Traveling over the holidays this year has been more difficult than usual. On the plus side, Lil' Bit met her namesake again and the unseasonably warm weather made driving less treacherous. We also got a chance to go to the movies while Nana watched Lil' Bit; something we haven't done in a while. Still, this has to be one of the most difficult holiday travels:
-We spent 30 minutes in a gas station bathroom changing and washing Lil' Bit and the car seat after she turned into a volcano of vomit. We then purchased an air freshner to prevent me, a sympathetic barfer, from making it worse, but the combo of the two smells gave me a massive headache which caused severe nausea.
-My contacts tore, my back-up glasses broke, and the lenses my doctor's office sent by mail to Tennessee did not arrive before we left. Complete vision fail!
-We got stuck for 2 hours on the Interstate behind an 8-car pile-up with car fire, with a screaming toddler who refused to nap or be placated with her toys, making us late to our destination and requiring us to keep said screaming, tired toddler awake even longer to get her last two med doses in because we missed them due to the whole lateness thing and the two meds have to be given an hour apart.
Had you asked me last year, I would never have said that traveling with a 1-month-old would be easier than a 13-month-old, but it was. It also occurred to me that if we have another child, I won't be abe to sit in back and feed and play with the kids; we'll have to stop a lot more frequently. Needless to say, most of this trip fell heavily into the "only child" side of the baby equation. And yet, I can't help myself. I still want another one. I cannot explain or rationalize it. I have moments when I'm uncertain I can handle the one I have, but it doesn't change how I feel. However, because it is not just my decision, we are still discussing. And, in case you wondered what else might fall in the mix, I present you with two such thoughts:
1). Why are we having additional children? It needs to be because we want that child, not because we want a sibling for Lil' Bit, or a child to take attention away from Lil' Bit's issues. So, can we honestly say it's about wanting another child for that child's sake?
2). If we don't do a February procedure, we likely won't do it before May (March means a due date around Lil' Bit's birthday and April means an Easter procedure and Christmas delivery, which is a definite no). If we do a February procedure, we are setting ourselves up to deal with all of Lil' Bit's 1-year surgical follow-up visits and procedures with a newborn in tow. Is that really a good idea?
The most difficult thing about this decision is that every day I have experiences that land heavily on one side or the other. Very few days are neutral. It's almost never a good idea to make decisions when under stress, but once you are a parent, ALL decisions are made that way. If I pick a rough day to decide, Lil' Bit will be an only child. If I pick a good day, I might believe my coping skills are better than they really are. What if decision day is a good day for one of us, but not the other? Ultimately, how can I trust the final decision we make, no matter which way we decide?
And yet, anything less than a complete "yes" really has to be treated as a "no." Otherwise, we're short-changing ourselves, our marriage, Lil' Bit, and the children-to-be-named-later. It's not the answer I want, but it's the only one that seems to make any sense.
So, we continue to talk, to wait, and to discern. And if we miss February, then we miss it. And that hurts. Just typing those words hurts, so deep is my emotional ache for another pregnancy; another child. I want it now. I want it already. I want it yesterday. But, I must remember the wisdom of the Rolling Stones. I may not get what I want, but hopefully, I'll get what I need. I just wish I knew what that was.
12.21.2011
The Power of Routine
Last week, one of my friends at work noted that we must be getting into the groove with Lil' Bit's meds because I seemed much calmer. I suppose that's true, although I don't feel particularly calm most days. Glad I can still fake it :) Anyway, her statement made me think. There is something to the power of routine. It's how we sleep-train kids-Bath, Jammies, Book, Bedtime. Each night, once the routine occurs, they learn to expect what happens next--lights out, door closed, sleep time. So, even though interrupting our day 6 times for mediation still is frustrating, as is waiting the additional 20 minutes each time to make sure the dose takes, we're much better at it. We have something that resembles a routine and it has made life simpler. That is not to say life has been anything close to simple. All of this craziness on top of Advent was bound to be problematic--and it has been. But we have managed to stay married and not to kill each other or lose any fingers or toes. All in all, I think we're doing well.
In the process of working on things, we had a fascinating discussion last night as we were contemplating whether we were going to go forward with another IVF cycle. Yes, dear readers, the lack of posts about shots and prep is not because we're being quiet this time around. It's because we postponed it. Knowing that stress is such a huge factor in whether a cycle is successful, and both of us feeling that we were in way over our heads, we called the center and pushed our cycle out one month, with the option to push it back further, if necessary. We are now figuring out whether we are willing to go ahead this month, or wait a while longer, or do it at all. In that vein, we wanted to wait until Lil' Bit had her follow-up appointment with her pulmonary hypertension specialist yesterday.
Before we get back to the fascinating baby conversation, take another quick detour with me as I summarize where we stand with Lil' Bit's treatment:
1) We can finally stop one of her three meds (after weaning for 1 week). Hooray! Happy dance! *Insert other related excitement responses here*
2) Her two other meds are still 2 and 4 times a day, respectively, and can't be within an hour of each other. So, meds still 6X per day. Boo!
3) Her pressures did not go down, but they also did not go up. *Insert neutral response here*
4) Her condition is likely chronic, but that doesn't mean she won't get off the meds. There are generally no concerns for children with pressures where hers are currently, but they want to keep her on the meds for about a year to see if the pressures will go down further. *Neutral response, maybe slightly positive*
5) She doesn't need to go back to the doctor for 3 months and won't have to have a heart cath for probably a year! Yay!!!! *repeat*
6) She still has to have monthly blood tests for one of her meds. Boo!! *repeat*
7) She can go back to daycare in January! Woo freakin' who!!! [This is, truly, what will save our lives! As a brief aside--a giant thank-you to those ladies who have come to watch Lil' Bit at our house so I could go back to work!!!]
In sum, still lots to do, but generally good news. Lil' Bit it doing great. In fact, you would think she's on speed with all the extra energy she now has, which is, apparently, fairly common in children who undergo heart surgery.
We return, now, to last night's baby conversation. *Spoiler alert* We still haven't decided where we are. But in the process of talking about it, something interesting came up. Phil was talking about how difficult it had been to interrupt his day to have to come home and give Lil' Bit meds at various times. We discovered that he was experiencing something akin to the frustration I had felt when I had to do all the pumping. Before I moved to a 4 or even 3-a-day schedule, I had been pumping 6 times a day, roughly every 4 hours. Count 45 minutes for prep and pumping and another 15 for clean up, and it honestly felt like all I did was pump. I would just get started on something else when I would have to go back and pump. Likewise, Phil would get started on a project and suddenly discover that he had to run home and medicate Lil' Bit. 5 minutes of driving, 10 minutes of prep, 5 minutes of feeding meds (if lucky), 20 minutes of waiting to see if they took, 5 minutes driving back and *poof* he was losing multiple hours each day. In the midst of this discussion, we both became more cognizant of the toll things were taking on us. He had a better understanding of how difficult pumping had been, and I had a better understanding of how coming home to give meds was affecting him. And we both became aware that it was the disruption to our routine that was causing so much stress. As we talked about what it would mean to have Lil' Bit back in daycare so that much of our routine could return, we began to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Routine, it turns out, is important for more than getting babies to sleep.
Ultimately, it was a good and important moment in the conversation because we were both reminded that stress, frustration, and lack of sleep are mutual enemies, against which we must present a united front. By recognizing that we are both "done," we are much better out being less snippy and not taking our stress out on the other person. Don't get me wrong, we're far from perfect, but I think we're doing a pretty good job.
In any event, here we are. No decisions on a second child and still somewhat stressed by the first. But things are improving, and time is passing, and we're getting settled into a routine. Which begs the question--do we really want to wreck our new routine when we're just figuring it out? Stay tuned, dear readers, to find out if we're crazy enough to attempt it.
11.24.2011
Assumptions
I have started several posts about our time at the hospital for Lil' Bit's surgery, and may or may not get around to finishing and posting them. For now, we'll talk about today. Today was to be our triumphant return. Discharge day. And it was. Sort of. We are all home and, although totally exhausted, we are doing fairly well. But I relearned a few lessons today.
First, I relearned not to make assumptions. This lesson came upon the discovery that I had, in fact, made a giant assumption. I did not realize I had, but I did. I had assumed that surgery would "fix" my child. Sure, it would be difficult and emotionally taxing and recovery would be hard. But, in the end, surgery would either fix my child, or it wouldn't. I never considered what would be involved during the waiting to find out period. You know, the period where you get to bring them home, but you still have to give them meds. That's right meds. It never occurred to me that when I brought my child home she would be on medication, let alone three different meds multiple times per day. Oh, and did I mention that they all tend to make her vomit? We have learned a few tricks and most of the time they work. But today we had 5 administrations for 3 doses, and lots of "clean up on isle mommy." I hate holding my screaming child and trying to get her to take medication I know she needs. I really hate having to do it 6 times per day. I'm freaked out that I will have to start doing it 8 times a day once the third med finally arrives. Yeah. About that third med. It's one of those black box medicines that I will need gloves to handle because I've signed up for another round of IVF and we will have to use separate syringes and pill crushers for. *sigh*
As I sat on the floor, trying to be calm (but probably failing miserably) during the last medicine administration, I got angry and couldn't quite figure out why. Until, thud, it finally hit me that I had made this giant assumption that once we brought her home, even if she wasn't fixed, we would be done for now. I don't know why I never considered ongoing treatment such as meds, I just didn't. And, quite honestly, I'm just thrilled that she didn't have to come home with an NG tube (and even more thrilled that I didn't have to be trained how to put one in and take one out)!
This leads me to my second assumption. I assumed that I was prepared to have her home. I expected the return home to be a great relief. Instead, I felt the same panic as last year when I brought home a newborn and wondered what the heck I was supposed to do with her. The panic is the same, but the specifics are different: What happens if she still won't drink whole milk or Pediasure? (This issue is the subject of a post in progress about poor planning on my part). What happens when she vomits up the meds at home? How do we get her to take them when all the tricks we learned failed? How long after taking the meds does vomiting count as not having gotten the dose? (Apparently, the answer to this for our purposes is 20 minutes).
All of these are difficult things to handle by themselves. Doing them on little sleep, after a long day of travel, with nerves and emotions still raw from 2 1/2 weeks of adrenaline and anxiety, is damn near impossible. And yet, we managed to get her meds in her, give her a bath, and get her to bed. We have overnight meds we have to set an alarm for and lots of other challenges ahead of us. We're creating a chart so we can track and make sure we have given her all her meds-- a necessity, since we're lucky to remember our own names these days.
But we're home. And she's doing amazing. And we're taking things one day at a time. Which is, in fact, the only way anything can be done. We live life, whatever challenges, joys, successes, and sorrows come our way, the only way we can. One day at a time. One minute at a time. One moment at a time. Sometimes, though, it takes a giant 2x4 upside the head to remember that lesson. And man, do I have quite a headache.
First, I relearned not to make assumptions. This lesson came upon the discovery that I had, in fact, made a giant assumption. I did not realize I had, but I did. I had assumed that surgery would "fix" my child. Sure, it would be difficult and emotionally taxing and recovery would be hard. But, in the end, surgery would either fix my child, or it wouldn't. I never considered what would be involved during the waiting to find out period. You know, the period where you get to bring them home, but you still have to give them meds. That's right meds. It never occurred to me that when I brought my child home she would be on medication, let alone three different meds multiple times per day. Oh, and did I mention that they all tend to make her vomit? We have learned a few tricks and most of the time they work. But today we had 5 administrations for 3 doses, and lots of "clean up on isle mommy." I hate holding my screaming child and trying to get her to take medication I know she needs. I really hate having to do it 6 times per day. I'm freaked out that I will have to start doing it 8 times a day once the third med finally arrives. Yeah. About that third med. It's one of those black box medicines that I will need gloves to handle because I've signed up for another round of IVF and we will have to use separate syringes and pill crushers for. *sigh*
As I sat on the floor, trying to be calm (but probably failing miserably) during the last medicine administration, I got angry and couldn't quite figure out why. Until, thud, it finally hit me that I had made this giant assumption that once we brought her home, even if she wasn't fixed, we would be done for now. I don't know why I never considered ongoing treatment such as meds, I just didn't. And, quite honestly, I'm just thrilled that she didn't have to come home with an NG tube (and even more thrilled that I didn't have to be trained how to put one in and take one out)!
This leads me to my second assumption. I assumed that I was prepared to have her home. I expected the return home to be a great relief. Instead, I felt the same panic as last year when I brought home a newborn and wondered what the heck I was supposed to do with her. The panic is the same, but the specifics are different: What happens if she still won't drink whole milk or Pediasure? (This issue is the subject of a post in progress about poor planning on my part). What happens when she vomits up the meds at home? How do we get her to take them when all the tricks we learned failed? How long after taking the meds does vomiting count as not having gotten the dose? (Apparently, the answer to this for our purposes is 20 minutes).
All of these are difficult things to handle by themselves. Doing them on little sleep, after a long day of travel, with nerves and emotions still raw from 2 1/2 weeks of adrenaline and anxiety, is damn near impossible. And yet, we managed to get her meds in her, give her a bath, and get her to bed. We have overnight meds we have to set an alarm for and lots of other challenges ahead of us. We're creating a chart so we can track and make sure we have given her all her meds-- a necessity, since we're lucky to remember our own names these days.
But we're home. And she's doing amazing. And we're taking things one day at a time. Which is, in fact, the only way anything can be done. We live life, whatever challenges, joys, successes, and sorrows come our way, the only way we can. One day at a time. One minute at a time. One moment at a time. Sometimes, though, it takes a giant 2x4 upside the head to remember that lesson. And man, do I have quite a headache.
11.16.2011
Mixed Emotions
It's been a strange few weeks here at the hospital. As previously mentioned in other posts, Phil and I have been discussing having another baby, but we were waiting to hear the outcome of Lil' Bit's surgery to make any final decision. Well, since everything was looking so good for her to go home on the 14th, we called the fertility center on the 12th and paid our deposit for an FET (frozen embryo transfer). Of course, it was over the weekend, after we did that, the world went sideways. Lil' Bit stopped holding down food and her discharge got delayed. Then came the second-guessing. Should we have waited longer to decide? Ultimately, it doesn't really matter. The decision is just as over as the Peloponnesian War.
So, this week I called the center and made an appointment for some tests I have to have this month. If all goes well, I start meds around December 6 for a January procedure and September baby. As excited as I am, there is some piece of me that keeps screaming in the background: "Are you crazy?! You're not ready to do this again!" And yet, even with all I have seen here and everything we have gone through with Lil' Bit, I want another baby. I want Lil' Bit to have a sibling. I want another child to help keep me from being over-protective of Lil' Bit--someone that will help me treat her like a normal kid.
At the same time, however, I have to temper all these wants and hopes with the fact that nothing is certain. Just because it only took one round of IVF for Lil' Bit is no guarantee that things will work this time. It certainly improves our odds, and I definitely feel more positive than I did last time that things will work. Nevertheless, I have to remember that just because we have signed up to do another procedure is no guarantee of another child. On the flip side, even if it works, there's no guarantee we'll only get one. My dear friend keep threatening that we'll have triplets --a pair and a spare as she likes to say. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, all we can do is move ahead with our decision, knowing it's what we want to do. Whether we get none, one, or multiples, we'll get what we get, and we'll deal with it when we get to that point. For now, it's nice to have a little bit of excitement and hope growing in my heart as I (ever so impatiently) wait for Lil' Bit to get out of the ICU.
