As I started to drift into the I'm-in-solitary-confinement blues yesterday, I realized I needed to get a grip. So I latched onto the memory of my plane trip home from Berlin last summer. I was so anxious to see my children that it almost hurt. Every moment I was away from them started to feel unbearable and I thought that there was nothing in life that would matter if I could just be with them again.
I know, crazy. I spent the previous four and a half years desperate for a chance to get away from the little darlin' ones. Sometimes your wish has to be granted before you realize you actually want something more.
Since then, I've been on a mental voyage to a place that has changed my life. I have finally arrived: I'm happy to be a stay-at-home Mom. Thrilled, in fact. Who would have thought this of me?
My husband asked me last night if I'd like to get back to school to start my graduate degree in the next year or two, if I could find a program that let me take things at a slow pace. No way. I could change my mind, of course, but I think I'd rather wait five or ten years. My heart is here. I'm satisfied to spend time staring into my kids' eyes (true love, every time), baking cookies and spending hours paper-crafting valentines that are really not that much better than the store-bought ones.
So as I laid in bed feeling imprisoned and restless, I remembered how it felt to be somewhere other than home. It felt great and I'd go again in a heartbeat, but it also hurt to be away from this crazy place called home. This is where I'll come back to. This is where my heart will always be. And even if I'm stuck here for two more months without so much as a peek at the encroaching spring, I would rather be imprisoned here than anywhere else in the world.
Safe in the arms of those I love. Safe in the laughter of my children. Blessed with happiness from above. This is where I belong.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Friendships
Friendships.
Some start with a great whirlwind of discovery, shared secrets and the comfort of mutual understanding. These seem to leave in a whirlwind, too, but of mistrust and disappointment.
Some start with a mutual warmth--but patience. Sometimes these fade slowly and easily away, no pain and no regret. And sometimes these build day by day until you realize that you have built a solid foundation of shared experiences and understanding. These are friendships to treasure.
Some start with a wariness that is almost tangible. I think this is how one of my greatest friendships started. We were thrown together and the tension was sometimes palpable. Sometimes we would work side by side without speaking to each other. And when we were around other people, you would assume we were total strangers.
Years later, I realized that if we had seen each other at our worst and learned to be friends, this was a friendship that would last. And it has, through ups and downs and good times and bad times. Sometimes we are sarcastic and cutting to each other--and it genuinely hurts. But I know that we'll get over it. We'll move on. Because we have faith in each other to stand back up when we fall down.
I've learned to be cautious of friendships that start with heat--they will likely go down in flames. (Of course, I might surprise myself one day with a Phoenix Friendship--out of the ashes, so to speak.) So I treasure friendships that are warm and comfortable and just right. And I've learned to be patient with friendships that start a little chilly. Patience before rewards.
Some start with a great whirlwind of discovery, shared secrets and the comfort of mutual understanding. These seem to leave in a whirlwind, too, but of mistrust and disappointment.
Some start with a mutual warmth--but patience. Sometimes these fade slowly and easily away, no pain and no regret. And sometimes these build day by day until you realize that you have built a solid foundation of shared experiences and understanding. These are friendships to treasure.
Some start with a wariness that is almost tangible. I think this is how one of my greatest friendships started. We were thrown together and the tension was sometimes palpable. Sometimes we would work side by side without speaking to each other. And when we were around other people, you would assume we were total strangers.
Years later, I realized that if we had seen each other at our worst and learned to be friends, this was a friendship that would last. And it has, through ups and downs and good times and bad times. Sometimes we are sarcastic and cutting to each other--and it genuinely hurts. But I know that we'll get over it. We'll move on. Because we have faith in each other to stand back up when we fall down.
I've learned to be cautious of friendships that start with heat--they will likely go down in flames. (Of course, I might surprise myself one day with a Phoenix Friendship--out of the ashes, so to speak.) So I treasure friendships that are warm and comfortable and just right. And I've learned to be patient with friendships that start a little chilly. Patience before rewards.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Memories of Pregnancies Past
1. Going in for a routine checkup at Labor & Delivery. The nurse took my BP, her eyes got huge and she rushed from the room, grabbed the supplies she needed and stuck an IV in me immediately. I wonder what the number was. I felt annoyed.
