HAWMC: Day 2

Today's prompt is "Introductions". I am instructed to introduce my "condition" to other bloggers or share links of some of my old posts that will help the "newly diagnosed". Um, so I don't exactly have one specific condition I'm focusing on here. So, here's what I decided to do. I'm going to give you a few links that cover some of the health issues I discuss here, particularly some of those that seem to bring people here most often.

1. Inducing Lactation - I get lots of questions about how I induced lactation. Here's the post that explains it. 
2. Red Dye-Free Antibiotics - we realized early on that red dye40 (just 40, Red 5 is fine for some reason) and the kid don't mix well together.  And, both personally and professionally, I've realized the huge impact it can have on a child's behavior. Now, though I've never seen/paid attention to adults, I'd suspect it can affect them as well (well, those who are sensitive to it, surely everyone doesn't outgrow that).
3. Donor Breast Milk - Unless you're new around here, you're well aware that baby E has been fed with donor breast milk since he was about 3 months old. Here's the first post I did "coming out" about using donor milk, and explaining our reasons for making that choice. I'm still so thankful to the milk mommies who still give this special gift to baby E.
4. Infertility - Seems like I ought to include a post about IF. I mean, there are so many to choose from, how do I choose just one? Randomly, that's how that happened. So feel free to read this one, or any of the others.

And, that's all I've got for today. Happy Tuesday, friends. More tomorrow.


Today's Lesson: In order to find these posts, I found myself reading over the last few years since I started this blog. It's interesting to see what's changed. And what hasn't. Sometimes we all need reminders of where we've been, to be able to more fully acknowledge where we now are.

Health Activist Writer's Month 2013: Day 1

Last April, I participated in The Health Activist Writer's Month Challenge. I managed to post daily that time. I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess I won't be as successful this year, but I'll give it a shot.

So, why am I doing this? Well, though I am probably not the typical health activist (someone who tends to have one primary focus, i.e. a specific disease/diagnosis), I believe that a lot of the things I blog about are health issues - breastfeeding, infertility, adoption, child abuse/violence to name a few. And sometimes it's helpful to have a more structured way for me to focus on these issues and write about them. Also, lately I just need some help coming up with things to blog about.  So, we're gonna give this a go and, well, see how it goes.

So, yeah. That's all I've got for today. Really, you're going to (hopefully) be hearing a lot from me this month so I don't want to burn you out too soon.


Today's Lesson: There may be a "right way" for you. But there is no one right way, one-size fits all for everyone. The sooner you come to terms with this, the sooner your stress level will go down. Just sayin'.

The Cubicle Chronicles: Chapter Seven

Read previous chapters of The Cubicle Chronicles here, here, here, here, here, and here. It's been a long time since I last posted one of these and I thought the last one might be the final chapter. Alas, for better or worse, I was wrong.  So, once again, I give you The Cubicle Chronicles, this time "The Infertile's Head About Explodes" Edition...

Lady 1: I mean, I think I want to be a mom, but, like wait a while. I mean I don't like want to be the old mom. So, I can't have them any later than like 32. But then, you know, you're like high risk and stuff. And who wants to be on bedrest for like 9 months. And you're too old to chase after the kids and everything. Who wants to be the gray haired mom? Lady 2: Yeah, or the one with wrinkles? Lady 1: I know! And I don't want my kids to be in daycare. Because I don't want them to get sick or anything. Like, if you're working and they get sick, you have to take off. And that's just really inconvenient. Also I think if you're like a housewife, like your house has to be spotlessly clean all the time. Because, like, what else do you have to do all day?! I mean, keeping the house clean and your husband and kids happy is your job. It's not like it's hard when you've got all that time. You know, because you're not like actually working or anything. (So, let me give you a little background on these "ladies". They're both pharmacy students/residents. These are educated, young women. And this crap is what they're spouting. I mean I get that they're young and clueless. But damn. They do not make me feel good about our (collective) future. Also, I'm pretty sure I wasn't able to accurately capture all the times the word "like" was used. Probably because I was constantly telling myself to keep my freaking mouth shut.)

Nurse: I need you to come talk to this patient. Me: What's going on? Nurse: Well, he needs help getting home. Me: Okay, do you know where he lives. Nurse: He lives in [names a state that is 1200+ miles from here]. Probably he needs a plane ticket. Me: Hahahahahaha. Nurse: [silence] Me: Oh, you're serious? Nurse: Yes. He needs to get home. He has a half million dollar house there. Me: Yeah. No. Nurse: Can't you just voucher him a plane ticket? Me: Uh, no. But I can get him a bus pass to the homeless shelter. Or, if he has a half million dollar house, I bet he can afford his own bus pass. Nurse: [silence] Me: Why did he come in today? Nurse: Psych - He thinks he's LL Cool J. Me: [silence] Nurse: He probably doesn't have a half million dollar house, does he? Me: Uh, not so much. Nurse: A bus pass should work. Me: Great. (As a public service announcement, the ER will not be handing out plane tickets from this day forward. Also, the man who tells you he's LL Cool J and came in drunk and without pants, well, lets just go ahead and assume he doesn't have a half million dollar house. I've been know to be wrong on occasion. But I'm feeling like this one is a pretty strong bet.)

