Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day, and I will mark it the same way I have for the last two weeks--sitting in Jellybean's hospital room, worrying about his oxygen levels and heart function.  And I've been thinking about how much of a representation of motherhood that is.  Giving up "my" day for my children.  Certainly my mother and mother-in-law have done it for me.  College graduation and law school graduation were both on Mother's Day, and this year it was going to be Jellybean's baptism (turns out he made other plans).  But they both gave up, and were willing to again give up, their day to share it in celebration with me.

Still, I think celebrations are easy to share; it just means a bigger party.  As I sit in the hospital watching all the other moms (and all of this is certainly true of dads and Father's Day), I am reminded of the sacrifices we make as parents.  The very thing that makes tomorrow "my" day--my reason to celebrate--is the exact same reason I don't get to celebrate.  None of this ever crossed my mind.  Not when I was fighting so hard to become a parent.  Not when I knew my kids needed surgery. 

I have spent Halloween and Thanksgiving in the hospital with my kids.  I spent numerous Easter mornings in the ER with my kids.  I have spent my birthday on bed rest, trying to save my pregnancy.  But not once did I ever think I would have to give up Mother's Day.  Why, I can't say.  And why it matters is even harder to pin down. This week will see my 15th wedding anniversary, but missing that to take care of my child at the hospital doesn't phase me--I missed the first one for my grandfather's funeral, and we have missed many more since.  Phil and I have celebrated numerous occasions on alternative days because of crazy schedules or other various reasons.

So I admit to being flummoxed.  Why Mother's Day?  Why a moving holiday manufactured to sell greeting cards?  Why does it matter?  The pre-mom me would be shaking her head and ranting that I should be grateful just to be a mom--and I am.  I am humbled every year that I am able to label myself mother, when that label is denied to many.  And maybe that's it.  I didn't fight for my birthday, or my wedding.  I didn't struggle and wrestle and rage and weep to earn any label as much as I did to be called "mom."  So maybe I don't want to spend Mother's Day in the hospital watching over my baby because being in the hospital means I could lose the very thing that makes me a mom.

And I know that I will always be a mom, regardless of whether I outlive my children, but having two kids with heart issues keeps the reality of that happening ever present.  I am reminded daily of the fleetingness of human life and how precious it is and how important it is to make the most of every moment.  And I struggle and berate myself when I get angry or frustrated with my children because I don't want to regret those moments when my kids do pass.  But I have to balance that guilt with the reality that I have to rest.  I have to give myself permission every afternoon to leave Jellybean's room to go take a nap because self-care is important.

Moms are very bad at self-care.  We feel selfish when we do nice things for ourselves, or put ourselves first.  But Mother's Day gives us an excuse.  No one will begrudge us nice things, or time for ourselves, on that day.  Viewed in that light, it's easier to see why losing the one day society tells me I can loaf off on my motherly obligations is frustrating.  But the solution isn't in the holiday.  The solution is in changing to dynamic.  What if I took 30 minutes a week for self-care?  I would get roughly the same amount of time as the 24 hours of Mother's Day, but spread over the year.  I could have guilt-free me-time that would make me a better mom/wife/employee/self all year round.  I'm not sure how it would work.  It will take some time to refine the idea, but I think it's a good jumping off point.  A place to begin the conversation with myself.  Maybe I can work on it tomorrow, as I sit in the hospital, holding my precious, snuggly, sleeping Jellybean in my arms.  Because, you know, as a mom, I can multi-task. :)

Happy Mother's Day to all moms--but especially to those of us spending it with kids in the hospital.

Got Stress?

One of the things a fertility clinic will tell you when you are trying to get (and stay) pregnant is to avoid stress.  This is certainly a lovely theory, but the whole infertility gig does not lend itself to being stress-free.  Add in a toddler having surgery, a non-private room at the hospital, dental issues, and dehydration-induced bleeding and--VOILA!--you have my ridiculously stressful life.

So, let's go back to Sunday.  I had taken Lil' Bit to church as usual.  Somehow, during coffee hour, I broke a crown.  I called my dentist at home (one of the benefits of small town living!), and got an appointment to see him the next day to put on a temporary one.  Once I got slightly calmed down from that snafu, we worked on getting our ducks in a row to head for Detroit to take Lil' Bit in for her surgery.  My zen had not even returned when I discovered I was bleeding again.  After getting Lil' Bit to bed, I drank lots of water and put my feet up.  My mantra was--I can't control this; there is a plan to which I am not privy; but if I get a say, please stick around.  And, by morning, things seemed a little better.  Still, I called the fertility center to seek reassurance.  They told me there was nothing that could be done at this point and that they weren't worried, but I could call if I needed further reassurance.  I did my best to feel reassured by this, pulled up my big-girl pants, and headed out to Detroit.