2. My doctor showing up unexpectedly at another of those L&D appointments after I'd been waiting hours to be released. "You're gonna have a baby today!" Shock. The whole world turned upside down in a good, but very stunning, way.
3. "We'll take you in to the operating room for your c-section in about an hour. They're just finishing up another patient right now." An hour passed and the nurse returned, slightly agitated. "It'll be a little longer." An hour later, I started to wonder why any woman would be in the operating room for 2+ hours for a routine c-section? Another hour later and the nurses eyes were red and swollen. My feelings of elation and happy expectation were suddenly gone as I worried about the stranger a few rooms away.
My obstetrician eventually came in and said gently, "Can we do it in the morning? Everyone here is emotionally frayed and I can promise you'll get better medical attention from them tomorrow." Later he told us that a medical student, who had been there to observe, wanted to choose a new career after what he had just seen.
We read the news article the next day about the woman who had died in childbirth with unstoppable hemorrhaging. The baby survived.
I was the next patient in that operating room at 8:00 a.m. There were no signs of blood anywhere. I tried not to think about it.
4. The first--very loud--cry and my doctors both saying, "It's a boy!" simultaneously. The most beautiful sound I have ever heard since we knew his lungs weren't quite mature.
5. The silence that followed the birth of my twins. "Are they out??? Are they okay???" I asked nervously. "Oh yeah, everything is fine." So much personality in that lack of crying. In retrospect, that silence was as beautiful as the first reassuring cry from my first child.
6. Staring at my tummy--trying not to stare at my tummy--and thinking, "Staples? Seriously... staples? What am I? Some kind of office document?"
7. Wondering if laughter or crying would tear my stomach back open. I tried so hard not to move at all, because it all felt so wrong to see that gash across my mid-section.
8. Despite that, loving the simplicity of c-sections.
9. Holding my newborn son in my arms.
10. Holding two newborn sons in two arms with nobody in the room to help me put them down again. The first of many, "What in the world do I do now?" moments as the mother of multiples.
2. My doctor showing up unexpectedly at another of those L&D appointments after I'd been waiting hours to be released. "You're gonna have a baby today!" Shock. The whole world turned upside down in a good, but very stunning, way.
3. "We'll take you in to the operating room for your c-section in about an hour. They're just finishing up another patient right now." An hour passed and the nurse returned, slightly agitated. "It'll be a little longer." An hour later, I started to wonder why any woman would be in the operating room for 2+ hours for a routine c-section? Another hour later and the nurses eyes were red and swollen. My feelings of elation and happy expectation were suddenly gone as I worried about the stranger a few rooms away.
My obstetrician eventually came in and said gently, "Can we do it in the morning? Everyone here is emotionally frayed and I can promise you'll get better medical attention from them tomorrow." Later he told us that a medical student, who had been there to observe, wanted to choose a new career after what he had just seen.
We read the news article the next day about the woman who had died in childbirth with unstoppable hemorrhaging. The baby survived.
I was the next patient in that operating room at 8:00 a.m. There were no signs of blood anywhere. I tried not to think about it.
4. The first--very loud--cry and my doctors both saying, "It's a boy!" simultaneously. The most beautiful sound I have ever heard since we knew his lungs weren't quite mature.
5. The silence that followed the birth of my twins. "Are they out??? Are they okay???" I asked nervously. "Oh yeah, everything is fine." So much personality in that lack of crying. In retrospect, that silence was as beautiful as the first reassuring cry from my first child.
6. Staring at my tummy--trying not to stare at my tummy--and thinking, "Staples? Seriously... staples? What am I? Some kind of office document?"
7. Wondering if laughter or crying would tear my stomach back open. I tried so hard not to move at all, because it all felt so wrong to see that gash across my mid-section.