Lady 1: So, did you hear my news? Lady 2: No, I've been off because I've been sick, and my grandpa died, and then my sister-in-law was in this awful car accident, and-- L1: Yeah, yeah, we're talking about me. L2: Oh. L1: So, I'm pregnant! L2: (somehow manages to do appropriate amount of happy squealing noises) So, when are you due? L1: Yeah, I waited forever to tell anyone because, you know, this is my first pregnancy and I wanted to make sure it was actually there and going to stick around and stuff before I told everyone. Because, you know, it's my first baby and we tried, like, forever. I mean, seriously, forever, like 4 months. I'm due (gives a date). L2: So you're how many weeks? L1: 6 and a half weeks. And I'm at that point where my regular clothes don't fit anymore so I had to buy maternity clothes. Ugh, this thing is going to make me so fat and ugly. (So, so many things to say here. First, 6.5mon would probably be a long time to wait. 6.5wks, well, not so much. Actually, seems like it often takes her longer than that to realize there's work to be done, so I gotta say I'm surprised she noticed she's pregnant this early.  Second, 4 months is "forever"- really? She seems to have a different sense of time than I do. Or anyone else I know, for that matter. Third, having never been pregnant myself - and yes, thank you so much for unknowingly throwing that back up in my face - I don't know for sure. BUT, I'm willing to guess that if you're getting "fat" at this point, it's not the baby's fault. Pretty sure it's the 3 doughnuts I saw you eating for breakfast, followed by the 4 cupcakes for "snack" - which was about 17min after "breakfast". Lastly, poor, poor doughnut and cupcake-filled baby.)


Today's Lesson: Too often in life, the crazy just finds you. You can choose to ignore it. Which is probably the most personally healthy option. Or you can blog about it, pissing yourself off again, but allowing others to hopefully get a laugh in at the same time. You're welcome, friends.

2 Letters

Letter 1 (which may, or may not, have been coerced)
Dear Hubby,
Thank you for taking care of me while I have been sick. Thank you for fetching water - with ice!! - for me. Thank you for buying soup you think is gross just because I had it the last time I was this sick (15ish yrs ago) it made me feel better. Thank you for single-handedly parenting, one child who is getting over being sick which is manifesting with tons of attitude, and the other who is as snotty as me, and who also hasn't been sleeping. Really, I haven't heard him. Probably because of the gallons of snot in my own head. Thank you for buying me cherry 7-up because (in my head at least) it will make me feel better even though you think it's nasty. Thank you for not cringing too obviously when you had to step over all my snotty tissues because I hadn't yet been able to get out of bed to throw them away. Thank you for not laughing at my super crazy, sticking up all over the place, hadn't been washed in 3 days hair. Thank you for not asking me when the last time I'd brushed my teeth was. No, wait, that might have been a good thing to do because I don't remember. Thank you for putting gas in my car even though I thought I was going crazy and had done it myself while doped up on cold medicine and/or high fever. Thank you for covering me in warm blankets when I couldn't stop shivering. And getting rid of said blankets a few minutes later when they were making me sweat. Thank you for letting me be in control of the remote, even though you knew it was time-limited since I was bound to pass our before 8pm. Thank you for honoring that whole "in sickness and in health" mumbo jumbo I think we spouted at some point.
Love,
Your (snotty, coughing, pitiful, feverish, clammy, whiny, germy, stinky, so damn sick) Loving Wife

Letter 2
Dear Universe-
Clearly you did not receive my previous message. You know, when I demanded, "there will be no more sick in this house". Either that or you didn't appreciate the sarcastic tone I used. Please note, I am sarcastic with everyone. Truly, it's not you, it's me. What I meant to say was "pretty, pretty please, make all the sick go away and not come back. Please? Pretty, pretty please?". That's how it was supposed to be worded at least. I mean, that's how it sounded in my head.
Sincerely,
Becky (aka the woman who will blow snot on you if you don't make the sick go away. Sarcasm there)


Today's Lesson: Clearly there has not yet been enough sick at my house this winter. Please excuse me while I go blow my nose, take some cold medicine, and lay down to die. Because simply writing this blog post has exhausted the hell out of me.

My Rose Bush

For years there was nothing I wanted more than to be a momma. Mothers' Day is often a hard day for many people for a variety of reasons. For me, for a long time, it was yet another reminder that I wasn't yet the one thing I had known all my life I wanted to be. 

So, that first year after the kid was born, Mothers' Day was huge - emotionally speaking - for me. The kid was about 3mon old and I was just coming out of the fog of post-adoption depression. I felt like we were finally settling in to life as a family of 3 (plus dog). And I needed to do something to mark the occasion. Something beyond going out to eat and opening a card. Something beyond going to get a massage (which hubby arranged and I did love). I needed it to be something more permanent.

So I went with my momma and bought a rose bush.

We always had them growing up. (My mom still has them and man, they're beautiful!) Every so often, my mom would cut a couple in the mornings for me to take to my teachers in school (elementary school, of course). I loved taking them in. I loved having them in the backyard. There's just something about rose bushes that, for me, signifies motherhood.