So, this week I called the center and made an appointment for some tests I have to have this month. If all goes well, I start meds around December 6 for a January procedure and September baby. As excited as I am, there is some piece of me that keeps screaming in the background: "Are you crazy?! You're not ready to do this again!" And yet, even with all I have seen here and everything we have gone through with Lil' Bit, I want another baby. I want Lil' Bit to have a sibling. I want another child to help keep me from being over-protective of Lil' Bit--someone that will help me treat her like a normal kid.
At the same time, however, I have to temper all these wants and hopes with the fact that nothing is certain. Just because it only took one round of IVF for Lil' Bit is no guarantee that things will work this time. It certainly improves our odds, and I definitely feel more positive than I did last time that things will work. Nevertheless, I have to remember that just because we have signed up to do another procedure is no guarantee of another child. On the flip side, even if it works, there's no guarantee we'll only get one. My dear friend keep threatening that we'll have triplets --a pair and a spare as she likes to say. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, all we can do is move ahead with our decision, knowing it's what we want to do. Whether we get none, one, or multiples, we'll get what we get, and we'll deal with it when we get to that point. For now, it's nice to have a little bit of excitement and hope growing in my heart as I (ever so impatiently) wait for Lil' Bit to get out of the ICU.
11.15.2011
Lessons From the ICU
Tom Petty said it best--the waiting is the hardest part.
Here I sit, a full week after Lil' Bit's open-heart surgery, and we still don't know when we'll go home. With her first birthday coming this weekend, and Thanksgiving next week, I am more than ready to be home. But, as with most things related to Lil' Bit, I am not the one in control; she is. Surgery went extremely well and she was on track to go home yesterday. However, over the weekend she couldn't keep anything down, including the meds she needed to keep her heart pressures in line. So, she's still in ICU, while they try and get those pressures in line.
Making matters worse is that Lil' Bit isn't drinking much of anything (she is a great eater though). This is, ironically, a problem of my own making. She never took to drinking juice or water, and I never saw much reason to force her since she ate well and drank lots of milk. I had managed to pump enough to almost make it to her first birthday. Sadly, I didn't quite make it; we ran out--just before surgery. So, Lil' Bit wakes up at the hospital and all there is to drink is stuff she's never had before. It never occurred to me that my pumping & freezing plan would have such a major flaw. On the plus side, she's making progress with whole milk, and today she drank strawberry Pediasure, so they won't have to stuff it down a feeding tube. Still, if we ever needed more evidence that's she a stubborn one, this is it.
Not surprisingly, I can't control the doctors, or Lil' Bit's response to the meds, or make her eat, or make her nap. So, I am really struggling. Xanax has become my new best friend. It really helps keep the edge off. Text and Facebook support, calls from my mom, and my in-laws' continued presence all help too. Still, there are days I am ready to cry, scream, or both, at the drop of a hat.
The waiting isn't fruitless, though. In waiting and learning the stories of other families, I am grateful that Lil' Bit is otherwise healthy. So far, she has had 6 roommates. Among them, an asthamatic; another cardiac patient who had surgery the day after, but has already been released; and two neuro patients--one 7 years old, and one 5 months old who has already had 4 surgeries. Elsewhere in the ICU are cardiac patients only months old, babies with RSV and whooping cough, a baby with double pneumonia and MRSA, and myriad other conditions. But, severity and longevity in ICU don't matter. What I discovered is that I am now a member of the club. Because all of these parents get it. Whether their child is in for a day, a month, or longer, they have all felt the tedium of waiting. They have all gotten tired of doctors and labs and tubes attached to their children. They all know that they cannot bear to eat another bite of Subway, Wendy's, Quiznos, or Biggby. And yet, we all cheer when someone graduates to go home. And we all grieve when a child is lost. And we all support one another as we wait. This support is sometimes all it takes to get through one minute, and then another, and another, until you look up and, finally, it's your turn to go home. It is an amazing experience of grace and love and community, and I am humbled to be a part of it.
But, in case you were wondering, it doesn't make waiting any easier.
Here I sit, a full week after Lil' Bit's open-heart surgery, and we still don't know when we'll go home. With her first birthday coming this weekend, and Thanksgiving next week, I am more than ready to be home. But, as with most things related to Lil' Bit, I am not the one in control; she is. Surgery went extremely well and she was on track to go home yesterday. However, over the weekend she couldn't keep anything down, including the meds she needed to keep her heart pressures in line. So, she's still in ICU, while they try and get those pressures in line.
Making matters worse is that Lil' Bit isn't drinking much of anything (she is a great eater though). This is, ironically, a problem of my own making. She never took to drinking juice or water, and I never saw much reason to force her since she ate well and drank lots of milk. I had managed to pump enough to almost make it to her first birthday. Sadly, I didn't quite make it; we ran out--just before surgery. So, Lil' Bit wakes up at the hospital and all there is to drink is stuff she's never had before. It never occurred to me that my pumping & freezing plan would have such a major flaw. On the plus side, she's making progress with whole milk, and today she drank strawberry Pediasure, so they won't have to stuff it down a feeding tube. Still, if we ever needed more evidence that's she a stubborn one, this is it.
Not surprisingly, I can't control the doctors, or Lil' Bit's response to the meds, or make her eat, or make her nap. So, I am really struggling. Xanax has become my new best friend. It really helps keep the edge off. Text and Facebook support, calls from my mom, and my in-laws' continued presence all help too. Still, there are days I am ready to cry, scream, or both, at the drop of a hat.
The waiting isn't fruitless, though. In waiting and learning the stories of other families, I am grateful that Lil' Bit is otherwise healthy. So far, she has had 6 roommates. Among them, an asthamatic; another cardiac patient who had surgery the day after, but has already been released; and two neuro patients--one 7 years old, and one 5 months old who has already had 4 surgeries. Elsewhere in the ICU are cardiac patients only months old, babies with RSV and whooping cough, a baby with double pneumonia and MRSA, and myriad other conditions. But, severity and longevity in ICU don't matter. What I discovered is that I am now a member of the club. Because all of these parents get it. Whether their child is in for a day, a month, or longer, they have all felt the tedium of waiting. They have all gotten tired of doctors and labs and tubes attached to their children. They all know that they cannot bear to eat another bite of Subway, Wendy's, Quiznos, or Biggby. And yet, we all cheer when someone graduates to go home. And we all grieve when a child is lost. And we all support one another as we wait. This support is sometimes all it takes to get through one minute, and then another, and another, until you look up and, finally, it's your turn to go home. It is an amazing experience of grace and love and community, and I am humbled to be a part of it.
But, in case you were wondering, it doesn't make waiting any easier.
10.24.2011
Doing the Job
Last week, Lil' Bit got sick. We took her to the doctor who said she had (yet another) ear infection. He put her on antibiotics and we raced against the clock to get her better because if she's sick within 2 weeks of her surgery, they could move or cancel it. We took her back in to her doctor today, and he gave us the all clear. Phew! I breathed a sigh of relief that we didn't have to rearrange all the plans we had made, but put in a call to the surgeon to let him know what was going on. I spoke with one of the nurses and she assured me everything was fine and they would just make sure to give her a good once-over when she came in for the pre-op testing. All was copacetic. Sure, Phil and I got put on antibiotics (because we got whatever Lil' Bit had), but otherwise, everything was fine. Or so I thought.
Part way through my day of napping and recovery, I discovered that I was super hungry and my stomach was upset. I found this odd, particularly since it was last week that I was on the steroids that generally cause increased appetite. But no. The hunger came today. Not helpful. Why? Because I started Weight Watchers about 2 1/2 weeks ago. It's been going very well; I've already released 10 pounds. (In my family, we try not to say that we "lost" them, because generally you try and find things you have lost). Anyway, I was surprised to discover that I had nom, nom, nommed my way through my points for the day by 2:30! What the heck was going on?! And what about dinner?!
It took me a while to realize that the hunger and the upset stomach were my body's way of telling me my stress level is out of control. I didn't think I was stressed. After all, I spent the day recuperating and being told all my plans were still in good order. It wasn't until dinner that I finally figured it out. I was washing dishes while Phil fed Lil' Bit her dinner. She was doing really well, but had some fussy moments. And in those fussy moments, I knew I was "done." "Done" is a magic word in our house. It means that it is time for the other parent to come to the rescue because whoever is "done" has run out of energy/patience reserves. The thing was, I wasn't the parent on duty. Phil was taking care of Lil' Bit. Why was her fussiness driving me crazy to the point I was "done"? It hit me. I was done because I had run out of minutiae to worry about and plan. There's nothing left to do but wait. In calling the surgeon's office, I had to acknowledge that Lil' Bit's surgery is less than 2 weeks away. The hunger (my long-term coping mechanism of eating when stressed), the stomach ache (putting all my stress in my stomach), and being done; they were all signs that I'm finally having to accept that Lil' Bit's surgery is going to happen, and soon.
I can cry. I can scream. I can shout n't fair! None of it will change the fact that I have to take my daughter to the hospital and let them cut her open and operate on her heart if I want her to be healthy. I feel like Dr. Seuss's Grinch--it doesn't matter how much I hate it or try to avoid it, I can't stop this surgery thing from coming. And it doesn't matter that it's the right thing to do. And it doesn't matter that she'll be okay. There is nothing reasonable or rational about how I feel. I am a mother. It is my job to protect my daughter, but I can't. I can't protect her from this. I can't keep it from happening. I can't control it. I can't fix it. I want to rage at the world. I want to rage at God. I want to hold my daughter tight and never let go. I want this not to be happening.
But it is happening. And my world is out of control. So, I want comfort. I want to eat a pint of pumpkin cheesecake ice cream. I want an entire bag of barbecue potato chips. I want a dozen Tim Horton's doughnuts. These are the patterns that have always brought me comfort (hence, the need for Weight Watchers). But I won't. And do you want to know the crazy reason why? Because I can control that. I can control what I eat. I can control not letting my weight loss goals get sabotaged by old patterns. I can control me. And I'll do it. Not just for me, but for Lil' Bit. Because she needs me to be strong enough to get through this, so I can help her get through this. She needs me to "be the mommy." And I remember that I signed up for this job. I fought for this job. I paid good money for this job! So, it's time to pull up my big girl pants and do this job.
10.20.2011
Insane Hopefulness
It is often said, though unknown who first said it, that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. By this definition, I am insane. Hopeful, but insane. Why? Because month after month I hold out hope that I can conceive a child the old fashioned way. That Lil' Bit can have a sibling without me having to get shots and be poked and prodded for three months before all the poking and prodding that comes from being pregnant. But, each month, I am heartbroken when I discover nothing has changed. Not surprised, mind you. Just heartbroken. And yet, I still hold out hope. Because, although it's improbable, it's not impossible. I personally know couples who had the same issue I did and managed to conceive. I know other couples who, once they used IVF, were then able to conceive on their own. I also know, however, thay my issues are somewhat different. Usually, those who successfully conceive after IVF are those who had unexplained infertility or miscarriages and whose bodies suddenly realized they knew how to work and did. When physical blockage is the issue, that's not something that usually changes. It can, it just usually doesn't. So, my logical, practical side knows that I am unlikely to conceieve without another round of IVF. And, if that's what we decide to do, we will. But the hopeful, whimsical, insane side of me thinks that maybe this time, we'll get a different result. For this month, there is no miracle baby. Who knows, though. Maybe next month. I just can't help myself. I'm suffering from hopeful insanity. Still, I think insane hopefulness is better than no hopefulness at all. And, don't forget, there's an equally prolific saying in my favor: if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. So, here I go.
10.19.2011
Gender Roles
I grew up watching Free To Be You and Me. For those who aren't familiar, it was a bunch of vignettes, most of which were about gender roles, with a very clear message that men and women, boys and girls, can all do any and everything equally. It had all kinds of stars, including Mel Brooks and Michael Jackson. There is a song sung by former football player Rosey Grier telling girls and boys that "It's Alright to Cry." There are bits where moms and dads both do every kind of job. There's even "William Wants a Doll," sung by Alan Alda, all about a boy who is great at sports and loves them, but what he really wants is a doll, and what happens when his grandmother gets him one.
Now, whether it was strictly based on this, or, more likely, in addition to lots of other influences, I never really cared much about gender stereotypes growing up. I played with with My Little Ponies and Strawberry Shortcake dolls, but I would just as likely go out and help my brother dig pits and blow up his GI Joe figurines with firecrackers (likely the beginning of my love of fire, but that's a different story). I would climb trees wearing pantyhose and make-up. I was good at math and science and was encouraged to become an engineer. Even though I chose a different path, it's still a male-dominated field. I asked many a guy out rather than waiting on him. I even broke the big taboo and asked Phil to marry me--he wasn't getting around to it fast enough. Needless to say, I have never felt terribly boxed in by gender roles.
As a result, I'm a big fan of letting kids be kids, regardless of what the gender stereotypes tell me they "should" be doing. If little boys want their toenails painted because mom and sister are doing it, that's perfectly fine. If girls want to play with blocks or tear things up or just play in the dirt, that's fine too.
Given that background, I figured I would have no difficulty sharing these values with my daughter. I dressed her in all kinds of colors and patterns, not caring whether they were "girl" or "boy" colors. I even got indignant that "neutral" colors only seemed available up to 3-6 month clothes. It seemed as though people might buy clothes up to that size without knowing the gender, but after that, surely you knew the gender and wanted all pink for your daughter. Even when I could find other colors, they were still frilly. Now, don't get me wrong. I love frilly and I love dressing my daughter up in frilly. But I also love to put her in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. She's also adorable dressed in plain bib overalls and a white onesie underneath. She's so active and rough and tumble (quite a surprise given her condition, but again, I digress). I just wish I didn't have to go to the "boys" section to get these items.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I went to purchase a new toy for my daughter and found myself thinking that something was too boyish. Too boyish? After letting her play with the construction trucks and plastic toolset in the church nursery? After buying her books about dragons? After spending hours wondering what her first Lego set will be? I think I experienced a case of mental whiplash just by having the thought. But there is was. Even as open as I am to breaking gender stereotypes, I am not immune. I can only imagine how much more difficult it is for those who have only had the roles reinforced, rather than challenged. On the bright side, I noticed that I had the thought. And I only had it on the inside! Still, because I had the thought, I am going to try and be more careful in the future. This is not to say that I feel the need to overcompensate by buying every "boy" toy I can think of. I buy toys I think Lil' Bit will like playing with based on what she currently likes. One of her current favorites is a bright orange flashlight. (She loves it so much, we discussed dressing her up like a Jedi for Halloween, but I still want to go with the ladybug). She also loves her toy stroller, though. She loves blocks and animals and books, but you can see her eyes light up when I show her cute clothes. All in all, I guess we're doing pretty good on the letting her pick what she likes thing. Whew!
And, if I need a refresher, I have the Free To Be . . . DVD handy. I've already played it for Lil' Bit once. Turns out, she's a big fan of Rosie! Who knew?
Now, whether it was strictly based on this, or, more likely, in addition to lots of other influences, I never really cared much about gender stereotypes growing up. I played with with My Little Ponies and Strawberry Shortcake dolls, but I would just as likely go out and help my brother dig pits and blow up his GI Joe figurines with firecrackers (likely the beginning of my love of fire, but that's a different story). I would climb trees wearing pantyhose and make-up. I was good at math and science and was encouraged to become an engineer. Even though I chose a different path, it's still a male-dominated field. I asked many a guy out rather than waiting on him. I even broke the big taboo and asked Phil to marry me--he wasn't getting around to it fast enough. Needless to say, I have never felt terribly boxed in by gender roles.