Surgery on Tuesday morning went well and everything was copacetic.  Then, we discovered there were no rooms available for Lil' Bit, so we waited in the recovery area for several hours for a room to come open.  We were relieved when we got word she had been assigned to one, but it was another hour or two before we were sent up because they had to clean it.  We discovered we were sharing the room with another two-year-old who had just had the same surgery.  What we soon discovered, however, was that this child could scream and did not want to see any nurse, doctor, or anything of the sort and mom had no intention of holding said child to provide comfort--she just kept talking on her phone.  I mean, I know screaming.  I was a willful child who would scream to the high-heavens, but I had nothing on this toddler.  In fact, the non-stop, high-pitched screams and other activities by the child were such that the nursing staff finally came and "helped" mom take the child to another location because Lil' Bit (and likely the whole freakin' floor) was clearly being affected.  The charge nurse actually came in and apologized and, when I said the standard, "It's okay," her response was, "No, it's not."

Things got marginally better upon the return, although we heard overheard conversations that would make Teen Mom plot lines seem like Leave It To Beaver episodes (Phil tells me that the conversations overnight were even more "entertaining").  Needless to say, I forgot to take care of myself as I was working hard to console my child and *bam* significant bleeding and cramping.  I was certain I was miscarrying, wigged out, and started crying, all of which freaked out Lil' Bit even more.  Seeing her response, I worked hard to push down all that anxiety and sadness and pull myself together and then worked to console her and get her calm.  We finally got me back to the hotel where I drank tons of water and laid down with my feet up.  Again, by morning, things seemed okay.

After a rough morning at the hospital, Lil' Bit finally got discharged.  On the drive home, my temporary crown popped off.  The only good thing about this was that I was scheduled to get my new permanent one the next day.  On the downside, we were back up to 14 meds per day with Lil' Bit, most of which could not be combined and seven of which were liquid doses (her least favorite).  Needless to say, every day involves tons of screaming as we try and "do what's best for her," while I watch her be a little more traumatized each time.  Her regular med-taking has suffered to the point that, even once she's better, we have a long haul to get her back to where we were before all this.

Thursday arrived and I got my new crown.  It was unpleasant, but at least I got a little time away from the house such as it was.  By last night, things seems to be on the upswing.  I was feeling pretty good about the rest of Lil' Bit's recovery.  Thinking the day might end on a good note, I was disheartened, but no longer surprised, to discover I was bleeding *again*.  Worse, Lil' Bit didn't want to sleep alone (who could blame her), so I spent the night on the floor of her room.  Although I didn't get much sleep, I did manage to drink more water and get my feet up and got things stopped again.

That brings us to this morning.  After an okay morning, things went downhill fast.  I swear, it was like she was worse than right after her surgery. Now, I remember with my recent surgical recovery feeling like I was backsliding.  I don't know why I assumed that wouldn't happen with her, but I did.  Seeing her misery today hit me really hard.  And, even though Phil and his parents have worked very hard to try and provide me some downtime, my little girl just wants her mommy and my heart just can't say no.  However, I have managed to not be too far from water and have stayed well-hydrated, thus preventing the now diagnosed dehydration-induced uterine contractions/bleeding.

I know my previous goal was just to make it to the ultrasound this Thursday, but now, I am living hour by hour, minute by minute, just trying to make Lil' Bit as comfortable as possible and to get through this emotionally and physically intact.  There is no freakin' way I can stay stress free through all this.  Life is what it is.  But, I just keep telling myself:  I can't control this; there is a plan to which I am not privy; but if I get a say, please stick around.  All I can do now is wait.  And drink lots of water.