I can't quite put it in to words, how important having my own rose bush was. They remind me of my mother, who is of course my primary reference point of being a mom. So, in buying my own, and planting it, it was like further establishing my own roots as a mom in my own right. Proving to myself that I was a mother. Because after all that IF, sometimes I needed as much tangible proof as I could get.

When we moved several years later, I made hubby dig that thing up and move it with us, then replant it in our new backyard. The thought of leaving it there felt like abandoning part of me. It took me a long time to find the perfect spot in the backyard.

And last year, the kid's first in school, there was great pleasure - and healing - in snipping a couple of my own beautiful roses, wrapping them in wet paper towel and sending them with him to give to his teacher. That simple act, for me, it says motherhood.

That rose bush, that little plant, well, it reminds me of so much. Every spring as the leaves sprout, and then the blooms turn red, I watch and smile. It's grown so much, is so much taller and fuller than it was when I first bought it almost 7 years ago. I noticed today that this winter it's finally grown taller than me.

Just like that rosebush, I've grown in the last 7 years. Not taller certainly. And fuller definitely. But so is my life. So much fuller. I look forward to seeing it bloom this year. And seeing the growth it, and I, will experience.


Today's Lesson: Motherhood, just like a rose, is not defined by its name but rather by its beauty. And its thorns. But that's a post for another day.

Problems Only of the Fertiles

I joined a group of, well, shall we say hippie-ish parents on FB. For the most part, I find much of the content interesting and helpful. I don't know that I've ever seen any kind of posting about infertility there. In fact, many of the families seem to have several (4+ children). That certainly leads me to believe infertility isn't a huge issue for most the families. But I don't hold it against them.

However, a recent post just about made my head explode.

It read as follows (with names changed by me):

"Amy and Bob were both born on the same day, and their birthday is coming up soon. While Amy's due date WAS Bob's birthday, we never expected her to actually be born on that day. So, now DH and I have a dilemma. Do we try to conceive so our third is born on that day, too? Or do we just let it up to the universe to decide? Our reasoning for wanting to have them all born on the same day is so the third doesn't feel left out when his/her siblings are celebrating, and vice versa. Plus, it would be really cool. But, of course, we would never consent to an induction or cesarean to guarantee they all shared a birthday."

There are all kinds of responses to this post. Fortunately most of them say something along the lines of "just let it happen". But even that makes me either want to yell or laugh bitterly. I mean, really?! I've gone back to that post several times the last couple of days, trying to decide if I should respond. Well, that's not true. I know I shouldn't. So, I suppose it's more about reminding myself of that.

Because what I want to say is something along the lines of, "Just be grateful you can get pregnant. Just be grateful you have carried babies to term. Just be grateful that your children are healthy. And then just shut the hell up. Have sex whenever you want. Get pregnant, or don't. But, for the love of Pete, why don't you try just hoping that the Universe doesn't laugh at you and tell you to go screw yourselves. Because that's how some of us feel. Also, how grown up of you to not consent for an induction to guarantee they have the same birthday."

Blech.

The problems of the fertiles. I wish they made me laugh. Instead they make me grind my teeth.


Today's Lesson: Sometimes we should all keep our words to ourselves. Because the words don't do anyone any good, even if they would make us feel better for a moment. The wisdom is in recognizing that before the words leave our mouths. Or fingers, as the case may be.

Leprechaun Day

The kid (making a card for our friends' new baby): I think I'll put a leprechaun on it.
Me: Uh, okay. What made you decide to put that on it?
Kid: You know, because it's almost Leprechaun day.
Me: You mean St Patrick's Day?
Kid: Who?
Me: St Patrick. That's the day. Not Leprechaun.
Kid: Sure it is.
Me: Do you know who St Patrick was?
Kid: Sure. He was obviously the King of the Leprechauns.
Me: Not exactly...
Kid: Oh, he just is the keeper of the Leprechauns? Like he knows where they're hiding? And where to get all their awesome gold???!!!!!
Me: Not so much. He was a real person a long time ago. The legend is that he expelled all the snakes from Ireland.
Kid: No, that's not it. Snakes are not nearly as cool as Leprechauns. I'm pretty sure it's the Leprechaun thing. They wouldn't make a whole day about some snake thing.
Me: Um. Okay. Ask your teacher.
Kid: No thanks. I don't want her to spoil my vision.
Me: Alrighty then.


Today's Lesson: Leprechauns are more interesting that St Patrick. Or the kid's parents need to do a better job of teaching him history. One of those two.

Searches

Random searches that have led you to me. Somehow.

Black toddler shaving (I think this one was thanks to this post. It still makes me giggle.)

Turn off the water while using me (But I have no explanation for this one.)

Keep calm and take anal (And certainly not for this one.)

Mysecretstash  (Yes, all one word. And I'm certain it comes from this post. But I'm also ridiculously curious about the secret stash of the person who searched it! If you're still here, tell me please! Seriously, I reeeeeeeealllllllly want to know!!!)

Best time for ladies to leave shoes in the bathtub (Do tell. When is it the best time for ladies to leave their shoes in the bathtub? Or is it their own shoes? Maybe it's someone else's shoes? So many questions. No answers...)