8. Despite that, loving the simplicity of c-sections.
9. Holding my newborn son in my arms.
10. Holding two newborn sons in two arms with nobody in the room to help me put them down again. The first of many, "What in the world do I do now?" moments as the mother of multiples.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Bed rest
My whole life revolves around pregnancy right now. When do I ever blog about humorous day-to-day ironies anymore? I feel that I'm becoming dull in more ways than one. Oh well. People ask how I am and, as much as I prefer my blog to be a creative outlet rather than a simple information-spreading tool, here we go again.
According to the CDC, "Preeclampsia and eclampsia comprise the second leading cause of pregnancy-related death in the United States and the leading cause in many developing nations."
I do not have pre-eclampsia. Yet. But I have been telling people I am "dealing with pre-eclampsia." I realize now that this is completely misleading and I will explain. I have pregnancy-induced hypertension, meaning that my blood pressure is going up as my pregnancy progresses. This is one of the main symptoms of pre-eclampsia, but must be accompanied by other symptoms such as protein in my urine (which I also have, but not at "diagnostic" levels yet.) However, both of these symptoms are controllable right now if I lie down and limit my activity.
So I am living in the shadow of pre-eclampsia. It is looming over me, sneaking up from behind and I while I cannot see it yet, I know that it will eventually grab hold of me and refuse to let go until we deliver the baby. That is what PE does. There is no cure except getting the ******** placenta out of my body. With good care, PE will not progress to eclampsia (seizures and possibly coma.)
However, the blood pressure alone can harm the baby. According to the March of Dimes, "Hypertension may narrow or tighten the blood vessels in the uterus that supply the baby with oxygen and nutrients. Hypertension during pregnancy can create severe risks for both mother and baby, including:
"Health problems for the mother, such as heart attack and stroke
"Slow fetal growth and low birthweight
According to the CDC, "Preeclampsia and eclampsia comprise the second leading cause of pregnancy-related death in the United States and the leading cause in many developing nations."
I do not have pre-eclampsia. Yet. But I have been telling people I am "dealing with pre-eclampsia." I realize now that this is completely misleading and I will explain. I have pregnancy-induced hypertension, meaning that my blood pressure is going up as my pregnancy progresses. This is one of the main symptoms of pre-eclampsia, but must be accompanied by other symptoms such as protein in my urine (which I also have, but not at "diagnostic" levels yet.) However, both of these symptoms are controllable right now if I lie down and limit my activity.
So I am living in the shadow of pre-eclampsia. It is looming over me, sneaking up from behind and I while I cannot see it yet, I know that it will eventually grab hold of me and refuse to let go until we deliver the baby. That is what PE does. There is no cure except getting the ******** placenta out of my body. With good care, PE will not progress to eclampsia (seizures and possibly coma.)
However, the blood pressure alone can harm the baby. According to the March of Dimes, "Hypertension may narrow or tighten the blood vessels in the uterus that supply the baby with oxygen and nutrients. Hypertension during pregnancy can create severe risks for both mother and baby, including:
"Health problems for the mother, such as heart attack and stroke
"Slow fetal growth and low birthweight
"Increased risk of preterm delivery
"Placental abruption"
(Sorry for the bad formatting. I know it's wrong, but give me a break. This isn't a school report, I'm emotionally exhausted and have other things to do than fiddle with proper format in a blog entry.)
So here is the update. I saw the doctor today and one of my main questions for him was, "Am I over-reacting by laying down all the time?" I mean, he just said, "Watch your activity level and definitely no more exercising." I interpreted that to me I could still have a life... just a very slow-paced life.
Apparently I was wrong.
I was about to tell him how I'd checked my BP at the grocery store after dropping the twins off at preschool and he interrupted in frustration, "You're taking your kids to preschool??? Why are you doing that? You shouldn't be leaving your house!"
I then had to admit that I'd also taught Primary on Sunday and felt sicker than a dog by the evening. He said I shouldn't be going to church anymore. That is out. I shouldn't be doing grocery shopping. I shouldn't be cooking meals. I shouldn't be doing housework. I shouldn't be OUT OF MY HOUSE at all (except for appointments with him) and that I'm just lucky that he'll still let me sit up to watch TV instead of laying flat in bed for the next few months.
