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?
8.22.2011
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.
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