Inducing lactation for husband (Not only does this one make me feel a bit icky, well, it makes me feel really icky.)

Naked backyard comics (Sooooo, what???! Also, this one has popped up more than once. Yes, yes it has.)

Shaving cream on food (Okay, so, like, are we talking like "I got shaving cream on my food and now I need to know if it's safe to eat?" Or are we talking, "I want to eat shaving cream, so how do I add that to my food?" I mean, really, I have no idea what it's supposed to mean...)

Anal Pumper (I mean, wtf people?!!! First, why the hell is someone searching that??!!! Second, and most importantly for me, WHY DID THAT BRING YOU TO MY BLOG????!!!!!! And that's all I can even think of to say about that. Besides, seriously, wtf. W.T.F.)

Happy Monday, y'all.


Today's Lesson: It would seem that I use the word "anal" much too frequently in this blog.

Germs

In a familiar turn of events, a member of my household is sick. This has been the winter of germs. Cold, after cold, after cold. Two episodes of Scarlet Fever. Yes, that happened twice. Asthma off and on and off and on. Teething. Sweetbabyjesus the teething. A sick husband (which, of course, is tantamount to the end of the world). And now a stomach bug. I am so very over the sickies. I mean, D.O.N.E. Done.

I hereby proclaim that sickness is no longer welcome and/or allowed here. There will be no more missed school and/or work days in this family this year. There will be no more sick visits to the doctor. There will be no more cold medicine bought. There will be no more antibiotics taken. There will be no more vomit-covered laundry. There will be no more nights interrupted every 45 minutes by a vomiting, or coughing, or screaming, or refusing to sleep, or whothehellknowswhyhewon'tsleep child.

Please note that we are now a sick-free zone. Please, fortheloveofallthingsholy keep your sickness to yourself. Momma can't handle any more sick boys. For real.


Today's Lesson: Germs love my family. And I, clearly, have no idea who to keep them at bay.

Bust a Move

I was at home, my day off (every Monday), just me and baby E. We were listening to music, dancing around the kitchen. He was begging me to hold him and dance. I was trying to get him to dance on his own. He used to, but lately wants me to hold him instead. Most of the time I love it. But sometimes, well, he's getting kind of heavy. And, really, he kinda cramps my groove style.

For a second I had one of those moments when you can see yourself from outside of yourself. You know what I mean? I realized, in that brief moment, I totally dance like my mom. As in, I could see her dancing around the kitchen with us (my brother and me), when we were really little. One of those random flashes that you're fairly certain is actually a memory, but there's enough cloudiness that you're not absolutely sure. And then I saw myself, and realized I move just like her. It's funny, particularly since I don't remember the last time I saw her dance at all. You know, we just haven't been in dance-worthy or dance-appropriate situations.

At any rate, we're grooving around, me and my baby E. He is finally busting out his own moves. And they look like neither mine or my mama's. "Hey E, do you have moves like Jagger?" "No, momma, no moves like boogers. Baby E move like Kid!" Cue momma, laughing hysterically. Cue baby E grinning from ear to ear. Cue him really groovin'.

Those boys both have moves. And I gotta say, I hope they got them from their birth parents. 'Cause the ones they could get from me are not so impressive. And we'll not even talk about their Poppa's.


Today's Lesson: There comes a moment when your children realize that you are no longer cool. I don't know when that moment will come, but I am so grateful that it hasn't hit yet.

Introspection

Lately I've been thinking a lot about who I was pre-children versus who I am now. One of the things I've focused on is my professional self.

Before the kid came along, (as I've mentioned before) I worked for our state's child protective services and a home visitation program for first time parents for a total of about 6 years. Somewhat regularly I was asked if I had kids. I typically responded that I didn't, but that I did have lots of education and experience (along the lines of men don't have babies, but they can still be OB's). No one ever pushed me on it. I fully believed that whether or not I had children made no difference in how I did my job, or in my competency. And in a way it didn't.

But, I realize now that in other ways it did.

I never understood how someone could shake his/her baby, until I was standing on that precipice myself. Intellectually, I knew that people got frustrated, but to actually feel intense anger for this tiny, innocent baby who I loved, well, that rocked me. That moment forever changed me, personally and professionally. And, to be honest, there have been many of those moments over the last 7 years. So many.

While those moments specifically don't make me a better social worker, they do affect the way I view the parents with whom I am working. I find myself being both more empathetic at times, and less tolerant at others.

What I think I've come to is this - it's not that I am necessarily better at my job now that I am parenting. It's that I am different in the way I approach my job (and by "job", I mean being a social worker in general). Fortunately, I am a much better social worker than I was 13yrs ago, fresh out of school. I attribute that to experience and time. Some of that experience I have gotten from other children/parents/families. A lot of it, though, I have gotten from my own children/parenting/family.

I think we don't have to have done something ourselves to understand how to do it. But, the doing of it, well, that changes our perspectives. It, I suppose, makes things more personal. And that can either hinder or help, depending on the situation.


Today's Lesson: Apparently feeling disconnected from the rest of your life can leave you with lots of time for introspection. Whether or not that is a good thing, well, that I have yet to determine.