I started crying. I couldn't help it. I said, "I try so hard to be a compliant patient. I thought I was over-reacting by being down so much. I didn't understand!" He knows this about me and told me that I am a smart person and that if I have any other questions, I know what I should be doing even if it isn't spelled out for me. He's right. I've been through this twice and I have to get over my insecurities about "over-reacting."
My doctor, who is very chill and non-communicative most of the time, was very honest with me today. No, there's basically no chance I will deliver this baby in May. It will be April or sooner. He said he has no way of knowing right now how early the baby will be. Yes, we will be doing blood work regularly to watch for danger signs. (This is why I had to deliver Joseph early: the blood work.) Yes, there will be regular 24-hour urine collections. (Ugh.) Yes, I'll probably be spending a fair amount of time in Labor & Delivery to monitor everything (and I better just get used to it now.)
Yes, I'll probably have a magnesium sulfate drip, which alone brings me to tears. The mag sulfate made me so dizzy and delirious that I don't remember anything about Joseph's first 24 hours except the frustration that I had no idea what was going on with my newborn son, had only seen him for a few minutes and when they tried to put me in a wheelchair to visit him in the NICU, I couldn't even sit up in bed for more than a few seconds. I missed it all. The oxygen hood, the beeping machines that kept the nurses hopping over him constantly, the first bath... everything. It's a memory I'll never have with Joseph and probably not with my little girl.
I'm in a whirl of emotions right now. If I'm lucky enough to keep this baby inside me full-term, I am staring at over two months of bed rest. I've been "taking it easy" for one week and I'm so bored and lonely and stir-crazy and frustrated that I want to scream. If you think it's "relaxing" to not worry about housework or cooking, you haven't been through this. Is it relaxing to watch my husband come home from a long day at work and have to immediately start making dinner, cleaning up, getting kids ready for bed, cleaning up more so he never gets a break at all? Seriously? No, I feel like crap that he suddenly has the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The kids are already getting tense and high-strung without the normal routine of Mom taking care of things for them. Is it "relaxing" to MAKE my children spend hours every day in front of a computer screen or TV screen because I CANNOT referee creative play? No, it feels like crap. I know I signed up for this and it's an important thing and will be WORTH it, but I still feel like such a failure when I can't give my children what they need. They need stability, discipline, boundaries and routine to feel safe and cared-for. I can see the craziness in their eyes already at being given so much responsibility and so much freedom.
I asked the OB if I could go to my son's baptism in March. He thought about it and said, "Move it to May. This baby will definitely be here in May and it'll be okay to wait a couple months. Move it to June if you're worried about it." Is that relaxing to tell my son, who has been looking forward to baptism for years, that he can't be baptized? No, actually, that is a burden that I don't want to have right now.
I read two books yesterday. Two. Entire. Books. That's fun, but honestly, it gets boring to sit and stare at a book all day for TWO OR THREE MONTHS. My wrists hurt from holding the books. My back hurts from staying in one position for so long. I can't sleep anymore because I'm not being active. My OB says not to worry about it, because my body doesn't NEED that sleep while I'm lying down. But no, it's not relaxing to wake up at 4:30 a.m. on a regular basis and stare at the ceiling for hours in hopes that I'll fall back asleep. That is one of my own personal hells. I hate it.
Okay, deep breaths. We'll summarize.
I'm frustrated.
I'm scared.
I'm nervous.
I'm bored to tears.
I'm so lonely from being alone all day long, even after my husband comes home (because he has to be taking care of the children and housework.)
I'll get over it.
In a couple hours, I'll be embarrassed that I was so worked up over something that is temporary, manageable and being carefully overseen by an excellent physician.
My feelings are perfectly valid, but I wish I wasn't so emotional. I wish I was like my sister-in-law, Tiffani, who is so stoic and upbeat about having dangerously low amniotic fluid levels and her baby having the cord around its' neck (twice, I think). I'm sure she has concerns and frustrations, but she quietly manages them alone and never stops smiling when she talks about it with me. I want to be her when I grow up.