Things Can Only Get Better

***Warning--the following includes what some may consider over-sharing***

Hello, 2013.  We are not off to a great start, but that is not entirely unexpected.  I previously mentioned that I was starting the year with major outpatient surgery.  More specifically, I had major hemorrhoid surgery.  Thus, the very slow, very painful, recovery I am currently experiencing is a literal pain in the ass.  I badly needed this surgery.  When I went to the doctor for my surgical evaluation after a visit to the urgent care for two very thrombosed hemorrhoids, he indicated that although their policy is to avoid a hemorrhoidectomy at all costs, that was not an option for me.  After the surgery was done, the doctor reiterated to Phil that the surgery had definitely been necessary.  So here I sit, er lay, trying to recover.  I am having to be patient and sit (lay) still and it's driving me bonkers!  Phil is doing an amazing job taking care of Lil' Bit, but I feel like I'm falling down on the job.  That's right.  I am feeling guilty because I am recovering from surgery!  Cognitively, I know that's twisted, but it doesn't stop me from having those feelings.  Although I haven't figured out how to stop them, I do have a better understanding of how parents forget self-care.  Thus, one of the things I am trying to do while I recover is make sure I am taking care of myself.  After all, had I taken better care of myself earlier in life, I likely would not have needed the surgery.  So, I am trying to use the painful recovery as an object lesson in making sure I do a better job at self-care.  Here's hoping!

Also approaching is the date I start my shots for our next FET.  Honestly, this date will not come soon enough.  I have at least eight friends and relatives who are all pregnant.  Add in all the celebrities--Duchess Kate, Kim Kardashian, Jessica Simpson--and I am an emotional puddle.  On the plus side, I am no longer angry at those who are pregnant.  I am joyful that they are happy and, at least as far as I know, were easily successful in their endeavor.  Still, I am tired of being happy for everyone else.  My joy for them seems to only compound my anger and frustration at being stuck in a holding pattern.  When is it my turn?  Why am I forced to pay thousands of dollars to do what reality stars on MTV do by accident?  While friends and bloggers I follow are all closing down their baby-making factories and having surgery to prevent any more kids, I am angrily fighting against time to get one more in before the clock stops.

So, what has my angry, pitying self done during this recovery period (when not working from home, that is)?  Tortured myself with episodes of TLC's A Baby Story, that's what.  So, let's recap.  I'm in pain and feeling guilty for taking the time necessary to recover from surgery while feeling totally inadequate because my infertility is keeping me from that which I desperately want and my only solution keeps failing.  So, come on January 18.  Get here so I can get started; so I can hope and dream again; so I can feel like I'm doing something productive--something, hopefully, REproductive.  Save me from myself.  Let's make this a year to remember--hopefully for the better.


9 days and counting...

More Than a Mommy

Several years ago, before becoming a mom, before my blog, before we even discovered we would need to consider IVF, I started a novel.  I was being diligent and required myself to average 300 words per day over the course of a week.  Sometimes, I would manage to write 1000 in a sitting and give myself two days off.  Other times, it was difficult to slog through to get my 300, but I was more or less consistent, and did a decent job keeping with my allotted pace.  Then life happened.  Things fell by the wayside and I stopped working on it. My good friend, who I had asked to read it, would gently, or sometimes not so gently, ask me when I would have more since she wanted to know what happened next.  But, somehow, I never got back to it.  She was quite understanding about the whole thing and gave me lots of time after Lil' Bit was born before asking again when I was going to write something.  I tried multiple times to get started, but I just couldn't get back into it.  So, like all the other times, I let it drop.

Last Sunday, she said something to me about it again.  This time, I think I was ready to hear it because I got back to it.  Really got back to it.  I have been working diligently this week and, in 4 days, I have written over 2500 words.  And, today, I finally crossed the 40,000 word threshold--the roughly half-way mark.  Yay!  I am extremely proud of myself.  But I found myself wondering one morning this week, why now?  What was the difference?  Is it because we finally have something resembling a routine where I have time to blog and write?  Yes, in part.  But I've had that for a while.  Was it because she mentioned it?  Sure, that's part of it, too.  But I honestly think what really made the change was something I was thinking about last week before she said anything.  I was thinking about the fact that I am more than a mom.  I know it doesn't seem like it.  Sure, when I talk to people at work, all I ever talk about is mom things.  And when I'm at home, most of what I do is mom stuff.  But, that is the nature of having a 14-month-old.  Nevertheless, I have to remember to take time out from being a mom to also be a wife to Phil and to exercise self-care.  And, one of the things that is self-care for me is writing.  It's why I love my job so much--I get to write every day!  [Phil says I do homework for a living, but homework was never as much fun as my job.  But I digress...]

So, as I work to remember who I am, I am trying to remember that, although she takes up huge portions of my time, energy, and income, I am more than Lil' Bit's mom (although that is likely my moniker for the next 18 years).  And, in an effort to keep remembering that I am more than a mommy, I have set myself the goal of having a completed rough draft by August of this year, so I can take it to Gen Con and get feedback from some folks at the Writer's Symposium there.  Today, I am working toward reclaiming myself as a whole--whether as wife, writer, attorney, or mom.