Love in Suits

Just after I posted about feeling disconnected (I mean, literally, less than an hour later), all 3 of my boys surprised me at work. They were dressed up (button up shirts, khakis, hubby in a suit) with roses for me. It was slow at that time so we walked around and just chatted. It was nice.

 

 

I am blessed.

 

 

Today's Lesson: My children are in dire need of dress shoes. Or I need to show their father where they are. One of those two.

Disconnected

Lately I've been feeling disconnected, really, from just about everything. And - fortunately - not disconnected in the whole "I hate my life/self/work/family/etc.../I'm depressed" kind of way. I'm not really sure how to describe it. But I know it's related to why I haven't been blogging much over the last couple of months.

It's an interesting place to sit.

I feel disconnected from the blog-o-sphere. I've been reading blogs, and trying to comment some, but not feeling like I have words *I* need to share here in this space. I want to offer you all support, but I'm not feeling like I have the words to do so (either here, or via commenting on your blogs). So, please don't be offended. Really, it's me not you ;)

I feel disconnected from work. I'm coming to work, doing my job as expected. But I don't feel the passion right now. Heck, I don't even feel the compassion like I typically do. At the same time, I also seem to be able to deal with those patients I generally find especially frustrating, without that normal irritation. And I don't take the worry home with me as can happen sometimes. I'm able to know I've done what I can do, and then let it go.

I feel disconnected from my friends. For a variety of reasons (work, family, general chaos), I haven't spent much time with them in months. And it's left me feeling awkward when we are together, not quite knowing what to say. Me. Not knowing what to say. It's weird.

I feel disconnected from my husband. I don't remember the last time we had a real heart-to-heart conversation. This, too, has happened for a multitude of reasons, my crazy work schedule certainly being one of them. There's also this awkwardness in the stage we're in. So focused on parenting, but struggling to do it the same way, since we're so disconnected in our own relationship.

I even feel disconnected from my children. While I recognize this isn't good overall, at the same time it's afforded me some space to try to parent in a different way. Honestly, a way I much prefer. A way I think is much healthier for me and especially my children.

This bit of a distance that's come about (I don't know how) seems to be allowing me to be more patient (with all three of my "boys"). It's seems to be helping me to not get so easily frustrated. To not yell as quickly. To, perhaps, be more patient. It's seems to be allowing me to not take their behaviors that I find annoying, for what they are - their behaviors, not something done intentionally to irritate me. Behaviors that are done instead with the intention of getting some kind of need of their own met. And this distance is allowing me to ferret out what those needs are, instead of focusing on my own reaction and frustration.

So here I am. Disconnected. Not sure how I feel about it. Very sad in some ways. And yet healthier in others.

It's an interesting place to sit.


Today's Lesson: Change, short term or long term, is always a double edged sword.

I'll Make it Up to You

I've been a horrible blogger of late. Sorry about that, y'all. I'm going to try to do better. But, until I get myself together, I just had to share this blog with you. Because I love it. It says something that I agree with wholeheartedly. So, here ya go...

I Became a Mother, and Died to Live @ Renegade Mothering

Read it, mull it over, then read it again. Hope it speaks to you as well.


Today's Lesson: Carefully consider the names you give your offspring. Some names just seem to predetermine the life's path of a child. And not in a good way. And how I wish I could give you examples. But, suffice to say, "Methe" is not a good name for a girl. Or a boy, come to think of it.

7 Years

Every year for the last 7 years we've celebrated the Superbowl with the same group of people - our camping friends. We get together, eat good camping food, plan this year's camping trips, and then we leave to put our kids to bed. Well, I mean, I'm sure some people actually stay and watch the game, but I could care less. Yes, even about the commercials. Plus, we really do have to get the kids to bed.

I've told you the last few years why the Superbowl is important to us - it's the day we first met the kid's birth parents, the day we learned that after so many years, we were finally going to be parents. But it was at this same party that we got to finally say out loud what we'd wanted to say for so long. So, the fact that we're still celebrating this day with many of the same people, well, it makes it even more special for me.

Happy Superbowl, bloggy friends. While you're eating good food, watching (hopefully) hilarious commercials, and some (I don't know an appropriate descriptor) football, raise a glass (or a chip) to the kid and his birth family. That's what we'll be doing.

Today's Lesson: Even us non-football people can find something celebratory about the Superbowl.

Filing

This weekend I got myself a new filing cabinet. Exciting, I know. I've been wanting one for several years. I have a little one, but it was too full to hold anything else. I wanted a bigger one so I could really get some stuff organized. So, last night I got busy organizing, shredding, tossing.

I do love a good organizational purge. I went through everything in the little cabinet, everything that's been piling up around it, everything that's been piled, shoved, tossed elsewhere in my house. It was good. And interesting.

Though I know I've been through those piles in the last 10 years, somehow I found things that should have been purged years ago. I found bank statements with the checks hubby wrote for our wedding (for the quartet, for the photographer, for the priest). I found a file hubby's mother had written all over, planning how they were going to pay for his college. I found records from the urologist hubby visited just before being diagnosed with a tumor in his spinal column a few months after we were married.