And that's the update. I would go back to check for typos (which are frequent with me... I think "there" and type "their" instead, or leave out entire words, or phrases or.) But I'm tired. And I have to go lie down. And read a book. Or watch TV. And try to feel lucky that I am not doing housework or cooking meals, even though that's all I want to be doing right now.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Phew!
x 18+
x 18
x 18+
x 35
x 35=
I did it! My first attempt at homemade valentines has been super fun, although I forgot how exhausting it is to force my children to write their name that many times. That alone took forever.
The twins were fairly compliant at taking suggestions from Mom but Joseph was extremely picky and we had to compromise a lot to make his more "manly." We ended up with red and tan (which doesn't show well in the photos!) instead of the pastel colors I used for the twins.
The pictures don't do them justice because I know *nothing* about how to take good photos indoors when there is no light. Bleh! I can't wait to go make some for teachers, family and friends. I took a few to the nurses at my OB's office today because they put up with a lot from me. My OB says I am not a difficult patient, but I feel like a pain when all my third trimester woes start stacking up.
So now I'm done with the compulsory valentines and anything else I make is just for fun fun fun. Family, friends, visiting teachees, etc are just icing on the crafty cake. Hooray! (That means probably one more crafty entry and then back to life as usual for this blog. This many pictures in one month is just shocking, don't you think? You can see why when you sample my photography skills above.)
(Want to see someone who does this right? See my inspiration for Elijah's valentine gift.)
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Valentine's
Why yes, I am in paper crafting mode.
And yes, it does make a bit of a mess. But it keeps me entertained and off my feet.
And the results are well worth it. My kids will have lots of fun helping me make these simple little Valentine's for their classes later today ... I hope! Time to go get back to it. I'll take pictures of the final design later, if I think of it.
Monday, February 08, 2010
February Wind
I chose to go without a coat today, and when that bitter February wind hit my cheeks I wondered if I had made a bad decision. Only a moment after the shock of cold, I was shocked into recognition. I know this wind, I thought. This February wind.
"I would recognize that wind anywhere," I said aloud to the twins as I closed my eyes to savor it. It felt exactly this way when my children were born. They were all born in February and their birthdays are just days apart. It rained while I gave birth to all my children. That's how I know the Groundhog was wrong--the snow always turns to rain during this month and then each snow storm is merely a fluke, at least in my mind. There is no turning back once we hit mid-February because Spring is just around the corner.
However, I am hoping this February wind is not a signal that my last child's birth is mere weeks away. I'm not ready for that. Baby's not ready for that. She needs a few more months, not a few more weeks. And I think we'll get there, but it's not going to be easy-peesy-rice-and-cheesy. I've seen the writing on the walls for a couple weeks now, but I wasn't ready to talk about it. Now I am.
A few weeks ago, I was out shopping--buying baby's first little pink and purple and green dresses for church next Spring--when I started feeling really shaky. I held my hand up in front of my face and I couldn't see it shaking, but I felt jittery all over. By the time I got home and laid down, I thought I'd be feeling better. Hours later, I was starting to feel nervous. I still felt really sick. I called the nurse to ask her if people felt this way with gestational diabetes, maybe? I had done some research and it seemed like I was exhibiting some symptoms of hypoglycemia actually, which is opposite, but... I just needed to talk it over.
She ordered my glucose tolerance test right away (which later showed very healthy blood sugar levels), and then was ready to hang up when I nervously told her how sick I'd been feeling all day. Nervously because, given my history, I know that the answer to most problems at this stage of pregnancy equals, "Go into labor and delivery and make sure everything is okay with baby" and that just seems like such an over-reaction to feeling sick.
The nurse said, "Go into labor and delivery and make sure everything is okay. Better safe than sorry." I kind of whined and said I'd go in if I still felt sick in a few hours, hoping she'd let me off the hook. After all, they can't arrest me for ignoring the nurse's orders, right? Just the doctor's. Right? She urged me again to just go in. I said I'd wait and see how I felt when my husband got home, because I couldn't very go in with three crazy children. Right?
