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.

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.

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?

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.