And then I found, most unexpected of all, records from our infertilitytesting and  treatments. The insurance forms from the early tests. The slips from the pharmacy for the evil Clomid that made me so crazy. The bills from the later tests and IUI. All of them useless.

I've been wondering why I still have them. Did I save them for some reason? Did I want to remind myself of it all? Perhaps I thought that once we finally got pregnant (ha - the naivete!) they would help me remember our journey and how worth it all the treatments were.

Maybe.

However, as I've thought about it, I think what actually happened was I shoved them in the back of the drawer because I simply couldn't bare to deal with them. They were such a glaring and tangible reminder of my failure to do the one thing I most wanted. To pull them out, even if only to throw them away, was too much of a reminder. To touch them, even if to shred them, was akin to opening the floodgates on all those memories, and hurts. The ones I had no desire to unleash again.

And so, imagine my surprise to discover first that they were there, because I had thoroughly and completely forgotten them. But second, to find that letting them go, shredding them, left me feeling nothing. No hurt. No sadness. No relief or healing either. Just nothing.

And that, I suppose, is proof that I've come further than I sometimes think I have. I didn't need to destroy those records to feel closure about the inevitability of ever becoming pregnant. Somewhere along the way, I've already found some. By no means am I "over" infertility. But the sharp, ever present pain, it's gone. And, for that, I am thankful.


Today's Lesson: Organizing can be good for the soul.

The best thing...

...I ever read in a patient's medical record

A lizard was present at the patient's resuscitation. Blurry squirrels will emergently take patient to the OR.

I have no idea what the doctor meant to write in his note. I'm quite certain it wasn't this. But, if it was, I love him.

Pretty sure, though, that what actually happened is he dictated it and then didn't go back, read and correct it. I kept waiting all day for him to do that, and then change it. And I'm quite happy that, as I leave tonight, it still reads as above. Because, I mean really, who wouldn't want that in his/her medical record?!


Today's Lesson: Sometimes you find the most unexpected things in the most expected places. Like a lizard, or blurry squirrels, in the emergency department. Or at least a good laugh in a medical chart.

An Exercise in Adulthood

I have a confession. Neither hubby nor I have written a will. I know, I KNOW! It's awful. It's irresponsible. It's not okay. And yet, we're stuck. I mean, the material things (the house, the bank accounts, the life insurance policies), those are no big deal. It's the whole who gets kids thing that has stumped us. Like for 7 years now. Seriously. I know.

I mean, besides the whole "who wants to think about this?!" issue, how do you make that decision? How??!!! (No, really, pleasefortheloveofbabyjesus tell me!) How do you decide who will raise your children if you are not there to do it? I don't know. Hence why it hasn't happened.

I'm sure for some people the answer is obvious. But it's not for us.

Ideally, we want a 2 parent home - because we know how hard it is to parent two children when there are two parents. Trying to do it with just one, sheesh. My mom raised my brother and I on her own. She did (says her admittedly biased daughter) a great job. But I saw how hard it was. Additionally, when thinking about all the challenges and heartaches our children would have to go through (and will present to their new parents) in grieving the parents and family they've known their whole lives, well, it seems like having a partner to share that is better.

We want someone who lives locally, because most of our family are local (including the boys' birth families) and it's so important for those relationships to be maintained and even strengthened. We want someone who has a diverse community. We want someone who is in a place to parent two additional (busy) children. We want someone with similar values and beliefs as us. We want someone who loves them.

Also, I think adoption adds something for us to consider. And this has been a sticking point. Maintaining contact with the boys' birth families is absolutely important. An unwillingness to do so, or simply not regarding it as important, is a complete dealbreaker. We need, the boys need, someone who understands the importance of their relationships with their birth families. Someone who will make the effort to initiate contact when the boys' birth families have been silent. Someone who will respect their birth families, and the role they have in the boys' lives. Someone who will love, not just our boys, but their birth families as well.

How do you decide who will parent your children when you cannot? As we've talked about this and thought about this time and again, I've come to wonder if birth parents may be uniquely qualified to make this kind of decision. It's one they've made before. And It gives me a tiny insight into the difficulty of the decision they had to make.

We still don't know who to choose. It's an ongoing conversation. One we KNOW we need to make. And soon. It's part of being a parent. It's part of being an adult. And it's hard. Sure, we could just throw something out there, just to have something on paper, living under the belief that it will never be needed. And, of course, the likelihood is that it won't ever be needed.

But I also know that there's a possibility it will be needed. And, if it is, my children deserve to know that we made a well thought out decision. That we did our best to assure they were loved and taken care of in our absence.

Not that that makes it any easier. It's hard. Being an adult is hard.


Today's Lesson: Sometimes we (aka me) all need to put on our big girl (aka adult) pants and write the damn will already (or maybe that's just me).

The Cubicle Chronicles: Chapter Six

Read previous chapters of The Cubicle Chronicles here, here, here, here, and here. It's been a long time since I last posted one of these. I'm no longer at the work location where the majority of the, uh, conversations were overheard. Thus, this may be the last. So, for now, I give you perhaps the final The Cubicle Chronicles...