She could tell I was trying to refuse. Her next words hit like an overused metaphor. Or simile, to be more precise. "If this is pre-eclampsia, it can sneak up really quickly. You really need to be careful."
Ouch. She hit me where it hurt. My first son was born early because of pre-eclampsia. Something to do with my liver, which my research later suggested was very serious, if I was guessing correctly. I was on high blood pressure medication for months while pregnant with the twins--and I was on bedrest for two solid months. In other words, this is serious stuff to me because of my history.
I went in to the hospital. My blood pressure was just slightly borderline and plummeted to ridiculously low/healthy levels as I laid in the bed and relaxed for a couple hours. The baby was fine. I was fine. Everything was fine. I felt incredibly embarrassed that my complaining to the nurse led to hours of being in the hospital for apparently no reason. Ugh.
I went home, depressed, and went to sleep. The next morning, thinking everything was peachy keen, I noticed something troubling that brought all the worry back. I suspected something was up and thought I wasn't so paranoid after all. After a quick trip to the OB's office, my worries were doubled. I was right. I wouldn't have even noticed this with my first pregnancy--the pregnancy-induced hypertension and pre-eclampsia really took me by surprise. Luckily, I had my regular OB appointment the next day so I knew I'd get some answers.
...but I didn't. My doctor, who tries to keep his hormone-infused, freaked-out pregnant women as calm as possible, just told me it wasn't necessarily pre-eclampsia and that he'd just see me more often now to make sure we didn't miss anything.
NOTE: At this point, I was not even in my third trimester. To deal with these issues this early had me incredibly freaked out. The baby would have a 50% chance of survival, and "survival" would probably mean living with major handicaps her entire life. Like being blind. Or deaf. Or having an IQ of 3. Point being that I was really freaked out.
Anyway, my freaking out subsided gradually as I remembered that I have trusted my doctor with my life more than once and I have total faith in him. If he's not freaking out, I shouldn't be either. Deep breaths. Happy thoughts. All is well.
I had another follow-up appointment today and those pesky symptoms that bothered me a few weeks ago are still holding strong. And my blood pressure was, officially, way too high. 150 over something. However, after laying down for five minutes, it dropped to 120/70, which is totally fine... except that it proves that chilling out is really important right now, and I have a lot of work to do.
The doctor ordered a very annoying hospital test (Gack) and told me I need to really watch my activity, and definitely no more exercising.
To a woman who has been on bed rest for the two previous pregnancies, this sounds like: "Take it easy ... OR ELSE." In other words, I can try to manage this carefully and still have some freedom or I can push my limits and be forced into inactivity.
The writing is on the wall. There is so much that still has to be done. So much to purchase, and clean and organize and prepare! I think, "QUICK! Go get the shopping done! Don't delay!!" Then I remember my orders to "take it easy ... OR ELSE!" and I feel trapped. Slow and steady? Prioritize? I would ask for help, but I'm really the only one who can do a lot of things like tidying my office, filing away papers where they belong, etc.
And ain't NOBODY gonna buy all that cute, pink, girlie stuff for me. I have been waiting for YEARS to buy frilly little stuff. That's my reward for surviving pregnancy again. I demand my reward!
...but baby needs me to chill out, relax, not worry...
Wow, I think I feel my blood pressure rising just thinking about it.
"I would recognize that wind anywhere," I said aloud to the twins as I closed my eyes to savor it. It felt exactly this way when my children were born. They were all born in February and their birthdays are just days apart. It rained while I gave birth to all my children. That's how I know the Groundhog was wrong--the snow always turns to rain during this month and then each snow storm is merely a fluke, at least in my mind. There is no turning back once we hit mid-February because Spring is just around the corner.
However, I am hoping this February wind is not a signal that my last child's birth is mere weeks away. I'm not ready for that. Baby's not ready for that. She needs a few more months, not a few more weeks. And I think we'll get there, but it's not going to be easy-peesy-rice-and-cheesy. I've seen the writing on the walls for a couple weeks now, but I wasn't ready to talk about it. Now I am.