As a result, I'm a big fan of letting kids be kids, regardless of what the gender stereotypes tell me they "should" be doing. If little boys want their toenails painted because mom and sister are doing it, that's perfectly fine. If girls want to play with blocks or tear things up or just play in the dirt, that's fine too.
Given that background, I figured I would have no difficulty sharing these values with my daughter. I dressed her in all kinds of colors and patterns, not caring whether they were "girl" or "boy" colors. I even got indignant that "neutral" colors only seemed available up to 3-6 month clothes. It seemed as though people might buy clothes up to that size without knowing the gender, but after that, surely you knew the gender and wanted all pink for your daughter. Even when I could find other colors, they were still frilly. Now, don't get me wrong. I love frilly and I love dressing my daughter up in frilly. But I also love to put her in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. She's also adorable dressed in plain bib overalls and a white onesie underneath. She's so active and rough and tumble (quite a surprise given her condition, but again, I digress). I just wish I didn't have to go to the "boys" section to get these items.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I went to purchase a new toy for my daughter and found myself thinking that something was too boyish. Too boyish? After letting her play with the construction trucks and plastic toolset in the church nursery? After buying her books about dragons? After spending hours wondering what her first Lego set will be? I think I experienced a case of mental whiplash just by having the thought. But there is was. Even as open as I am to breaking gender stereotypes, I am not immune. I can only imagine how much more difficult it is for those who have only had the roles reinforced, rather than challenged. On the bright side, I noticed that I had the thought. And I only had it on the inside! Still, because I had the thought, I am going to try and be more careful in the future. This is not to say that I feel the need to overcompensate by buying every "boy" toy I can think of. I buy toys I think Lil' Bit will like playing with based on what she currently likes. One of her current favorites is a bright orange flashlight. (She loves it so much, we discussed dressing her up like a Jedi for Halloween, but I still want to go with the ladybug). She also loves her toy stroller, though. She loves blocks and animals and books, but you can see her eyes light up when I show her cute clothes. All in all, I guess we're doing pretty good on the letting her pick what she likes thing. Whew!
And, if I need a refresher, I have the Free To Be . . . DVD handy. I've already played it for Lil' Bit once. Turns out, she's a big fan of Rosie! Who knew?
10.13.2011
Being the Mommy
I never really thought much about all of the things I would be required to do for my child before I decided to become a parent. Such things as, oh, making major medical decisions for my child's care just didn't cross my mind. But more than that, there are the smaller, daily or weekly things you have to do, for their own good, that make them cry. And you don't want to, but you have to. Whether it's taking away a dangerous object, setting boundaries and moving them away from something after they have been told "no," or sucking snot from their nose when they have a cold. All of these things make Lil' Bit cry and scream. And I hate doing it, but I have to. That's what being the mommy is all about--being the responsible person and doing the responsible thing, as opposed to the easier, more expedient, causes less trouble, thing. So, when there's something that has to be done, like giving Lil' Bit medicine, or putting her to bed when she doesn't want to go, we look at each other and say, "Be the mommy"; "Be the daddy", and prepare ourselves to survive the screaming that is to come.
However, being the mommy also has an upside. There is nothing as wonderful as coming downstairs and seeing my daughter's face light up as she sees me and watching her hold her arms out to be picked up. Or when she wraps her arms around me and give me a big snuggle and cuddles her head into my neck. Or, when someone else is holding her and I come up and she gets this huge toothy grin and moves as if to jump into my arms. These are the rewarding parts of being a mommy that make the difficult ones worth it.
Recently, I've noticed that, as we get closer to Lil' Bit's surgery, I spend more time playing with her and hugging her and snuggling with her. It's not that I think she's not going to make it, or that anything bad is going to happen. But I also know that things do happen; sometimes when we least expect it. So, I want to make sure that I'm taking as much time as I can to enjoy my little girl. And, honestly, there's no downside to doing it. It's not as though there's something "better" I ought to be doing with my time.
So, here's to being the mommy. Whether it's difficult responsibilities, or wonderful rewards, for me, it's totally worth it.
However, being the mommy also has an upside. There is nothing as wonderful as coming downstairs and seeing my daughter's face light up as she sees me and watching her hold her arms out to be picked up. Or when she wraps her arms around me and give me a big snuggle and cuddles her head into my neck. Or, when someone else is holding her and I come up and she gets this huge toothy grin and moves as if to jump into my arms. These are the rewarding parts of being a mommy that make the difficult ones worth it.
Recently, I've noticed that, as we get closer to Lil' Bit's surgery, I spend more time playing with her and hugging her and snuggling with her. It's not that I think she's not going to make it, or that anything bad is going to happen. But I also know that things do happen; sometimes when we least expect it. So, I want to make sure that I'm taking as much time as I can to enjoy my little girl. And, honestly, there's no downside to doing it. It's not as though there's something "better" I ought to be doing with my time.
So, here's to being the mommy. Whether it's difficult responsibilities, or wonderful rewards, for me, it's totally worth it.
9.26.2011
What's In a Costume
When I was little, I loved to dress up. I went through more outfits in a day than most people went through in a week. They were my kots-tooms. And, who am I kidding, I still love to dress up. I loved having formal dances in law school to attend. Or dressing up for Christmas Eve. Even dressing up for an interview was fun. I would put on my power suit and feel invincible. I loved that special clothes could make me feel like a different person. So, it should really come as no surprise that one of my favorite things about having a daughter is getting to dress her up. This love of dress-up makes it all the more surprising that I forgot the one holiday of the year that dressing up is practically mandatory.
As some of you know, this Thursday we will meet with Lil' Bit's heart surgeon to talk about her surgery and get it scheduled. I was talking with a friend of mine about when we were hoping to schedule it, and I said that I was hoping for some time in early November. The response was something like, "That's perfect, because then you get Halloween." Halloween! How on earth had I forgotten Halloween?! Getting to dress my baby up and haul her around to hear oohs and aaahs and get free candy. Somehow, in all of the scheduling and trying hard not to freak out about her surgery, I had forgotten that there were fun moments on the horizon. Still, I didn't want to buy her a costume. Afterall, we still don't know when the surgery will be. She could be in the hospital for Halloween. So, that was where I had left things until last Friday.
During our weekly Meijer trip last Friday, I noticed that the Halloween costumes were out. There, sitting in the middle of the isle was the perfect costume for my daughter--a ladybug! We call ladybugs "doodlebugs" and we call her our doodlebug, so it seemed exactly right. We considered a different costume, only to discover it didn't come in her size. The ladybug did! Still, in the back of my mind, I wasn't sure I wanted to purchase a costume yet. My mind was full of what-ifs. Suddenly, a sense a calm came over me and I knew I had to buy it. Buying it was a leap of faith. Faith that she will get to celebrate Halloween regardless of whether she is in the hospital. Faith that she will be fine. Faith that life will go on post-surgery. It was and is more than a costume. It's a reminder of normal life. A reminder to treat Lil' Bit as though there is nothing wrong. A reminder to plan for the future. A timely reminder to be sure, as Lil' Bit's first birthday is swiftly approaching and I'll need to get cracking on planning in case the first two weeks of November are used up caring for her post-surgery.
What a wild first year it has been, and continues to be. There's no way to know what will happen in the next two months and no way to be fully prepared for everything even if I could know. All I can do is the same thing I've been doing the last 10 months--spend every day winging it, trying not to make the same mistakes more than twice, and remembering to enjoy the ride. Oh, and living vicariouly through Lil' Bit's wardrobe. ;). Come on Halloween!
9.09.2011
A Broken Heart
We encounter risk everyday. Every single choice we make or action we take involves risk. There's risk of injury, emotional pain, embarrassment, and failure, to name a few. Still, we get up each day and walk, eat, drive, work, and put ourselves out there. We take and accept these risks for ourselves often without conscious thought. Other risks we only take after careful thought. The risk inherent in medical care is one such risk. Generally, however, so long as you trust your healthcare provider, this level of risk is generally acceptable. So it was with some surprise that I found that the same is not true when it comes to my child.
Lil' Bit's cardiologist recommended that she have a heart catheterization to measure the pressures in her heart to determine if her VSD needed to be closed. He also indicated that during the test they could look to see whether she had any segment of left pulmonary artery that they could work with to try and attach a stent, get blood flow to the left lung, and see if it would grow. Now, if my doctor told me I needed a heart cath, I would, without reservation, recognize that it is a common procedure and that the risks were outweighed by the benefits and have the test done. Having to agree that doctors could perform the test on my daughter was not as simple. It had the same risks and benefits--indeed, perhaps greater benefits in her case given her situation--and yet the risks seemed too high. As a parent, there are times that any risk seems too high. Fortunately, I recognized the irrationality and emotional basis of this position and overcame my reluctance to have her get the procedure.
And so it was that earlier this week, we took Lil' Bit to the "big city" to have a heart cath done. It was scary, but we managed to get through it. She did great and came out of the test none the worse for wear. However, the results weren't what we had hoped. The pressures in her heart need to be taken care of, so they want to schedule her for open heart surgery sometime before Thanksgiving. In addition, there is nothing left of the left pulmonary artery to work with. Her right lung is doing all of the oxygenation at this point--in fact it is larger than normal, where the left one is smaller than normal. The left lung isn't doing anything, which means that sometime down the road she will likely have to have it removed. More surgery. My heart breaks each time I have to think about Lil' Bit having to go under the knife at such a young age. I know that she is unlikely to remember any of this, which also means that she likely has no stress or anxiety leading up to the procedures (unlike her parents). It doesn't make things any easier.
It reminds me of my own fragility and makes me wonder whether I can put myself out there and risk heartbreak with another child. My only consolation is that we elected to wait to go through another round of IVF until we learned what Lil' Bit's prognosis was. Don't get me wrong, she has a great prognosis. They feel confident in the surgery and, given her body's shown ability to adapt and compensate, see no long term issues related to her missing left pulmonary artery except the chance that she won't have as much "reserve" as those two-lunged folks. Even with the good prognosis, however, I am fairly certain that I would not be handling all of this information nearly as well if I were hyped up on fertility or pregnancy hormones.
Ultimately, this week boils down to two simple facts. The surgeon should be able to fix Lil' Bit's broken heart, but mine will break in the process. Such is the nature and sacrifice of parenthood, I suppose, but I was wholly unprepared for it all the same.
Lil' Bit's cardiologist recommended that she have a heart catheterization to measure the pressures in her heart to determine if her VSD needed to be closed. He also indicated that during the test they could look to see whether she had any segment of left pulmonary artery that they could work with to try and attach a stent, get blood flow to the left lung, and see if it would grow. Now, if my doctor told me I needed a heart cath, I would, without reservation, recognize that it is a common procedure and that the risks were outweighed by the benefits and have the test done. Having to agree that doctors could perform the test on my daughter was not as simple. It had the same risks and benefits--indeed, perhaps greater benefits in her case given her situation--and yet the risks seemed too high. As a parent, there are times that any risk seems too high. Fortunately, I recognized the irrationality and emotional basis of this position and overcame my reluctance to have her get the procedure.
And so it was that earlier this week, we took Lil' Bit to the "big city" to have a heart cath done. It was scary, but we managed to get through it. She did great and came out of the test none the worse for wear. However, the results weren't what we had hoped. The pressures in her heart need to be taken care of, so they want to schedule her for open heart surgery sometime before Thanksgiving. In addition, there is nothing left of the left pulmonary artery to work with. Her right lung is doing all of the oxygenation at this point--in fact it is larger than normal, where the left one is smaller than normal. The left lung isn't doing anything, which means that sometime down the road she will likely have to have it removed. More surgery. My heart breaks each time I have to think about Lil' Bit having to go under the knife at such a young age. I know that she is unlikely to remember any of this, which also means that she likely has no stress or anxiety leading up to the procedures (unlike her parents). It doesn't make things any easier.
It reminds me of my own fragility and makes me wonder whether I can put myself out there and risk heartbreak with another child. My only consolation is that we elected to wait to go through another round of IVF until we learned what Lil' Bit's prognosis was. Don't get me wrong, she has a great prognosis. They feel confident in the surgery and, given her body's shown ability to adapt and compensate, see no long term issues related to her missing left pulmonary artery except the chance that she won't have as much "reserve" as those two-lunged folks. Even with the good prognosis, however, I am fairly certain that I would not be handling all of this information nearly as well if I were hyped up on fertility or pregnancy hormones.
Ultimately, this week boils down to two simple facts. The surgeon should be able to fix Lil' Bit's broken heart, but mine will break in the process. Such is the nature and sacrifice of parenthood, I suppose, but I was wholly unprepared for it all the same.
8.30.2011
Taking the Plunge
The other evening I found myself extremely tired, having been worn down by a screaming child who was clearly tired, but refused to go to sleep. Having set her in her crib and disappeared downstairs where the wailing was only partially ear-splitting, I curled up on the sofa and wondered why I ever thought this was a good idea and whether I should reconsider having another. I thought to myself, maybe it's a good idea we didn't dive in just yet. My mind then went off on a tangent, as it is wont to do, about all of the swimming metaphors there are for making decisions--diving in, jumping in, taking the plunge, getting in over your head. And I realized all of these metaphors had something in common that I had never noticed. They all allude to the fact that, at some point, making this decision will take you to a place where you aren't grounded. Either your head is above-water but you aren't on solid footing, or you can touch the ground but you're underwater and could be drowning. Whether the decision is to get married, buy a house, go to college, have a child, move to a new place, whatever. When making these decisions, you have to take a leap, put yourself in a position where you are off-balance, tread water while you figure out what to do, and then sink or swim. Each of these events involve a huge learning curve and there is simply no way to be prepared for everything. It's quite frightening to look out as you tread water and feel like you are all alone in the middle of a vast ocean of unknown as your body begins to tire and you don't know how much longer you can hold out. But chances are, there is a life raft or flotation device nearby. What you need is friends and family to buoy your spirits. Get some advice, some perspective, or just reconnect. Finding out that everyone else is simply smiling while they tread water, not speeding past you on a yacht as it at first appeared, makes things so much easier. I am quickly learning that the more I ask advice of those who have been there, the less my head will hurt from banging it into a wall. Knowing that I have people I can go to for support makes the idea of taking the plunge and having another child easier to imagine. And hey, isn't all this metaphorical treading water making my legs stronger? So, I should be better prepared for next time, right? :)
8.22.2011
Please Sir, I Want Some More
Yes. I have just likened having another child with the quest for more gruel in Oliver Twist. Still, it seems fitting. After all, I am still finding it hard to believe, given how vocal and certain I was at the time of Lil' Bit's delivery that we were only having one, that I now find myself having passed the "serious consideration" stage and am actively contemplating another child. Still, that's where we are. So, I thought you might like some insight into how we reached our decision.
Last week, we went back to the fertility center and met with the doctor to discuss what doing another IVF cycle would entail. (By the way, did we ever mention that the doc looks like Stephen Colbert? We just kept waiting for him to hold out his hand and say, "Nation..."! But I digress.) Part of the need for discussion was based on the fact that this cycle would be frozen instead of fresh, so there is an entirely different protocol.
On the IVF side of things, we learned several important things.
1) Frozen cycles are only about half the cost of fresh--maybe even less depending the meds my insurance will cover.
2) There are waaaaaaaay fewer injections. In fact, it appears as though there's only one med done by injection and everything else is pill or suppository. It just keeps getting better.
3) My success rates have not gone down even though I aged. Because we froze my eggs before I was 35, my success rates are calculated from the <35 category, meaning we're still above 50%. Also, we have an increased chance at success because we had a successful pregnancy from the same batch of embryos.