Lady:Yeah, we had secret service in here the other night. Man: Why? Lady: Because some dumbass threatened to kill President Obama. Man: What?! Seriously?! (hahahaha) Lady: I mean, do you know how often people say they're going to kill the president? I don't like him, I didn't vote for him last time and I won't this time. But I'd vote for him over some woman. Because the last thing we need is some bleeding heart as a president. Now, you get some woman like me in there, well that'd be perfect. I'd blow them bastards right up. I like blowin' shit up, y'all. Yeah, I'd make a good president all right. (um, wtf. and, if I hadn't been working for 15 hours at that point, I'd have had to interject. Seriously, so much to respond to.)

Lady 1: Girl, I think she's COD. I mean all she does is clean. Lady 2: You mean DOC. L1: What? L2: You know "Disorder of the Cleaners", where all they like to do is clean. L1: Yeah, that. I mean, she is obsessive about it. (Sigh. If they were trying to be funny, well, it would be funny. But they weren't. I should be grateful they got the letters correct, right? No? I didn't think so either.)

And then, I walked in to the bathroom. You know, one where there are multiple stalls. In this case only 2 of them, but they both have doors. You know, that LOCK. Well, not only was the stall door not locked, it also wasn't closed. At all. It was wiiiiiiiide open. And, not only was she, uh, doing her business (yes, with the stall door all the freaking way open), also she was discussing her business as loudly as ever. Me = traumatized.

Lady1: Did you vote today? Lady 2: Uh, no. L1: Why not? L2: Girl, I don't have time for that. I got way more important things to do! L1: Like what? I mean you had all day, like 12 hours. L2: Girl, I got a wedding to plan and it is coming up soon!!!! L1: Oh yeah? When is it? L2: It's only 9 months from now! Can you believe it's going to be so soon???!!! (Oh, and here's the best part of this whole thing - Lady #2 from this conversation, she's also the Lady from the first conversation. Oh, yes. She is.)


Today's Lesson: All good things, apparently, must really come to an end. Fortunately, so do the awful ones. Boo for you = yay for me. Funny how that works, huh?

Flipping Out

The other I posted a comment on someone else's blog post. She was talking about how her toddler climbed out of his bed, but they're not ready to transition to a big bed yet. I was all, "yeah, the kid did that at about this age and so we switched to a regular bed but baby E hasn't done that. Not once! It's great. Yay for us. Yada, yada, yada...".

And then, well, I bet you can guess what he did within the next 24hrs. Three times. Just to teach me a lesson. Oh yes, he did. He escaped the crib. Now, if he was just climbing, well, I'd be like whatever. His crib is low to the ground (max 30in from top tail to ground) and he's a super climber. The chance of him hurting himself that way, well, is realistically pretty small.

But, no. That's not what my toddler did. He flipped out. Like he does in gymnastics. As in, belly on the rail, flipping head over tail and landing on his feet. Now, I have no flipping (ha - like how I did that?) idea how he's not decapitated himself with this maneuver. Somehow, he's not. Yet.

I'm not ready for him to move out of his crib. I don't think he's ready for that either. He's still not a great sleeper and that's been even worse since the holidays started. It had gotten a bit better, but then he didn't get a nap one day last week and he's been, uh, stereotypically toddler-ish since then. We're back to using Melatonin at night and I so hope it helps. So, I really don't want to do anything that could potentially make sleep even more challenging right now. You know, like switching to a new bed.

Some people have mentioned putting him in a sleep sack. And that would be great. You know, if he was climbing out. But he's not. Flipping would be just as easy in a sleep sack. And potentially more dangerous in the landing.

Sigh. What to do, what to do...


Today's Lessons: Parenting... just when you feel like you might have some kind of a handle on it, it changes. Also, gymnastics apparently teaches kids acrobatic tricks. But not rules about when it's appropriate to use those tricks.

Dear Spammers - Go Away!!!

Hey friends. Back tomorrow with a longer post. Or maybe the next day, you know, being realistic. But just wanted to let you know that I'm having to turn on the hated (by me) captcha thing. I have been getting crazy numbers of spam comments and it's kinda pissing me off. I've seen other bloggers say they, too, have been getting more of late. Wondering what's going on with that. At any rate, hoping that with some time, they will die down and I can take it off. 'Cause I really hate it.

Hope you all have a great weekend! I'm looking forward to several days off work to spend with my boys. Thankyoubabyjesus!!!!!


Today's Lesson: Spammers suck. That is all.

Conversation with My (Boy) Toddler

I raccoon.
You're a raccoon?
Yes, I raccoon.
Well, what are you up to little raccoon?
Raccoon eat.
What are you eating?
Raccoon eat lunch.
What does a raccoon eat for lunch?
Eat crackers.
What else?
Eat a smamich.
What kind of sandwich?
Bwue smamich.
Ah, blue sandwich, okay. What is that? Like almond butter, or ham, or...?
No, bwue smamich!!
Okay, blue sandwich it is. And what else? What does a raccoon drink?
Raccoon dwink juice. Lotsa juice.
Okay, juice. So, is the raccoon having anything else for lunch?
No. Raccoon haf a penis. Raccoon go peepee ou-sigh.

And we're back to that. Always back to that with boys.


Today's Lesson: An imagination is an amazing thing. And certainly something to be encouraged. Even in boys. Maybe even particularly so in boys.