A few weeks ago, I was out shopping--buying baby's first little pink and purple and green dresses for church next Spring--when I started feeling really shaky. I held my hand up in front of my face and I couldn't see it shaking, but I felt jittery all over. By the time I got home and laid down, I thought I'd be feeling better. Hours later, I was starting to feel nervous. I still felt really sick. I called the nurse to ask her if people felt this way with gestational diabetes, maybe? I had done some research and it seemed like I was exhibiting some symptoms of hypoglycemia actually, which is opposite, but... I just needed to talk it over.
She ordered my glucose tolerance test right away (which later showed very healthy blood sugar levels), and then was ready to hang up when I nervously told her how sick I'd been feeling all day. Nervously because, given my history, I know that the answer to most problems at this stage of pregnancy equals, "Go into labor and delivery and make sure everything is okay with baby" and that just seems like such an over-reaction to feeling sick.
The nurse said, "Go into labor and delivery and make sure everything is okay. Better safe than sorry." I kind of whined and said I'd go in if I still felt sick in a few hours, hoping she'd let me off the hook. After all, they can't arrest me for ignoring the nurse's orders, right? Just the doctor's. Right? She urged me again to just go in. I said I'd wait and see how I felt when my husband got home, because I couldn't very go in with three crazy children. Right?
She could tell I was trying to refuse. Her next words hit like an overused metaphor. Or simile, to be more precise. "If this is pre-eclampsia, it can sneak up really quickly. You really need to be careful."
Ouch. She hit me where it hurt. My first son was born early because of pre-eclampsia. Something to do with my liver, which my research later suggested was very serious, if I was guessing correctly. I was on high blood pressure medication for months while pregnant with the twins--and I was on bedrest for two solid months. In other words, this is serious stuff to me because of my history.
I went in to the hospital. My blood pressure was just slightly borderline and plummeted to ridiculously low/healthy levels as I laid in the bed and relaxed for a couple hours. The baby was fine. I was fine. Everything was fine. I felt incredibly embarrassed that my complaining to the nurse led to hours of being in the hospital for apparently no reason. Ugh.
I went home, depressed, and went to sleep. The next morning, thinking everything was peachy keen, I noticed something troubling that brought all the worry back. I suspected something was up and thought I wasn't so paranoid after all. After a quick trip to the OB's office, my worries were doubled. I was right. I wouldn't have even noticed this with my first pregnancy--the pregnancy-induced hypertension and pre-eclampsia really took me by surprise. Luckily, I had my regular OB appointment the next day so I knew I'd get some answers.
...but I didn't. My doctor, who tries to keep his hormone-infused, freaked-out pregnant women as calm as possible, just told me it wasn't necessarily pre-eclampsia and that he'd just see me more often now to make sure we didn't miss anything.
NOTE: At this point, I was not even in my third trimester. To deal with these issues this early had me incredibly freaked out. The baby would have a 50% chance of survival, and "survival" would probably mean living with major handicaps her entire life. Like being blind. Or deaf. Or having an IQ of 3. Point being that I was really freaked out.
Anyway, my freaking out subsided gradually as I remembered that I have trusted my doctor with my life more than once and I have total faith in him. If he's not freaking out, I shouldn't be either. Deep breaths. Happy thoughts. All is well.
I had another follow-up appointment today and those pesky symptoms that bothered me a few weeks ago are still holding strong. And my blood pressure was, officially, way too high. 150 over something. However, after laying down for five minutes, it dropped to 120/70, which is totally fine... except that it proves that chilling out is really important right now, and I have a lot of work to do.
The doctor ordered a very annoying hospital test (Gack) and told me I need to really watch my activity, and definitely no more exercising.
To a woman who has been on bed rest for the two previous pregnancies, this sounds like: "Take it easy ... OR ELSE." In other words, I can try to manage this carefully and still have some freedom or I can push my limits and be forced into inactivity.