4) Although my doctor would like me to lose 10-15 pounds to increase my chance of success, I actually already weigh 8 pounds less than I did before the last procedure!
All of this was good news, which is to say, it all helped pile us more firmly into the "yes, let's have another" column. In addition, I got word last week that I got a promotion at work that not only came with a pay raise, but would be a career position that would not require my boss getting re-elected. Permanency and pay raise also significantly favor the "yes" column.
Figuring out that we were both leaning fairly heavily toward "yes," the next question was when to do the procedure. After all, since we get to plan this thing, we might as well make it as convenient for ourselves as possible. Now, my "charge ahead first, ask questions later" personality said to go for it as soon as we could. After all, there's nothing more frustrating to me than having made a decision, but not being able to move forward or do anything toward that decision. Still, as we started talking about what certain procedure months would mean in terms of where vacations would fall, how much leave I would have saved up, when the baby would be due, when it would no longer be feasible to travel, and other similar considerations, we realized that waiting was better. The further we pushed it out, the more leave I would have. Plus, we would be able to visit family for holidays and go on a trip next summer that we've had to skip the last two years. Waiting would also give me a chance to lose a little weight and develop some healthy eating habits. My goal is to stick closely to a modified diabetic diet in an effort to prevent getting gestational diabetes again. That way, even if I do get it, it won't require me to make too many changes in my diet at that point.
Still, I didn't want to push it too far out. I really want my kids to have unique, separate birthdays. Therefore, February was the furthest out I was willing to put the procedure given that Lil' Bit was an early March procedure. Although, February would be a late October baby and that was really longer than I wanted to wait to move forward and the kids would have birthdays closer together than I wanted, I couldn't fight the seductive list of things we would be able to do if we waited.
Ultimately, the tipping point came when I realized that we were going back to the cardiologist in October to discuss our long term care plan for Lil' Bit with her VSD and missing pulmonary artery. By waiting until after that visit, we should have a much better sense of the type of care Lil' Bit will need in the future. That way, if it seems like she will need to have lots of surgeries, it may be worth it to save our leave time and money to properly care for her. Also, I want to make sure any subsequent children will receive adequate time and attention from us, rather than always coming second because of the time and energy it takes to care for Lil' Bit. My guess, given that she's asymptomatic at this point, is that she won't need much specialized care--just a lot of monitoring. Still, since we have the ability to schedule when and if we have another child, it makes sense to wait so we can factor this information in.
Oh, and as for multiples and possible failure, we have decided to have roughly the same attitude we did with our first IVF. We'll get what we're supposed to have. If it's none, it's none. If it's one, it's one. And, God help us, if it's two, it's two.
So, there you have it. Barring any bad news this October about Lil' Bit's healthcare, the plan is to reserve a spot for a February procedure, making for an October 2012 baby (or babies!). More gruel(ing labor) anyone?
Last week, we went back to the fertility center and met with the doctor to discuss what doing another IVF cycle would entail. (By the way, did we ever mention that the doc looks like Stephen Colbert? We just kept waiting for him to hold out his hand and say, "Nation..."! But I digress.) Part of the need for discussion was based on the fact that this cycle would be frozen instead of fresh, so there is an entirely different protocol.
On the IVF side of things, we learned several important things.
1) Frozen cycles are only about half the cost of fresh--maybe even less depending the meds my insurance will cover.
2) There are waaaaaaaay fewer injections. In fact, it appears as though there's only one med done by injection and everything else is pill or suppository. It just keeps getting better.
3) My success rates have not gone down even though I aged. Because we froze my eggs before I was 35, my success rates are calculated from the <35 category, meaning we're still above 50%. Also, we have an increased chance at success because we had a successful pregnancy from the same batch of embryos.
4) Although my doctor would like me to lose 10-15 pounds to increase my chance of success, I actually already weigh 8 pounds less than I did before the last procedure!
All of this was good news, which is to say, it all helped pile us more firmly into the "yes, let's have another" column. In addition, I got word last week that I got a promotion at work that not only came with a pay raise, but would be a career position that would not require my boss getting re-elected. Permanency and pay raise also significantly favor the "yes" column.
Figuring out that we were both leaning fairly heavily toward "yes," the next question was when to do the procedure. After all, since we get to plan this thing, we might as well make it as convenient for ourselves as possible. Now, my "charge ahead first, ask questions later" personality said to go for it as soon as we could. After all, there's nothing more frustrating to me than having made a decision, but not being able to move forward or do anything toward that decision. Still, as we started talking about what certain procedure months would mean in terms of where vacations would fall, how much leave I would have saved up, when the baby would be due, when it would no longer be feasible to travel, and other similar considerations, we realized that waiting was better. The further we pushed it out, the more leave I would have. Plus, we would be able to visit family for holidays and go on a trip next summer that we've had to skip the last two years. Waiting would also give me a chance to lose a little weight and develop some healthy eating habits. My goal is to stick closely to a modified diabetic diet in an effort to prevent getting gestational diabetes again. That way, even if I do get it, it won't require me to make too many changes in my diet at that point.
Still, I didn't want to push it too far out. I really want my kids to have unique, separate birthdays. Therefore, February was the furthest out I was willing to put the procedure given that Lil' Bit was an early March procedure. Although, February would be a late October baby and that was really longer than I wanted to wait to move forward and the kids would have birthdays closer together than I wanted, I couldn't fight the seductive list of things we would be able to do if we waited.
Ultimately, the tipping point came when I realized that we were going back to the cardiologist in October to discuss our long term care plan for Lil' Bit with her VSD and missing pulmonary artery. By waiting until after that visit, we should have a much better sense of the type of care Lil' Bit will need in the future. That way, if it seems like she will need to have lots of surgeries, it may be worth it to save our leave time and money to properly care for her. Also, I want to make sure any subsequent children will receive adequate time and attention from us, rather than always coming second because of the time and energy it takes to care for Lil' Bit. My guess, given that she's asymptomatic at this point, is that she won't need much specialized care--just a lot of monitoring. Still, since we have the ability to schedule when and if we have another child, it makes sense to wait so we can factor this information in.
Oh, and as for multiples and possible failure, we have decided to have roughly the same attitude we did with our first IVF. We'll get what we're supposed to have. If it's none, it's none. If it's one, it's one. And, God help us, if it's two, it's two.
So, there you have it. Barring any bad news this October about Lil' Bit's healthcare, the plan is to reserve a spot for a February procedure, making for an October 2012 baby (or babies!). More gruel(ing labor) anyone?
8.16.2011
Lessons from Alaska
As some of you know, we just returned from a two week trip to Alaska to celebrate Phil's parents' 50th wedding anniversary. The trip was positively amazing and Alaska was beautiful. We saw, among other things, whales, orcas, Dall's sheep, caribou, moose, bald eagles, sea lions, salmon swimming upstream, glaciers calving, rainforests where the ground was totally covered with ferns, and days with almost 24 hours of sunlight. The trip also taught me a few things:
1) I would not have made a good stay-at-home mother. After two weeks of being an always-on parent, I am so ready to return Lil' Bit to her child care provider and head back off to work. Don't get me wrong. I loved spending time with her and watching her grow (she crawled for the first time on the trip!). But, I would not be a good stay-at-home parent. I would lose my s**t faster than a man about to be hit by a freight train. I give props to all those parents who manage it. You have special skills that I do not possess. You are amazing. Me, not so much. I'm going back to the work world to regain my sanity.
2) I sacrifice my comfort for others. Lil' Bit did amazing on this trip all told. In fact, I've never heard so many people tell me how well-behaved my child is. Of course, these were not the people who slept in the rooms next to us at various points along the way. So, in an effort to reduce the screaming, I gave in and let Lil' Bit sleep with me several nights. We also rocked her to sleep in our arms for most naps and bedtime. Combined with the fact that we were all sleeping in the same room for two weeks, and the fact that we shot Lil' Bit's schedule to hell, and you have a nightmare to break her of all these bad habits on our return. There has been a great deal of screaming and crying--on everybody's part--to get things back to some semblance of order. I'm actually hoping that getting her back to the childcare provider will help bring back some sense of order. But, I digress. The lesson I learned was, I was willing to have Lil' Bit learn bad habits on the trip and then spend my time and energy breaking her of them on our return in an effort to reduce the screaming that would disrupt others' vacations.
3) Vacations with children require additional vacation time to recover from. I remember those quaint days back before we had children and I used to joke that I needed a vacation to recover from my vacation. Yeah. Well, with kids, that is even more true. Hauling around extra luggage, doing tons of laundry on the return, stressing out about how many people are bothered by the fussing and whether the kid will be a good traveler, whether I am making enough of an effort to quiet my child to not be seen as a delinquent parent, making sure not to leave anything important behind, etc, etc. I loved the trip. It was amazing and wonderful and I would do it again. But I would not call it a vacation.
4) There are many beautiful places in the world that I will never live; Alaska is one of them. July and August are positively beautiful months to visit. But, I saw and heard more than enough to know that this is not the place for someone who hates snow. Heck, I still can't believe people live in the UP, let alone that whole country of people north of that (Canada, I'm talking about you). We heard stories from all kinds of people who apparently went to visit Alaska and just decided to stay. I think it is fairly safe to say that I will not be one of those people--especially after learning that a single container of Oreos cost $7 and all the fixin's on a Subway sandwich aren't free!
5) I have great in-laws. I spent two weeks with my in-laws and had a wonderful time. We traveled together, ate together, told stories, played with each others kids, and had a fabulous time. I am so lucky to have two families--that of my origin and that which I married into--where I can be me and have a great time.
6) Cruiseship personnel love babies. Everywhere we went on the ship, people called out to our baby by name. Walk into the restaurant for dinner at night and it was like a receiving line as three or four people, from the hostess to the head waiter, would take a few seconds to smile and tickle Lil' Bit. Walking down the hall one day, we heard two women talking. One said, "Aww, that is the cutest baby." The other replied, "Oh, that's [Lil' Bit]." The photographers taking candid photos at dinner took one each of the adults, but three or four of her. She was the center of attention, she knew it, and she LOVED it. We are so screwed.
So, all in all, an amazing trip with good opportunities for personal growth, but I am glad to be home in my own bed.
1) I would not have made a good stay-at-home mother. After two weeks of being an always-on parent, I am so ready to return Lil' Bit to her child care provider and head back off to work. Don't get me wrong. I loved spending time with her and watching her grow (she crawled for the first time on the trip!). But, I would not be a good stay-at-home parent. I would lose my s**t faster than a man about to be hit by a freight train. I give props to all those parents who manage it. You have special skills that I do not possess. You are amazing. Me, not so much. I'm going back to the work world to regain my sanity.
2) I sacrifice my comfort for others. Lil' Bit did amazing on this trip all told. In fact, I've never heard so many people tell me how well-behaved my child is. Of course, these were not the people who slept in the rooms next to us at various points along the way. So, in an effort to reduce the screaming, I gave in and let Lil' Bit sleep with me several nights. We also rocked her to sleep in our arms for most naps and bedtime. Combined with the fact that we were all sleeping in the same room for two weeks, and the fact that we shot Lil' Bit's schedule to hell, and you have a nightmare to break her of all these bad habits on our return. There has been a great deal of screaming and crying--on everybody's part--to get things back to some semblance of order. I'm actually hoping that getting her back to the childcare provider will help bring back some sense of order. But, I digress. The lesson I learned was, I was willing to have Lil' Bit learn bad habits on the trip and then spend my time and energy breaking her of them on our return in an effort to reduce the screaming that would disrupt others' vacations.
3) Vacations with children require additional vacation time to recover from. I remember those quaint days back before we had children and I used to joke that I needed a vacation to recover from my vacation. Yeah. Well, with kids, that is even more true. Hauling around extra luggage, doing tons of laundry on the return, stressing out about how many people are bothered by the fussing and whether the kid will be a good traveler, whether I am making enough of an effort to quiet my child to not be seen as a delinquent parent, making sure not to leave anything important behind, etc, etc. I loved the trip. It was amazing and wonderful and I would do it again. But I would not call it a vacation.
4) There are many beautiful places in the world that I will never live; Alaska is one of them. July and August are positively beautiful months to visit. But, I saw and heard more than enough to know that this is not the place for someone who hates snow. Heck, I still can't believe people live in the UP, let alone that whole country of people north of that (Canada, I'm talking about you). We heard stories from all kinds of people who apparently went to visit Alaska and just decided to stay. I think it is fairly safe to say that I will not be one of those people--especially after learning that a single container of Oreos cost $7 and all the fixin's on a Subway sandwich aren't free!
5) I have great in-laws. I spent two weeks with my in-laws and had a wonderful time. We traveled together, ate together, told stories, played with each others kids, and had a fabulous time. I am so lucky to have two families--that of my origin and that which I married into--where I can be me and have a great time.
6) Cruiseship personnel love babies. Everywhere we went on the ship, people called out to our baby by name. Walk into the restaurant for dinner at night and it was like a receiving line as three or four people, from the hostess to the head waiter, would take a few seconds to smile and tickle Lil' Bit. Walking down the hall one day, we heard two women talking. One said, "Aww, that is the cutest baby." The other replied, "Oh, that's [Lil' Bit]." The photographers taking candid photos at dinner took one each of the adults, but three or four of her. She was the center of attention, she knew it, and she LOVED it. We are so screwed.
So, all in all, an amazing trip with good opportunities for personal growth, but I am glad to be home in my own bed.
8.14.2011
Choices
Growing up, my family did not call the food in the refrigerator "leftovers." Instead, we were having "choices" for dinner. You could choose to have anything that was available. It was a small, but useful mindtrick. It left us in control of what we were having for dinner. You got to choose. Now generally, I am a fan of choices. They are empowering. But there are times when it's difficult to make a choice because there are positives and negatives to either choice. And that, dear readers, is where I currently find myself.
Phil and I have begun discussions about whether to have another child. We have managed to do a good job laying out the pros and cons and letting each other know where we are on any given day. Even so, we waffle back and forth. I am having a particularly difficult time reconciling my emotional desire for another child with the rationalizations of whether I have the time/money/energy to raise another one (or two!). Times like these I wish we had the ability to "accidentally" get pregnant. It would make the decision much easier. It allows for that, "We'll try, and if it's meant to be, it'll happen" type of reasoning. Instead, we must look at financial balance sheets, consider whether and how to schedule procedures while taking care of Lil' Bit, and, ultimately, own that we are making a conscious, active decision one way or the other. Whatever the results, we chose them.
Yesterday, as I spent a few more hours wrestling with where I am, I realized that I was trying to figure out which decision would leave me without grief and that there was no such option. If I choose not to have another child, I have to grieve that loss. If I choose to have another child, I have to grieve the loss of the time/energy/money/freedom that I might otherwise have had. Then, there's the potential grief of deciding to have another child and the procedure not being successful. The simple fact is, no matter what decision I make, there will come a time in my future where I will wish I had made the other choice. There are times I would rather not have to choose, but, in the words of Rush, "If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice." Electing not to choose is the same as choosing not to have another child. So, not choosing really isn't a separate option.
Ultimately, neither decision will leave me totally fulfilled and neither decision will leave me without regret. Turns out that this was a rather freeing realization, because now I can remove grief and regret from the equation--it exists on both sides. This has not stopped the waffling, however. And I can tell I'm waffling because I have reverted back to my general position--when in doubt, seek out information. So, I have appointments with the fertility doctors and my obgyn; I have Googled and otherwise scoured the internet for tips and things to consider; and I have asked friends for advice. I am, however, about to reach the end of my information gathering and will have to make a choice.