The Joys of Nursing a Toddler

Pre-kids, - heck, pre-baby E - I never saw myself nursing a toddler. As much as I knew nursing was a parenting tool I'd employ, nursing a 2yo was never something I imagined was for me. And, if I'm completely honest, it was something that I thought was kind of icky. You know, obviously breastfeeding is best for babies, but once they get teeth (ouch!), and once they're walking (walk to the table and get some food, kid!), and once they're talking (ask for some real food, kid!), etc... they no longer "need" it.

So, it's funny that that's where I find myself now. And particularly so, since I love nursing my talkative, runs and climbs all over the place, has a mouth full of teeth little boy.

Here are a couple of the reasons why...

(First, Baby E still calls nursing "mulp-mease", milk in a cup has become just "milk". Also, his pediatrician pretends they have birds in their ears to get them to hold still when she's checking their ears. It's amazingly effective.)
E: Mulp-mease all gone.
Me: Yup, it's all gone.
E: More mulp-mease?
M: It's all gone. We'll have more later.
E: [Where] mulp-mease go?
M: Is it in your belly?
E: No, mulp-mease no in belly!
M: Then where is it?
E: Mulp-mease in baby E's penis!!!!!!
M: Uh, maybe. Where else could it have gone?
E: Baby E's birds drink all 'uh mulp-mease!
And then he cracks up laughing for like 5 minutes, totally amused with the joke he's made. And how can I not laugh at that?!


The other morning, hubby let me sleep in (thank you, dear!). When I did get up, it was after 9am. As soon as I came out of my bedroom, baby E came running up to me, as I'm sure many of your kids do with you. He grabbed me around my legs, shouting with joy. After a minute of that, and then lots of hugging, baby E put his hands on either side of my face, looked me dead in the eyes and said, "mulp-mease pease, momma!". It was not a question. It was a statement, one made with excitement. Serious excitement.

I prepared the SNS, with him staying right by my side. When I told him it was ready, he said, "hold hand?" and we walked to the chair where we nurse 99% of the time. He waited patiently for me to get settled, climbed up into my lap, and sighed the most contented little sigh. He latched on and smiled up at me. Then he reached up and oh, so gently patted my cheek.

I understand that nursing a toddler isn't for everyone. But I am pleasantly surprised to find that it is for me. And I am beyond grateful for the experience.


Today's Lesson: I don't say this nearly often enough, but baby E's milk mommies, all 30+ of them, are the reason I was able to do this. They are amazing women and I so appreciate them one and all. Hum, that's not really a lesson though is it? Okay, so here's one. Sometimes the lesson, well, it's one you've just got to figure out for yourself.

Hats

The kid won't keep hats on. I love kids in hats. But he's just too antsy to leave one alone. Same goes for sunglasses, or gloves, or much of anything. Baby E, however, loves hats. In fact, he asks for them. And then keeps them on. Which is a totally new phenomenon for me.

 

I ordered him a few new ones recently. And he was super excited when they arrived. He demanded he wear one as soon as it came out of the box. Pre-tag removal even. And then he decided I should wear the other. I'm not sure what it says that we can wear the same hats. And that those hats are too small for my 6yo's big ole head. But anyway.

 

Here we are, being cute in his new moose and tiger hats. Because if there's anything he loves more than hats, it's having his picture taken while he's being cute.

 



 

 

 

And then he took off running across the room. He grabbed the kid's skull-n-crossbone rain boots and raced back over. He plopped down on the floor and pulled them on. Then he said, "I look goooooooooood, momma. Takea pit-ur". So I did. Because how could I not?!

 

I mean, honestly, look at that face! How can you not smile?

 

 

Today's Lesson: I clearly have a lot to learn about fashion. Maybe one day my children will teach me.



A Special Heart

Somehow I did manage to get Christmas cards out this year. Actually, I know how that got done - I had to work the day before and Thanksgiving days and had no patients either day. 16 hours where I watched several movies, read two books on the Kin.dle, and wrote and addressed my Christmas cards. But that's totally not the point of this post. Moving on.

I sent the cards out in a couple of batches because even though the cards were done, that doesn't mean we had any stamps in my house. And when I ask my husband to come home with 2 or 3 books of stamps, he usually comes home with one. I'm pretty sure that even if I asked him to come home with 83 books of stamps, he'd still come home with one. And, moving on. Again.

I sent one, among the others, to each of the boys' birth families. And the week before Christmas we got one back from the kid's birth family. This was a surprise, and a wonderful one. We haven't heard them in quite a while.

The kid apparently wasn't in the room when hubby and I opened it, smiling, and looked at their kid's pictures they sent along. My oh my, the three of them (the kid, and his 2 birth siblings) look so much alike!

So he wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later and picked up the card. He said, "this looks a lot like my birth brother, and this one like my birth sister". I said, "well, it is them".

He held the pictures for probably 30seconds, just staring at them, with a gentle smile on his face. "Wow, momma.  I love my birth sister. She is really pretty and a fun girl. And I sure love my birth brother. He has a really special heart".

So do you, my sweet boy. So do you.


Today's Lesson: Children's hearts know how to love.