby (walls are still bare). I pictured weekends learning how to coupon and craft with the best, not to mention exercising with ease to maintain a decent weight.
What I didn't imagine was being utterly exhausted all the time. Or being hungry A LOT and wanting to come home and veg out to a movie. I didn't picture feeling so gigantic that I avoid cameras unless I'm having a particularly great day (this usually only happens when someone at work says something about looking great for being x weeks along). I felt so out of it, I stopped writing in a blog and journal, I stopped reading, and I let my thoughts wander to the negative. In essence, I let myself give up and resolved to that notion.
But you never hear about that part of it, do you? No pregnant woman ever says "well, actually, I'm incredibly nervous and have no idea how this will work out and effect my life and the life of my husband." Nope. Instead, they grin, say they feel great, and look forward to their due date.
A friend a church a couple of months ago said that she was finally excited to be a parent - 4 years after the birth of her son, and 3 kids later. I found great comfort in that. I'm sure it isn't something easy to admit, but I realized that this is what we do - we do what we need to do, what we should do, and press on. Even if we still maintain feelings of inadequacy, or lack the "right" feelings about parenthood, we have our children and we raise them the best we can. I guess I'm learning that it is okay to not be excited right now. It doesn't mean I've already failed. I can be scared - I just can't let it take over my life.
I also take much comfort in another thought heard at church recently: if we've tried our hardest, we haven't failed.
In the end, I think there is still hope for me yet. I can try harder to get ready. I can get excited. I can try hard to be a good parent. I don't know when I'll really feel like a mother, but I will try to be one. It's all I can do.
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