In case you're wondering, at the moment, I'm leaning toward having another child--provided the doctors assure me it's a good idea. But, we'll have to wait and see what tomorrow brings.
Phil and I have begun discussions about whether to have another child. We have managed to do a good job laying out the pros and cons and letting each other know where we are on any given day. Even so, we waffle back and forth. I am having a particularly difficult time reconciling my emotional desire for another child with the rationalizations of whether I have the time/money/energy to raise another one (or two!). Times like these I wish we had the ability to "accidentally" get pregnant. It would make the decision much easier. It allows for that, "We'll try, and if it's meant to be, it'll happen" type of reasoning. Instead, we must look at financial balance sheets, consider whether and how to schedule procedures while taking care of Lil' Bit, and, ultimately, own that we are making a conscious, active decision one way or the other. Whatever the results, we chose them.
Yesterday, as I spent a few more hours wrestling with where I am, I realized that I was trying to figure out which decision would leave me without grief and that there was no such option. If I choose not to have another child, I have to grieve that loss. If I choose to have another child, I have to grieve the loss of the time/energy/money/freedom that I might otherwise have had. Then, there's the potential grief of deciding to have another child and the procedure not being successful. The simple fact is, no matter what decision I make, there will come a time in my future where I will wish I had made the other choice. There are times I would rather not have to choose, but, in the words of Rush, "If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice." Electing not to choose is the same as choosing not to have another child. So, not choosing really isn't a separate option.
Ultimately, neither decision will leave me totally fulfilled and neither decision will leave me without regret. Turns out that this was a rather freeing realization, because now I can remove grief and regret from the equation--it exists on both sides. This has not stopped the waffling, however. And I can tell I'm waffling because I have reverted back to my general position--when in doubt, seek out information. So, I have appointments with the fertility doctors and my obgyn; I have Googled and otherwise scoured the internet for tips and things to consider; and I have asked friends for advice. I am, however, about to reach the end of my information gathering and will have to make a choice.
In case you're wondering, at the moment, I'm leaning toward having another child--provided the doctors assure me it's a good idea. But, we'll have to wait and see what tomorrow brings.
7.27.2011
My Uppance Has Come
When I was younger, I had tantrums. I would scream and yell and kick with wild abandon. And, once I had gotten worked up, nothing could bring me down but time. My family just had to wait me out. When I would finally settle down enough, my mother would come in and rub my back to help calm me the rest of the way down. I remember two episodes specifically. One when I was around 6 or 7, and the other when I was about 9 or 10. I couldn't tell you now what I was upset about, but I remember vividly the tantrum.
In the first, my mom shut me in my room to let me scream it out and I tossed a plastic snow globe of mine at the door. It broke and water spilled, but it made a great "thunk" noise against the door and, in my mind, perfectly punctuated how mad I was. Once I was calm, however, I was sad and frustrated with myself that I had broken a snow globe that I really loved. It is the last time I remember breaking something in anger. The screaming fits took longer to stop, but, as far as I can remember, the throwing things ended there.
During the second, I was screaming at the top of my lungs. My mom made me sit on the steps in the garage and shut the door and told me I could not come out until I was done screaming. The rest of the family then moved to the other end of the house. I made sure they could still hear me. I actually remember trying to scream louder so that they would still be disturbed. The internal dialogue was something like, "Oh yeah? You think you can stop me just because you put me in the garage? Nuh uh!" But, as would always happen, I reached the point where I just didn't have the energy to scream anymore, or where my voice left me. Either way, once the screaming stopped, I could take a few breaths and, ultimately, calm myself down and return to world.
I don't remember when they finally stopped, but they eventually did. In retrospect, I remember them as having been rooted more in frustration than anything else, which would make sense, given that I was a budding control freak. No control? I freak.
Anyway, fast forward to now. I have been cursed by the old saying--may you have children just like you. I would appear that I have a child just like me. Lil' Bit had certainly showed tendencies of screaming fits when she was younger. However, in these past few weeks, as she has fought valiantly not to fall asleep, it has become clear that I am going to have to steel myself for some battles of will. Recently, she has been refusing to take afternoon naps, which results in her falling asleep too early at home, resulting in long nights. The other problem is that she comes home tired and begins screeching at the top of her lungs--the telltale sign of having passed the point when she will quietly lie down and fall asleep, so that getting her to bed will be tiring for everyone.
This evening, the screeching appeared as soon as she came home from daycare. I got her fed and into pajamas and attempted to set her down. She was having none of it. I let her scream for about 10 minutes and then came to check on her. She had stuck her arm between two slats and then turned away, torquing it. She could have easily removed it herself, but she was so worked up it that the twisted arm just further fueled her screaming. I settled her back in and left. After 10 more minutes of screaming, I decided I would try and rock her to sleep. I picked her up, held her, rubbed her back, sang to her, and did all the things I used to do before she learned to fall asleep on her own. Her eyes finally closed and her breathing got settled and slow. I set her into the crib and was about to walk out when her sleep sheep stopped making the rain noises. The sudden lack of sound caused her to wake up. She looked up at me and grinned as though waking up from a full night's sleep. Crud! (Not the word I used, but as I said it only internally, I'm safe). I took her into my room and showed her the storm and rain outside the window. I let her roll around on the bed while I folded laundry and then played with her a little while. About 10 minutes later, the screeching began again, as did the eye rubbing. I gave her three more minutes of mommy-snuggle time and hauled her back to her room, set her in the crib, did the "goodnight" routine again, and left. Again with the screaming. Only this time, she started doing the "I'm in pain" scream. I peered around the corner to make sure she was okay, but stayed out of her visual range so as not to encourage the screaming in case it was the rouse it turned out to be. She seemed fine, so I let her scream more. This time, fortunately, I didn't have to wait the whole 10 minutes. The tireds caught up with her and the screaming helped further wear her down. She is now, finally, asleep. Don't know for how long. Maybe we'll get nap length and maybe we'll get bedtime. Either way, what is now clear is that my daughter can give me a run for my money and will scream as long as she is capable of making noise. Worse, the screaming only gets her more worked up, making her scream more. There is no bringing her back. I have to wait her out. Just like my mom had to wait me out. My uppance, as they say, has finally come.
On the plus side, I am glad I recognize it for what it is. It makes it much easier to both understand and handle. Still, it wears me out.
In closing, I'd just like to take this opportunity to apologize to my mom for being such a pain. And Lil' Bit--if we manage to survive each other and you become a mom someday, may the curse be broken--may you be blessed with a child who is not nearly as stubborn as we are. I'm not sure the world can take it. Nevertheless, I love you, doodlebug--screams and all.
In the first, my mom shut me in my room to let me scream it out and I tossed a plastic snow globe of mine at the door. It broke and water spilled, but it made a great "thunk" noise against the door and, in my mind, perfectly punctuated how mad I was. Once I was calm, however, I was sad and frustrated with myself that I had broken a snow globe that I really loved. It is the last time I remember breaking something in anger. The screaming fits took longer to stop, but, as far as I can remember, the throwing things ended there.
During the second, I was screaming at the top of my lungs. My mom made me sit on the steps in the garage and shut the door and told me I could not come out until I was done screaming. The rest of the family then moved to the other end of the house. I made sure they could still hear me. I actually remember trying to scream louder so that they would still be disturbed. The internal dialogue was something like, "Oh yeah? You think you can stop me just because you put me in the garage? Nuh uh!" But, as would always happen, I reached the point where I just didn't have the energy to scream anymore, or where my voice left me. Either way, once the screaming stopped, I could take a few breaths and, ultimately, calm myself down and return to world.
I don't remember when they finally stopped, but they eventually did. In retrospect, I remember them as having been rooted more in frustration than anything else, which would make sense, given that I was a budding control freak. No control? I freak.
Anyway, fast forward to now. I have been cursed by the old saying--may you have children just like you. I would appear that I have a child just like me. Lil' Bit had certainly showed tendencies of screaming fits when she was younger. However, in these past few weeks, as she has fought valiantly not to fall asleep, it has become clear that I am going to have to steel myself for some battles of will. Recently, she has been refusing to take afternoon naps, which results in her falling asleep too early at home, resulting in long nights. The other problem is that she comes home tired and begins screeching at the top of her lungs--the telltale sign of having passed the point when she will quietly lie down and fall asleep, so that getting her to bed will be tiring for everyone.
This evening, the screeching appeared as soon as she came home from daycare. I got her fed and into pajamas and attempted to set her down. She was having none of it. I let her scream for about 10 minutes and then came to check on her. She had stuck her arm between two slats and then turned away, torquing it. She could have easily removed it herself, but she was so worked up it that the twisted arm just further fueled her screaming. I settled her back in and left. After 10 more minutes of screaming, I decided I would try and rock her to sleep. I picked her up, held her, rubbed her back, sang to her, and did all the things I used to do before she learned to fall asleep on her own. Her eyes finally closed and her breathing got settled and slow. I set her into the crib and was about to walk out when her sleep sheep stopped making the rain noises. The sudden lack of sound caused her to wake up. She looked up at me and grinned as though waking up from a full night's sleep. Crud! (Not the word I used, but as I said it only internally, I'm safe). I took her into my room and showed her the storm and rain outside the window. I let her roll around on the bed while I folded laundry and then played with her a little while. About 10 minutes later, the screeching began again, as did the eye rubbing. I gave her three more minutes of mommy-snuggle time and hauled her back to her room, set her in the crib, did the "goodnight" routine again, and left. Again with the screaming. Only this time, she started doing the "I'm in pain" scream. I peered around the corner to make sure she was okay, but stayed out of her visual range so as not to encourage the screaming in case it was the rouse it turned out to be. She seemed fine, so I let her scream more. This time, fortunately, I didn't have to wait the whole 10 minutes. The tireds caught up with her and the screaming helped further wear her down. She is now, finally, asleep. Don't know for how long. Maybe we'll get nap length and maybe we'll get bedtime. Either way, what is now clear is that my daughter can give me a run for my money and will scream as long as she is capable of making noise. Worse, the screaming only gets her more worked up, making her scream more. There is no bringing her back. I have to wait her out. Just like my mom had to wait me out. My uppance, as they say, has finally come.
On the plus side, I am glad I recognize it for what it is. It makes it much easier to both understand and handle. Still, it wears me out.
In closing, I'd just like to take this opportunity to apologize to my mom for being such a pain. And Lil' Bit--if we manage to survive each other and you become a mom someday, may the curse be broken--may you be blessed with a child who is not nearly as stubborn as we are. I'm not sure the world can take it. Nevertheless, I love you, doodlebug--screams and all.
7.18.2011
Riding the Roller Coaster
Although I haven't shared this on the blog yet, Lil' Bit has had some health issues. Beginning in April, she contracted RSV. This led to the discovery of a VSD (ventricular septal defect--a hole in the heart). Based on some difficulties they had when imaging her heart with the echocardiogram, they wanted to send her for a CT scan of her heart. She had that test a few weeks ago and we had heard nothing back. Today we received the results. It's not necessarily good news or bad news, but it was important news.
Turns out, the reason they couldn't find her left pulmonary artery is because she doesn't have one(!). Also, when they thought she had pneumonia and then thought maybe it was her thymus glad and other things, it turns out that her left lung is smaller than the right. So, they may well have been seeing the thymus glad, as opposed to her having pneumonia, as her lung may not go up that high. As a sidenote--it would make sense for that lung to be smaller since it is being fed by smaller arteries. The up side in all of this is that she doesn't show any symptoms of these issues causing any problems. She is growing, healthy, quite active, and developing normally. Her screaming attests to a wonderful lung capacity, as does all of her jumparoo time. She's working on crawling, can feed herself puffs she picks up with the "pincer grasp," babbling, and doing everything else either on or ahead of schedule. So, nothing really to worry about.
And yet, it's extremely hard not to freak out about it. We are doing our best. And I find myself repeating a new mantra--there is nothing I did or didn't do during pregnancy that caused this. As a recovering control freak, it is hard not to blame myself. But, along with accepting that Lil' Bit is doing fine, I am also accepting that this is just how she is.
Ironically, all of this information comes as we are discussing whether we want to try another round of IVF to have another child (or, given the increased incidence of twins, additional children). Just more information to add to the equation. Yay!
I am reminded, at times such as these, that I am still getting precisely what I asked for with children--opportunities to go with the flow and remember I am not in control. I am just along for the ride. And what a wild ride it has been and, apparently, will continue to be. Wheee!
Turns out, the reason they couldn't find her left pulmonary artery is because she doesn't have one(!). Also, when they thought she had pneumonia and then thought maybe it was her thymus glad and other things, it turns out that her left lung is smaller than the right. So, they may well have been seeing the thymus glad, as opposed to her having pneumonia, as her lung may not go up that high. As a sidenote--it would make sense for that lung to be smaller since it is being fed by smaller arteries. The up side in all of this is that she doesn't show any symptoms of these issues causing any problems. She is growing, healthy, quite active, and developing normally. Her screaming attests to a wonderful lung capacity, as does all of her jumparoo time. She's working on crawling, can feed herself puffs she picks up with the "pincer grasp," babbling, and doing everything else either on or ahead of schedule. So, nothing really to worry about.
And yet, it's extremely hard not to freak out about it. We are doing our best. And I find myself repeating a new mantra--there is nothing I did or didn't do during pregnancy that caused this. As a recovering control freak, it is hard not to blame myself. But, along with accepting that Lil' Bit is doing fine, I am also accepting that this is just how she is.
Ironically, all of this information comes as we are discussing whether we want to try another round of IVF to have another child (or, given the increased incidence of twins, additional children). Just more information to add to the equation. Yay!
I am reminded, at times such as these, that I am still getting precisely what I asked for with children--opportunities to go with the flow and remember I am not in control. I am just along for the ride. And what a wild ride it has been and, apparently, will continue to be. Wheee!
6.18.2011
Being Human
I am a creature of habit. I love routine. I can eat the same foods every day for weeks on end without getting tired of them. I have no doubt that one of the comforts of a schedule is my ability to feel in control. So, it comes as no surprise that, as Lil' Bit gets older and begins to establish something of a routine, I began to feel more comfortable as a mom. Phil and I have also done fairly well at making sure we each get some time to ourselves for relaxation or catching up on sleep.
However, I have discovered one giant snag in all of our well-laid plans. Phil's job. See, back when it was just the two of us, although it was inconvenient for him to be called away for church stuff or a fire page, it was no big deal. I had things I go do, people I could visit, naps I could take, etc. It may have crimped our plans on an occasion, or four, but I knew what I was getting into when I married him (with the exception of the fire chaplaincy thing), so I managed to take it all in stride. Now that Lil' Bit is here, I find myself reacting much worse. See, today was supposed to be my day to sleep in. Phil has a busy weekend full of church things, but we had carved out a few hours for me to get some stuff done. All that ended with the 3:00 a.m. phone call. Phil was needed. Did I understand? Yes. Not just because it is Phil's job, but because our parishioners are more than that, they are our friends, and I want to be able to help when my friends hurt. I love that Phil has the ability to be with people and comfort them. It is a gift, and one that is worth sharing.
I am, nevertheless, human. I'm going to let you in on a secret. Neither pastors, nor their spouses, are anything close to perfect. They have the same problems and feelings you do. Thus, I get angry and resent that my alone time is gone. I am frustrated that I now have to figure out how to juggle our morning routine by myself. I recognize that this is not the first or last time that this will happen, and it's not as though it's some giant surprise. Phil's job has always been this way. It's just that I find myself wishing, on occasion, that my husband worked a job with "regular" hours. One that didn't involve late meetings multiple days of the week, or being on-call, or always working on weekends, thereby preventing quick weekend getaways. There are many, many days when I feel like a single parent. Coming home after a day at work, picking up Lil' Bit, feeding her, trying to cram down food for myself at the same time, giving her a bath, a little playtime, and getting her to bed, all (hopefully) in time to pump and head to bed myself. It is in these glimpses of single-parenthood that I am grateful that I have a spouse who can and does help me. I just find myself wishing he could help me more. But, things are what they are. We get by. We make do. We adapt. And through it all, I learn that I am a stronger, more capable person that I previously thought. And the truth is, on many other occasions, I wouldn't change Phil's job for anything. I love the community and the support it provides. It is a blessing in so many ways.
But I am human. And no matter how rational I can be about all of this, I will, in all likelihood, still get angry or feel resentful at times. The trick, I think, is to own it for what it is-grief over my lack of control-honor it, and get on with living life the way it actually is. After all, I expect Lil' Bit to roll with the curves I toss into her schedule. Why should I be unwilling to do the same?
However, I have discovered one giant snag in all of our well-laid plans. Phil's job. See, back when it was just the two of us, although it was inconvenient for him to be called away for church stuff or a fire page, it was no big deal. I had things I go do, people I could visit, naps I could take, etc. It may have crimped our plans on an occasion, or four, but I knew what I was getting into when I married him (with the exception of the fire chaplaincy thing), so I managed to take it all in stride. Now that Lil' Bit is here, I find myself reacting much worse. See, today was supposed to be my day to sleep in. Phil has a busy weekend full of church things, but we had carved out a few hours for me to get some stuff done. All that ended with the 3:00 a.m. phone call. Phil was needed. Did I understand? Yes. Not just because it is Phil's job, but because our parishioners are more than that, they are our friends, and I want to be able to help when my friends hurt. I love that Phil has the ability to be with people and comfort them. It is a gift, and one that is worth sharing.
I am, nevertheless, human. I'm going to let you in on a secret. Neither pastors, nor their spouses, are anything close to perfect. They have the same problems and feelings you do. Thus, I get angry and resent that my alone time is gone. I am frustrated that I now have to figure out how to juggle our morning routine by myself. I recognize that this is not the first or last time that this will happen, and it's not as though it's some giant surprise. Phil's job has always been this way. It's just that I find myself wishing, on occasion, that my husband worked a job with "regular" hours. One that didn't involve late meetings multiple days of the week, or being on-call, or always working on weekends, thereby preventing quick weekend getaways. There are many, many days when I feel like a single parent. Coming home after a day at work, picking up Lil' Bit, feeding her, trying to cram down food for myself at the same time, giving her a bath, a little playtime, and getting her to bed, all (hopefully) in time to pump and head to bed myself. It is in these glimpses of single-parenthood that I am grateful that I have a spouse who can and does help me. I just find myself wishing he could help me more. But, things are what they are. We get by. We make do. We adapt. And through it all, I learn that I am a stronger, more capable person that I previously thought. And the truth is, on many other occasions, I wouldn't change Phil's job for anything. I love the community and the support it provides. It is a blessing in so many ways.
But I am human. And no matter how rational I can be about all of this, I will, in all likelihood, still get angry or feel resentful at times. The trick, I think, is to own it for what it is-grief over my lack of control-honor it, and get on with living life the way it actually is. After all, I expect Lil' Bit to roll with the curves I toss into her schedule. Why should I be unwilling to do the same?
5.24.2011
Fighting My Nature
As some of you know, I'm a fairly competitive person. My parents tell me that when I was born, I saw that there were two ahead of me and I needed to catch up, so I was forever doing things well before I was "supposed to." If people told me I couldn't do something, I would do it just to prove them wrong. But, only if it was something I wanted to do. If it held no interest for me, I could not be tricked into doing it by being told I couldn't. When we moved from Texas to Indianapolis, I was told that I could not be placed in their gifted and talented program, even though I had been in all my schools before, because they didn't know if they were the same. So, I made it my mission to see how many of the people who were in the program I could graduate ahead of by the time I was out of high school. (It turned out to be most of them). When I was in law school, I don't remember what ticked me off, but I made it my mission to graduate ahead of this one girl--I called her my nemesis. I graduated third--4 people ahead of her. The funniest example of my competitive nature is when my family came down to Texas for Phil's ordination. My sister and I managed to create competitive yoga by trying to out yoga the other person, but in a subtle way. Oh, she can stretch that far? Well, I'll stretch just a little farther. Needless to say, we were both sore the next day.
All of this is simply background to help you understand my most recent challenge in raising Lil' Bit. I had heard about parents being competitive--My Johnny can already roll over. Oh yea? My Sally is almost walking. Well, Johnny has 3 teeth. Well, Sally has 4. Etc. etc. etc. I thought this was all rather silly. Everyone know that kids develop at their own time, on their own schedule. As long as they are developing appropriately, what's the use in being competitive about it? I was sure I was not going to be one of those moms. Little did I know that my inner competitor was going to try and sabotage me.
See, apparently Lil' Bit was born during the "busy season" last year. I have three friends, all of them also first-time moms, who all gave birth around the same time I did, with kids Pippa (10 days older), Toby (2 days older), and Jack (12 days younger) [These are all fake names because I don't think it's fair to share their names when I haven't shared Lil' Bit's]. Color me surprised when I discovered that, as their 2-month check-ups rolled around, I was all worked up that they all weighed more than Lil' Bit, but was pleased that Lil' Bit was taller. Seriously? Taller? Yes, I was excited about taller. Then Pippa got 2 teeth. And Toby got 3. Alas, Lil' Bit remained toothless. Then Pippa could roll over. Then Toby could rollover. Lil' Bit showed little interest in rolling over. The other day, I saw that Jack could sit up. Lil' Bit is still working on that, but still falls over a lot. I find myself having to continually remind myself that it is not a race. Lil' Bit is progressing nicely. She now has 2 teeth coming in and can roll over both directions. She's JUST FINE. Still, I find myself having to tell myself in my head all the time--it's not a race. It's not a competition. She's doing JUST FINE. On the plus side, however, except for my admissions here on the blog, I have managed not to play the competition game out loud. I have managed to keep my thoughts, concerns, or "wins" to myself. And hopefully, I can kick myself of this habit before they all start talking. Oh, who am I kidding. I'll be lucky to have kicked it by the time she's done with grad school. :) Still, it's just another reminder that I got exactly what I asked for--a growth and learning experience.
All of this is simply background to help you understand my most recent challenge in raising Lil' Bit. I had heard about parents being competitive--My Johnny can already roll over. Oh yea? My Sally is almost walking. Well, Johnny has 3 teeth. Well, Sally has 4. Etc. etc. etc. I thought this was all rather silly. Everyone know that kids develop at their own time, on their own schedule. As long as they are developing appropriately, what's the use in being competitive about it? I was sure I was not going to be one of those moms. Little did I know that my inner competitor was going to try and sabotage me.
See, apparently Lil' Bit was born during the "busy season" last year. I have three friends, all of them also first-time moms, who all gave birth around the same time I did, with kids Pippa (10 days older), Toby (2 days older), and Jack (12 days younger) [These are all fake names because I don't think it's fair to share their names when I haven't shared Lil' Bit's]. Color me surprised when I discovered that, as their 2-month check-ups rolled around, I was all worked up that they all weighed more than Lil' Bit, but was pleased that Lil' Bit was taller. Seriously? Taller? Yes, I was excited about taller. Then Pippa got 2 teeth. And Toby got 3. Alas, Lil' Bit remained toothless. Then Pippa could roll over. Then Toby could rollover. Lil' Bit showed little interest in rolling over. The other day, I saw that Jack could sit up. Lil' Bit is still working on that, but still falls over a lot. I find myself having to continually remind myself that it is not a race. Lil' Bit is progressing nicely. She now has 2 teeth coming in and can roll over both directions. She's JUST FINE. Still, I find myself having to tell myself in my head all the time--it's not a race. It's not a competition. She's doing JUST FINE. On the plus side, however, except for my admissions here on the blog, I have managed not to play the competition game out loud. I have managed to keep my thoughts, concerns, or "wins" to myself. And hopefully, I can kick myself of this habit before they all start talking. Oh, who am I kidding. I'll be lucky to have kicked it by the time she's done with grad school. :) Still, it's just another reminder that I got exactly what I asked for--a growth and learning experience.
2.21.2011
Parental Hypocrisy
My calendar notification reminded me that I'm going to the dentist this week. This reminded me that I had not been brushing as often as I should, and so I have been trying to make up for 6 months or so of poor habits in a few weeks in an effort to keep the dentist from knowing I have been bad. I'm sure everyone does it, and that it never fools them, but it doesn't change the behavior.
Since Lil' Bit has started drooling copious amounts and getting a little fussy, the question of whether she has begun teething has come up. This got me to thinking about the need to teach her good brushing habits. Indeed, as parents, we want our children to develop the best habits they can and we endeavor to teach those habits to them. Whether it's not lying, eating vegetables, good personal hygiene, exercising, not watching too much television, reading, doing homework, doing chores/cleaning house, getting along with others, or myriad other things, we yearn for our children to "do the right thing." Yet, it's difficult to teach them these lessons when we don't do these things ourselves.
With children, the requirement to "Do as I say, not as I do" rarely seems to work. They are, by their very nature, imitators. They do what they see. They also recognize hypocrisy--even if they don't know that's what it's called. As the child in my family who as obsessed with fairness, and would shout "n't fair" at the slightest hint of injustice, I have no doubt that Lil' Bit will recognize when I am asking her to do something I am not requiring of myself. So, since I know I am not currently modeling good behaviors, I figure now is the time to try and get into a routine and do better with them before I have my parental hypocrisy pointed out to me. And, since I clearly haven't been willing to make these changes for myself up to this point, perhaps I can do it for Lil' Bit.
Since Lil' Bit has started drooling copious amounts and getting a little fussy, the question of whether she has begun teething has come up. This got me to thinking about the need to teach her good brushing habits. Indeed, as parents, we want our children to develop the best habits they can and we endeavor to teach those habits to them. Whether it's not lying, eating vegetables, good personal hygiene, exercising, not watching too much television, reading, doing homework, doing chores/cleaning house, getting along with others, or myriad other things, we yearn for our children to "do the right thing." Yet, it's difficult to teach them these lessons when we don't do these things ourselves.
With children, the requirement to "Do as I say, not as I do" rarely seems to work. They are, by their very nature, imitators. They do what they see. They also recognize hypocrisy--even if they don't know that's what it's called. As the child in my family who as obsessed with fairness, and would shout "n't fair" at the slightest hint of injustice, I have no doubt that Lil' Bit will recognize when I am asking her to do something I am not requiring of myself. So, since I know I am not currently modeling good behaviors, I figure now is the time to try and get into a routine and do better with them before I have my parental hypocrisy pointed out to me. And, since I clearly haven't been willing to make these changes for myself up to this point, perhaps I can do it for Lil' Bit.
2.20.2011
Regarding Orchids
My dad has an amazing gift with plants and my mom is pretty great with them, too. My house growing up was filled with all types of flora. Sadly, I did not inherit this gift. I used to hate when they would leave me alone for a few days and I had to water them all. It was a complicated schedule with different things needing to be watered at different times, and some got plant food and some didn't. I never killed anything, but I probably got close. Needless to say, I never acquired many plants of my own. But that didn't mean people didn't give them to me. The few plants I did receive often died early on, as I forgot to water them. Those that lasted more than a month were those that could survive a desert climate--days or weeks without watering, followed by tons of overwatering based on guilt for previously forgetting and concern about when the forgetting would happen again.
And so it was with trepidation that I accepted my friend Maria's birthday present four years ago-a phalaenopsis orchid. I had admired her collection of them and so she gave me one of my own. It was beautiful, but I was certain I would kill it. After all, as I understood it, orchids are difficult plants to grow. Maria assured me that I could do it and, surprisingly, I managed to get it to bloom a second time before the year was over. That seemed to be the end of my success. Even though it grew new leaves and appeared healthy, it didn't bloom again. I was disappointed at the lack of flowers, but hey, at least it was still green and growing. That was something. So, I let myself be content with the knowledge I hadn't killed it. Then, something odd happened. It sprouted a keiki--another orchid plant. Apparently, I couldn't make it happy enough to flower, but I could make it happy enough to reproduce. In fact, over the years, it has sprouted 3 new orchids.
As excited as I was that I had managed to do better than simply not kill the plant, I was not a fan of this whole reproduction thing. I was now the proud owner of four non-flowering plants that I had to manage not to kill--it had been hard work simply not killing one. I actually started to get irritated with the plant when I would see it was making another keiki. I gave one away to my dad, but I still had three. In an effort to try and force the plant to flower, I didn't remove the last keiki from the original orchid's growing stem. My reasoning was that at least it couldn't make another one while one was still attached.
Well, color me startled when something odd starting growing out of the keiki. Not another plant!, I shouted internally. No, actually, it was a growing stem. My first! Not only that, it started to make buds! And this week, of all the crazy things, the keiki bloomed! So far only one of the two blooms has opened, but that by itself is crazy good. I think I can now retire my title as plant-killer. Yay!
So, what does all of this have to do with children--i.e., why is this story in my blog? I realized that I can care and nurture living things that are known to be difficult. And, although I don't necessarily do things the way anyone else would, it doesn't mean I'm not doing a good job or that I won't be successful. Finally, it's a reminder to take pleasure in small, unexpected things. So, whether it's orchids, or babies, or something else entirely, I am working on remembering that I can learn new things, accomplish new achievements, and enjoy small victories. And, hopefully, it's a lesson I can pass on to Lil' Bit.
And so it was with trepidation that I accepted my friend Maria's birthday present four years ago-a phalaenopsis orchid. I had admired her collection of them and so she gave me one of my own. It was beautiful, but I was certain I would kill it. After all, as I understood it, orchids are difficult plants to grow. Maria assured me that I could do it and, surprisingly, I managed to get it to bloom a second time before the year was over. That seemed to be the end of my success. Even though it grew new leaves and appeared healthy, it didn't bloom again. I was disappointed at the lack of flowers, but hey, at least it was still green and growing. That was something. So, I let myself be content with the knowledge I hadn't killed it. Then, something odd happened. It sprouted a keiki--another orchid plant. Apparently, I couldn't make it happy enough to flower, but I could make it happy enough to reproduce. In fact, over the years, it has sprouted 3 new orchids.
As excited as I was that I had managed to do better than simply not kill the plant, I was not a fan of this whole reproduction thing. I was now the proud owner of four non-flowering plants that I had to manage not to kill--it had been hard work simply not killing one. I actually started to get irritated with the plant when I would see it was making another keiki. I gave one away to my dad, but I still had three. In an effort to try and force the plant to flower, I didn't remove the last keiki from the original orchid's growing stem. My reasoning was that at least it couldn't make another one while one was still attached.
Well, color me startled when something odd starting growing out of the keiki. Not another plant!, I shouted internally. No, actually, it was a growing stem. My first! Not only that, it started to make buds! And this week, of all the crazy things, the keiki bloomed! So far only one of the two blooms has opened, but that by itself is crazy good. I think I can now retire my title as plant-killer. Yay!So, what does all of this have to do with children--i.e., why is this story in my blog? I realized that I can care and nurture living things that are known to be difficult. And, although I don't necessarily do things the way anyone else would, it doesn't mean I'm not doing a good job or that I won't be successful. Finally, it's a reminder to take pleasure in small, unexpected things. So, whether it's orchids, or babies, or something else entirely, I am working on remembering that I can learn new things, accomplish new achievements, and enjoy small victories. And, hopefully, it's a lesson I can pass on to Lil' Bit.
2.04.2011
Relationship Math or How 1+1+1=7
Yesterday was a particularly good day. What made the day so wonderful, is that all 7 of our family relationships were fed. But aren't there only 3 members to my family? Yes. Then, how do I get seven relationships with 3 people? It starts with the idea that 1+1=3. In any relationship between two people, there are actually three entities that must be fed and sustained--each of the two individuals and the unified relationship itself. Depending on the type of relationship between the two people, it may need lots of time and energy, or very little, but it will always require some of both. This fuzzy math is best visualized by the unity candle. Often, the families of the couple light to two smaller candles as a recognition of the families helping create the individual. Then, the two individuals light a third candle, representing their new partnership. Note, however, that the two individual candles remain lit. This is because each individual must remain and sustain him or herself, in addition, to feeding the partnership relationship.
What's interesting about relationship math is that it is exponential in its growth, so that the addition of a child to a family creates 7 relationships to be sustained. You still have the 3 relationships from before, but now you add 4 more-your child's individual identity, each parent's relationship with the child, and the family unit. Each additional child adds even more relationships as each child must now develop a relationship with each sibling and the children themselves form a unit separate from the parents. That's what makes time management so important. We must carve out time for ourselves as individuals, time for the parents as a couple, and time for the family as a whole, all while giving each child enough parent time to strengthen those relationships as well as build the child's ability to support him or herself as they grow older.
This is no small task. As parents, we tend to do a good job with our individual relationships with the child as well as the family unit relationship. We also work hard on helping our children cultivate their own identity, although success in this area is often mixed. Most of us struggle to find time to rejuvenate ourselves, although we may catch small moments with haircuts, massages, reading a book, or just having a quiet cup of tea before the rest of the house wakes up. The relationship that often gets forgotten is the parents' relationship. We tell ourselves that, as adults, we know that the child needs more of our time and that our partner will understand. And this is true, to a degree. However, at some point, you must put energy back into that relationship or it will die.
It also does no good to put energy into that relationship, or any of the others, and forget self-care. The failure to nurture one's self can lead to an over investment in the child or partner. Thus, the parent who puts all of their energy into the child can lose not only their partner, but him or herself. This is because over investment in a child often results in the creation of a fused identity with that child, making it difficult for the child to find and create a unique identity because the parent is too invested in each and every decision the child makes--indeed, the parent's own identity depends upon it. Thus, the failure to create the time for self-care results in a weakening of the relationships with the other members of your family. By depriving yourself, you deprive your spouse and child(ren), as well. A prolonged failure in this regard can result in a complete breakdown of the relationship.
Don't get me wrong. As a parent of a 2 1/2 month old, I am well acquainted with self-sacrifice and the role it plays in parenting. I don't have even remotely as much time for self-care as I used to and remembering I am wife as well as mommy can be pretty difficult. Nevertheless, there are ways to make sure we get the time we need, for ourselves and our partners, so that all of the family relationships remain strong and nurtured. For example, when one parent needs time for self-care, the other parent can spend that time building their relationship with the child--two relationships are strengthened at the same time. Taking a family vacation to a place one or both of partners love or always wanted to go can fill up the individual as well as promoting the family unit. Utilizing friends and family to watch the children in order to take a date night, or just a quiet evening at home can help the partnership relationship as well as provide opportunities for the child to learn more about herself by being away from the parents.
Truth be told, one of the things I love about letting Lil' Bit hang out with other people (friends, relatives, etc.) is that I learn a lot more things I can do as a parent to comfort or entertain her. Whether it's ways to make her burp, how to sooth her when she cries, or remembering that as she gets older, things she wasn't interested in before may have become fun, new and exciting playthings, I have learned so much from watching other parents care for Lil' Bit because they do things differently. These experiences also make me more appreciative of my time with her. When I've had her all day with no breaks, the minute Phil walks in the door, I am ready to hand her over. But, if I've left to run errands or, say, shovel 15 inches of snow off the sidewalk, when I get back inside the house, I am ready to hold and snuggle my daughter and have a lot more love and energy to offer her. My self-care rejuvenates me. That little bit of energy given to my self, recharges me and grows exponentially, giving me an abundance of love and energy that I can give to Lil' Bit.
So, getting back to yesterday, here's why it was such a great day. Morning playtime was family unit time (1). Phil got some self-care time while I cared for Lil' Bit, which also provided me with mommy time (2 & 3). I got self-care time when Gramma Pam and then Phil watched Lil' Bit so I could go to the salon, and Phil got daddy time (4 & 5). Lil' Bit's godparents took her overnight, so Phil and I got to have partnership time by having a date night (6). And finally, Lil' Bit got individual identity time by getting cared for by seven different adults, each of whom interacted with and supported her differently (7). And so it was, that we managed to feed and nourish all 7 of our family relationships. Not too shabby for a Thursday.
What's interesting about relationship math is that it is exponential in its growth, so that the addition of a child to a family creates 7 relationships to be sustained. You still have the 3 relationships from before, but now you add 4 more-your child's individual identity, each parent's relationship with the child, and the family unit. Each additional child adds even more relationships as each child must now develop a relationship with each sibling and the children themselves form a unit separate from the parents. That's what makes time management so important. We must carve out time for ourselves as individuals, time for the parents as a couple, and time for the family as a whole, all while giving each child enough parent time to strengthen those relationships as well as build the child's ability to support him or herself as they grow older.
This is no small task. As parents, we tend to do a good job with our individual relationships with the child as well as the family unit relationship. We also work hard on helping our children cultivate their own identity, although success in this area is often mixed. Most of us struggle to find time to rejuvenate ourselves, although we may catch small moments with haircuts, massages, reading a book, or just having a quiet cup of tea before the rest of the house wakes up. The relationship that often gets forgotten is the parents' relationship. We tell ourselves that, as adults, we know that the child needs more of our time and that our partner will understand. And this is true, to a degree. However, at some point, you must put energy back into that relationship or it will die.
It also does no good to put energy into that relationship, or any of the others, and forget self-care. The failure to nurture one's self can lead to an over investment in the child or partner. Thus, the parent who puts all of their energy into the child can lose not only their partner, but him or herself. This is because over investment in a child often results in the creation of a fused identity with that child, making it difficult for the child to find and create a unique identity because the parent is too invested in each and every decision the child makes--indeed, the parent's own identity depends upon it. Thus, the failure to create the time for self-care results in a weakening of the relationships with the other members of your family. By depriving yourself, you deprive your spouse and child(ren), as well. A prolonged failure in this regard can result in a complete breakdown of the relationship.
Don't get me wrong. As a parent of a 2 1/2 month old, I am well acquainted with self-sacrifice and the role it plays in parenting. I don't have even remotely as much time for self-care as I used to and remembering I am wife as well as mommy can be pretty difficult. Nevertheless, there are ways to make sure we get the time we need, for ourselves and our partners, so that all of the family relationships remain strong and nurtured. For example, when one parent needs time for self-care, the other parent can spend that time building their relationship with the child--two relationships are strengthened at the same time. Taking a family vacation to a place one or both of partners love or always wanted to go can fill up the individual as well as promoting the family unit. Utilizing friends and family to watch the children in order to take a date night, or just a quiet evening at home can help the partnership relationship as well as provide opportunities for the child to learn more about herself by being away from the parents.
Truth be told, one of the things I love about letting Lil' Bit hang out with other people (friends, relatives, etc.) is that I learn a lot more things I can do as a parent to comfort or entertain her. Whether it's ways to make her burp, how to sooth her when she cries, or remembering that as she gets older, things she wasn't interested in before may have become fun, new and exciting playthings, I have learned so much from watching other parents care for Lil' Bit because they do things differently. These experiences also make me more appreciative of my time with her. When I've had her all day with no breaks, the minute Phil walks in the door, I am ready to hand her over. But, if I've left to run errands or, say, shovel 15 inches of snow off the sidewalk, when I get back inside the house, I am ready to hold and snuggle my daughter and have a lot more love and energy to offer her. My self-care rejuvenates me. That little bit of energy given to my self, recharges me and grows exponentially, giving me an abundance of love and energy that I can give to Lil' Bit.
So, getting back to yesterday, here's why it was such a great day. Morning playtime was family unit time (1). Phil got some self-care time while I cared for Lil' Bit, which also provided me with mommy time (2 & 3). I got self-care time when Gramma Pam and then Phil watched Lil' Bit so I could go to the salon, and Phil got daddy time (4 & 5). Lil' Bit's godparents took her overnight, so Phil and I got to have partnership time by having a date night (6). And finally, Lil' Bit got individual identity time by getting cared for by seven different adults, each of whom interacted with and supported her differently (7). And so it was, that we managed to feed and nourish all 7 of our family relationships. Not too shabby for a Thursday.
1.23.2011
The Power of Permission
I'm the kind of person who doesn't like being told what to do. I like to do things my way, in my own time. I also like to beat people's expectations. If someone said I couldn't do something, I would do it, just to prove them wrong. Unless, of course, I got the feeling that they were challenging me just to get me to do the opposite. At the same time, I hate giving up. I don't like thinking that something beat me.
Taking all of these traits together, it isn't difficult to imagine the internal connundrum I experienced when breastfeeding wasn't working. What was worse was that, shortly after my milk came in, the supply was suddenly much reduced. I panicked. Both my first and second choice for feeding my daughter seemed to be denied to me. I was angry. I wanted to stubborn my way through, but there wasn't much I could do if my body wouldn't cooperate.
One night, after a long pumping session resulted in little milk, I was done. My hormones were raging and I was sobbing. I didn't want to have to feed my child formula, but I was short on sleep and the pumping wasn't going any better than the breastfeeding. In my exhaustion, I went to Phil and asked if we could talk about our options. I explained that I didn't want to do formula, but the pumping made feedings take twice as long and wasn't producing much for all the effort. Phil looked at me and gave me the best answer. He said it was up to me. He would support me if I wanted to keep trying, or he would support switching to formula. He gave me permission to quit.
Once I had received permission to quit, I wanted to try harder to make it work. And, as previously noted, pumping ended up working quite well. But, what I discovered is that granting permission can be an amazing thing. It makes it easier to do what you know you should, but don't want to. It's like when I would diet. If I thought I couldn't have something, it was all I wanted--even if it was something I wouldn't want regularly. Being allowed to do something made it easier not to do it. Much like the child who only wants the toy that is being played with by someone else, it is that which we are told we can't have or can't do that motivates us. Receiving permission can allow us to sit back and evaluate if that is something we really want, or if we were just pushing against being told "no."
I hope to remember this as I raise my daughter, particularly since she already appears to have inherited my stubborn and doesn't like being forced to do anything. Perhaps a little permission can go a long way. It certainly works for me.
Taking all of these traits together, it isn't difficult to imagine the internal connundrum I experienced when breastfeeding wasn't working. What was worse was that, shortly after my milk came in, the supply was suddenly much reduced. I panicked. Both my first and second choice for feeding my daughter seemed to be denied to me. I was angry. I wanted to stubborn my way through, but there wasn't much I could do if my body wouldn't cooperate.
One night, after a long pumping session resulted in little milk, I was done. My hormones were raging and I was sobbing. I didn't want to have to feed my child formula, but I was short on sleep and the pumping wasn't going any better than the breastfeeding. In my exhaustion, I went to Phil and asked if we could talk about our options. I explained that I didn't want to do formula, but the pumping made feedings take twice as long and wasn't producing much for all the effort. Phil looked at me and gave me the best answer. He said it was up to me. He would support me if I wanted to keep trying, or he would support switching to formula. He gave me permission to quit.
Once I had received permission to quit, I wanted to try harder to make it work. And, as previously noted, pumping ended up working quite well. But, what I discovered is that granting permission can be an amazing thing. It makes it easier to do what you know you should, but don't want to. It's like when I would diet. If I thought I couldn't have something, it was all I wanted--even if it was something I wouldn't want regularly. Being allowed to do something made it easier not to do it. Much like the child who only wants the toy that is being played with by someone else, it is that which we are told we can't have or can't do that motivates us. Receiving permission can allow us to sit back and evaluate if that is something we really want, or if we were just pushing against being told "no."
I hope to remember this as I raise my daughter, particularly since she already appears to have inherited my stubborn and doesn't like being forced to do anything. Perhaps a little permission can go a long way. It certainly works for me.
1.21.2011
From Trap to Sieve
I have always prided myself in having a good memory. I could remember obscure details and useless facts better than most people I knew. This talent served me well in school. I could remember not just facts, but generally where they had been located on the page I read them, making open book tests much easier. Such as, that was in a footnote, so I only need to look at the bottom of the pages.
It turned out that this talent was also useful in law school, as I could remember facts from cases really well. When I had worked as a legal assistant and accompanied by boss to trial, I could pull relevant exhibits before he requested them, because I knew what was in them all and roughly what they had been numbered.
My boss told me that he had once been that way, but it had changed after taking the bar exam. This was a refrain I heard from multiple practicing attorneys. I would listen and nod, but internally I believed myself immune. They just didn't know how really great my recall was.
Well, lo and behold, after the massive brain dump that is the bar exam, I noticed that I started having problems thinking of specific words. They were words I knew and should have been able to easily recall, but I would grope for them. I felt like an idiot. I also found myself mixing up words when I would speak. I began to call my cats by the wrong name. It was bizarre, but mostly a nuisance.
Then came pregnancy. The memory seemed to get worse. Phil's cousin Marsha described this to me as the "brain/uterine shunt." All the brain cells go to the baby, never to return. Sure enough, more things began to slip past me. Well, I thought to myself, I'm only pregnant 9 months, then I can recover.
As it turns out, this is not the case. I now suffer from baby brain. And, of course, this condition is exacerbated by being tired--the perpetual state of being for parents. Just this morning, the concept of "guest room" was beyond me as I tried to tell Phil where his laundry was currently located.
So, having watched my brain turn to mush, and my memory slip from trap to sieve, I now understand why adults, particularly parents, always seemed to repeat themselves, tell the same story over and over, misstate or use the wrong word, or have trouble recalling simple words. I will never again make fun of my parents when they call me by one of my siblings' names or look horrified when an attorney misspeaks during oral argument. Now that I have joined their ranks.
1.19.2011
My Village
I don't know where the phrase "It takes a village to raise a child" comes from, although Wikipedia informs me it's from an African proverb, but I first encountered it when former First Lady Hillary Clinton wrote her book with that title. I never read the book, but phrase stuck with me, the idea being that raising children is not an individual task, but rather one that involves lots of people. Although the concept resonated with me, I had no experience to confirm its accuracy.
Growing up, my family was something of an insular unit because we moved roughly every 2 1/2 years. Because my dad was a minister, although we were certainly part of the congregation, because he was often the interim minister, there was no sense of permanency or belonging. Even extended family wasn't readily available, with us visiting my grandparents once or twice a year, as they lived out of state. I can't speak for my parents or siblings, but from my perspective, we never had a village to belong to. Even though my family finally settled down in a single city, I always felt like I was on the outside looking in, never to belong anywhere.
This feeling continued through college graduation. I moved roughly every year, sometimes even more frequently than that. All the while, I kept looking for somewhere to belong and never found it. After I married Phil, I thought having a ready-made church community would help. And, for a while, I did feel part of the church community. Here was a group of people where I found friends that really cared about me. I even found a job where I loved the people I worked with enough to hang out with them after hours. It was not to be, however. Having allowed myself to get attached and start to feel like I belonged, circumstances made it necessary for us to leave.
I didn't want to move to Michigan. First off, there's too much snow and cold and, as I believe I have previously indicated, I am not a fan. Second, it was a small city--about 8,000 people. My mind could barely wrap around the idea of a city smaller than my college. That, and the closest "big" city was Lansing--a city smaller than all but one that I had previously lived in. I was going to be living in a fishbowl and I wasn't particularly thrilled about it. Still, there wasn't really a choice. Phil had gotten a job there and I was going to graduate school.
Phil joined the community before I did, both literally and figuratively. He arrived in late September, whereas I didn't come until the following February. He also met and knew more people than I--from funerals, Rotary, and his chaplaincy with the fire department. I went to school in Lansing and worked in Lansing so, having spent most of my time studying or in Lansing, outside of the church, I didn't really get to know the locals. All that changed with the infertility.
We allowed the public in on our private journey, in part for self-preservation. I didn't want to hear people ask when I was going to have kids, as I would get angry and frustrated, and they wouldn't realize they were stepping on a landmine. It turned out that, by sharing my journey, I received advice from lots of women who had also struggled as well. I had joined a community--those who have fertility issues. Then, when we finally got pregnant, I joined another community--those who had experienced pregnancy. And, now that I have my daughter, I have joined the community of parents. By letting others in on our journey, I had managed to create a support system. I finally had a village.
As it turns out, next month will mark an anniversary of sorts. It will be the longest I have lived consecutively in a single place. And with that anniversary comes the recognition that I feel like I belong here. I love my friends, my job, my community, my church. I don't know that I will ever love the snow, or the weather patterns, but I do think of this place as home. This is my village. And my village is helping me raise Lil' Bit. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Growing up, my family was something of an insular unit because we moved roughly every 2 1/2 years. Because my dad was a minister, although we were certainly part of the congregation, because he was often the interim minister, there was no sense of permanency or belonging. Even extended family wasn't readily available, with us visiting my grandparents once or twice a year, as they lived out of state. I can't speak for my parents or siblings, but from my perspective, we never had a village to belong to. Even though my family finally settled down in a single city, I always felt like I was on the outside looking in, never to belong anywhere.
This feeling continued through college graduation. I moved roughly every year, sometimes even more frequently than that. All the while, I kept looking for somewhere to belong and never found it. After I married Phil, I thought having a ready-made church community would help. And, for a while, I did feel part of the church community. Here was a group of people where I found friends that really cared about me. I even found a job where I loved the people I worked with enough to hang out with them after hours. It was not to be, however. Having allowed myself to get attached and start to feel like I belonged, circumstances made it necessary for us to leave.
I didn't want to move to Michigan. First off, there's too much snow and cold and, as I believe I have previously indicated, I am not a fan. Second, it was a small city--about 8,000 people. My mind could barely wrap around the idea of a city smaller than my college. That, and the closest "big" city was Lansing--a city smaller than all but one that I had previously lived in. I was going to be living in a fishbowl and I wasn't particularly thrilled about it. Still, there wasn't really a choice. Phil had gotten a job there and I was going to graduate school.
Phil joined the community before I did, both literally and figuratively. He arrived in late September, whereas I didn't come until the following February. He also met and knew more people than I--from funerals, Rotary, and his chaplaincy with the fire department. I went to school in Lansing and worked in Lansing so, having spent most of my time studying or in Lansing, outside of the church, I didn't really get to know the locals. All that changed with the infertility.
We allowed the public in on our private journey, in part for self-preservation. I didn't want to hear people ask when I was going to have kids, as I would get angry and frustrated, and they wouldn't realize they were stepping on a landmine. It turned out that, by sharing my journey, I received advice from lots of women who had also struggled as well. I had joined a community--those who have fertility issues. Then, when we finally got pregnant, I joined another community--those who had experienced pregnancy. And, now that I have my daughter, I have joined the community of parents. By letting others in on our journey, I had managed to create a support system. I finally had a village.
As it turns out, next month will mark an anniversary of sorts. It will be the longest I have lived consecutively in a single place. And with that anniversary comes the recognition that I feel like I belong here. I love my friends, my job, my community, my church. I don't know that I will ever love the snow, or the weather patterns, but I do think of this place as home. This is my village. And my village is helping me raise Lil' Bit. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
1.18.2011
How To Feed A Child
Who knew that feeding your new child would be such a harried experience. You're already nervous about your ability to take care of this little person and suddenly you discover that something as simple as feeding it carries a heavy burden. Whether it's the lactation nazis who make you feel like you've never done enough, the formula companies who seduce you with the ease of formula, or the parenting magazines who attempt to walk the line and sing the praises of both, parents are bombarded with tons of advice regarding how and what to feed their children.
While formula feeding was all the rage for my parents' generation, breastfeeding has come back into vogue. We are inundated with radio and television ads advocating the benefits of breastfeeding and are made to feel like failures and stew in a lifetime of guilt if we formula feed. Colostrum is often referred to as "liquid gold" and people who comment on pumping equipment and accessories refer to "every precious drop" and how horrified they are if any is spilled. There are even shields made to collect any milk that is released during the day rather than "wasting it" in a nursing pad in your bra. Then there are the myriad bottles that are made to be "just like mom" or "as close to nature as possible." It's clear that in today's world, breastfeeding is the gold standard and formula-feeding is the also-ran.
What I found missing from all the advice was a recognition that how parents ultimately decide to feed their child depends a great deal on the circumstances of the family and no position, regardless of side, can ever account for the endless possibilities of what brings parents to their ultimate decision. I don't think any woman who gets pregnant plans to formula feed. Even the teenagers of MTV's 16 and Pregnant initially attempt to breastfeed. Any why not? Outside of all the health benefits to mom and baby, it's free! Still, even with all the media pressure to breastfeed, whether parents elect to breastfeed or formula feed, there is plenty of support out there for either decision.
What's frustrating to me is that there is a third option that very few people, medical providers included, consider or recognize. It's not a simple option, or even "ideal" (although none of them is in my book), but it's the one that works best for me. But, before we discuss said option, let's go back and figure out how I got here.
I intended to breastfeed. I knew of the health benefits and was seduced by the thought of effortless weightloss as well as free food. I set up my birth preferences to include immediate bonding and attempts at breastfeeding in an effort to get off to a successful start. Nature, however, had other plans. Between Lil' Bit's need to head to the nursery for oxygen and my erratic heartbeat and fainting, we had little bonding time and no immediate attempts at breastfeeding could be made. When I finally got to the nursery to try breastfeeding, it was a spectacular disaster, with lots of crying on everybody's part. The nurses made a note to get me pumping equipment and to have me meet with the lactation consultant.
In meeting with the lactation consultant, it became clear that breastfeeding was going to take lots of work. Not only was Lil' Bit having issues not wanting to suck because it gave her a headache (the result of her conehead from the long labor and 3-hour pushing session), she kept getting her tongue in the way. We were given a contraption that allowed me to finger-feed Lil' Bit whatever colostrum I was able to pump and then supplement with formula without having to bottlefeed and, in doing so, we would teach her to keep her tongue down. This was an extremely exhausting system, as taping the small tube to a finger and getting said tube and finger into Lil' Bit's mouth was difficult. You wouldn't think so, but trust me on this.
When we would report to the nurses how much she was eating, we were informed that we weren't doing it right. She wasn't eating enough at each feeding. Although I listened thoughtfully, I wasn't sure what the nurse intended me to do. I couldn't make her eat anymore than she was. Besides, if I had been breastfeeding, we'd have no way to know how much she was taking in, so why was there this big to do? Each day I would try to get Lil' Bit to latch, but the lack of immediate food always left her screaming. The nurses told me to stick with it and that once my milk came in, it would be easier, because she would get an immediate response.
Once we got her home, we kept with the pattern. However, it became clear that the finger-feeder was not going to keep up with Lil' Bit. She had an appetite and it could not give her food fast enough. At this point, we elected to feed her from a bottle. I still pumped and we gave her whatever I produced from a bottle first, but if there wasn't enough, we supplemented with formula. I knew giving her the bottle would make breastfeeding more difficult, but the lactation consultant had told me that "going to the breast should be a good experience for the baby, so if she starts screaming, it's time to stop for that attempt." Well, there was always screaming. Remember my previous discussion about a stubborn child? She wanted her food and she wanted it now, thank you very much. I continued to try breastfeeding, but she never did latch. Even after my milk came in and was abundant, she still got her tongue in the way, she bit, she screamed, and we were both left tired and frustrated.
In my exhaustion, I remembered that the point was to give Lil' Bit breastmilk. I was already doing that--albeit by bottle. I was going to have to do that anyway once I got back to work, and this way Phil could help with the feedings. Before Lil' Bit was two weeks old, she was dining exclusively on breastmilk from a bottle without formula supplementation, and does so still today. We had stumbled upon what is known as "exclusive pumping" or "EP." This is option number 3, although it's hard to convince people. Everyone asks if we are breastfeeding or bottlefeeding, and I explain we are bottlefeeding breastmilk. The question should be: are you feeding breastmilk or formula, regardless of the delivery method. With EP, Lil' Bit and I both get the health benefits of breastmilk without the trauma of breastfeeding, and Phil can help with the feedings. It's not perfect. Feeding take longer--I have to warm up the bottle, feed her, and then pump. I am somewhat tied to the pump, as I pump 5-6 times a day at 4-6 hour intervals. And even when she sleeps through the night, I still have to wake up for a pumping session.
Still, doing it this way, I am prepared for when I go back to work and have already begun stockpiling milk in the freezer for when she heads off to daycare. And the truth is, neither breastfeeding nor formula-feeding is perfect either. Each option has benefits and drawbacks and it is up to parents to decide what is best for their child. I just wish there were sources of information out there for parents that outline all the options, highlighting their benefits and drawbacks, without pushing an agenda. As a new parent, I have enough to worry about without feeling as though I have done it all wrong before I barely got started.
*EP is receiving more recognition, such as this article in Time Magazine, but is still not widely accepted.
While formula feeding was all the rage for my parents' generation, breastfeeding has come back into vogue. We are inundated with radio and television ads advocating the benefits of breastfeeding and are made to feel like failures and stew in a lifetime of guilt if we formula feed. Colostrum is often referred to as "liquid gold" and people who comment on pumping equipment and accessories refer to "every precious drop" and how horrified they are if any is spilled. There are even shields made to collect any milk that is released during the day rather than "wasting it" in a nursing pad in your bra. Then there are the myriad bottles that are made to be "just like mom" or "as close to nature as possible." It's clear that in today's world, breastfeeding is the gold standard and formula-feeding is the also-ran.
What I found missing from all the advice was a recognition that how parents ultimately decide to feed their child depends a great deal on the circumstances of the family and no position, regardless of side, can ever account for the endless possibilities of what brings parents to their ultimate decision. I don't think any woman who gets pregnant plans to formula feed. Even the teenagers of MTV's 16 and Pregnant initially attempt to breastfeed. Any why not? Outside of all the health benefits to mom and baby, it's free! Still, even with all the media pressure to breastfeed, whether parents elect to breastfeed or formula feed, there is plenty of support out there for either decision.
What's frustrating to me is that there is a third option that very few people, medical providers included, consider or recognize. It's not a simple option, or even "ideal" (although none of them is in my book), but it's the one that works best for me. But, before we discuss said option, let's go back and figure out how I got here.
I intended to breastfeed. I knew of the health benefits and was seduced by the thought of effortless weightloss as well as free food. I set up my birth preferences to include immediate bonding and attempts at breastfeeding in an effort to get off to a successful start. Nature, however, had other plans. Between Lil' Bit's need to head to the nursery for oxygen and my erratic heartbeat and fainting, we had little bonding time and no immediate attempts at breastfeeding could be made. When I finally got to the nursery to try breastfeeding, it was a spectacular disaster, with lots of crying on everybody's part. The nurses made a note to get me pumping equipment and to have me meet with the lactation consultant.
In meeting with the lactation consultant, it became clear that breastfeeding was going to take lots of work. Not only was Lil' Bit having issues not wanting to suck because it gave her a headache (the result of her conehead from the long labor and 3-hour pushing session), she kept getting her tongue in the way. We were given a contraption that allowed me to finger-feed Lil' Bit whatever colostrum I was able to pump and then supplement with formula without having to bottlefeed and, in doing so, we would teach her to keep her tongue down. This was an extremely exhausting system, as taping the small tube to a finger and getting said tube and finger into Lil' Bit's mouth was difficult. You wouldn't think so, but trust me on this.
When we would report to the nurses how much she was eating, we were informed that we weren't doing it right. She wasn't eating enough at each feeding. Although I listened thoughtfully, I wasn't sure what the nurse intended me to do. I couldn't make her eat anymore than she was. Besides, if I had been breastfeeding, we'd have no way to know how much she was taking in, so why was there this big to do? Each day I would try to get Lil' Bit to latch, but the lack of immediate food always left her screaming. The nurses told me to stick with it and that once my milk came in, it would be easier, because she would get an immediate response.
Once we got her home, we kept with the pattern. However, it became clear that the finger-feeder was not going to keep up with Lil' Bit. She had an appetite and it could not give her food fast enough. At this point, we elected to feed her from a bottle. I still pumped and we gave her whatever I produced from a bottle first, but if there wasn't enough, we supplemented with formula. I knew giving her the bottle would make breastfeeding more difficult, but the lactation consultant had told me that "going to the breast should be a good experience for the baby, so if she starts screaming, it's time to stop for that attempt." Well, there was always screaming. Remember my previous discussion about a stubborn child? She wanted her food and she wanted it now, thank you very much. I continued to try breastfeeding, but she never did latch. Even after my milk came in and was abundant, she still got her tongue in the way, she bit, she screamed, and we were both left tired and frustrated.
In my exhaustion, I remembered that the point was to give Lil' Bit breastmilk. I was already doing that--albeit by bottle. I was going to have to do that anyway once I got back to work, and this way Phil could help with the feedings. Before Lil' Bit was two weeks old, she was dining exclusively on breastmilk from a bottle without formula supplementation, and does so still today. We had stumbled upon what is known as "exclusive pumping" or "EP." This is option number 3, although it's hard to convince people. Everyone asks if we are breastfeeding or bottlefeeding, and I explain we are bottlefeeding breastmilk. The question should be: are you feeding breastmilk or formula, regardless of the delivery method. With EP, Lil' Bit and I both get the health benefits of breastmilk without the trauma of breastfeeding, and Phil can help with the feedings. It's not perfect. Feeding take longer--I have to warm up the bottle, feed her, and then pump. I am somewhat tied to the pump, as I pump 5-6 times a day at 4-6 hour intervals. And even when she sleeps through the night, I still have to wake up for a pumping session.
Still, doing it this way, I am prepared for when I go back to work and have already begun stockpiling milk in the freezer for when she heads off to daycare. And the truth is, neither breastfeeding nor formula-feeding is perfect either. Each option has benefits and drawbacks and it is up to parents to decide what is best for their child. I just wish there were sources of information out there for parents that outline all the options, highlighting their benefits and drawbacks, without pushing an agenda. As a new parent, I have enough to worry about without feeling as though I have done it all wrong before I barely got started.
*EP is receiving more recognition, such as this article in Time Magazine, but is still not widely accepted.
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