The writing is on the wall. There is so much that still has to be done. So much to purchase, and clean and organize and prepare! I think, "QUICK! Go get the shopping done! Don't delay!!" Then I remember my orders to "take it easy ... OR ELSE!" and I feel trapped. Slow and steady? Prioritize? I would ask for help, but I'm really the only one who can do a lot of things like tidying my office, filing away papers where they belong, etc.
And ain't NOBODY gonna buy all that cute, pink, girlie stuff for me. I have been waiting for YEARS to buy frilly little stuff. That's my reward for surviving pregnancy again. I demand my reward!
...but baby needs me to chill out, relax, not worry...
Wow, I think I feel my blood pressure rising just thinking about it.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Thomas' favorite scripture story
A few days ago, Joseph came screeching to me, "MOM!! MOM!! Thomas said *hell*!!!"
I went into the other room, where I found the twins giggling and yelling at each other, "HELL!" "HELL!" "HELL!" It's hard not to laugh when you see two four-year-old twins screaming at each other like that, but I felt it was my parental duty to act serious. Hiding away a smile, I explained to them that certain words are not okay to use like that and they would be in trouble if I heard them saying it again.
Naturally, I had to explain that the word "hell" is used in the scriptures and it is okay to say it when you are reading the scriptures or talking about it that way. The next day we had a little "hell" to deal with again, but we moved swiftly past it and I thought it was behind us.
Score one for Mom's cool and collected parenting awesomeness.
Then came yesterday.
The twins were at a Primary activity with Joseph. When my husband returned home from picking them up, he plopped Thomas down with an angry/embarrassed/aggravated look on his face and related the following:
During the activity, each child filled out a "spotlight" page with all their favorite things so that the other kids could get to know them throughout the year. One of the Primary leaders was helping Thomas with his spotlight form and asked him, "What is your favorite scripture story?"
He replied immediately, "Anything with HELL in it!"
She paused and asked again, "I'm sorry... what did you say your favorite scripture story is?"
"Anything with HELL in it!"
After a little negotiation, they wrote down "Daniel & the Lion's Den" but she stopped me in the hall at church today and told me it totally made her day. I have to admit it made my day, too. I could choose to take it as a great, big parenting FAIL ... but I don't. I'm just grateful to have a kid with so much personality that I have great stories to share on my blog.
Love you, Thomas, my little Sunshine!
I went into the other room, where I found the twins giggling and yelling at each other, "HELL!" "HELL!" "HELL!" It's hard not to laugh when you see two four-year-old twins screaming at each other like that, but I felt it was my parental duty to act serious. Hiding away a smile, I explained to them that certain words are not okay to use like that and they would be in trouble if I heard them saying it again.
Naturally, I had to explain that the word "hell" is used in the scriptures and it is okay to say it when you are reading the scriptures or talking about it that way. The next day we had a little "hell" to deal with again, but we moved swiftly past it and I thought it was behind us.
Score one for Mom's cool and collected parenting awesomeness.
Then came yesterday.
The twins were at a Primary activity with Joseph. When my husband returned home from picking them up, he plopped Thomas down with an angry/embarrassed/aggravated look on his face and related the following:
During the activity, each child filled out a "spotlight" page with all their favorite things so that the other kids could get to know them throughout the year. One of the Primary leaders was helping Thomas with his spotlight form and asked him, "What is your favorite scripture story?"
He replied immediately, "Anything with HELL in it!"
She paused and asked again, "I'm sorry... what did you say your favorite scripture story is?"
"Anything with HELL in it!"
After a little negotiation, they wrote down "Daniel & the Lion's Den" but she stopped me in the hall at church today and told me it totally made her day. I have to admit it made my day, too. I could choose to take it as a great, big parenting FAIL ... but I don't. I'm just grateful to have a kid with so much personality that I have great stories to share on my blog.
Love you, Thomas, my little Sunshine!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Mondays
I have been cleaning the house with vigor, planning special projects with the twins and feeing optimistic about everything I'll get done this week. It must be Monday.
By Tuesday, I'll be trying to maintain the progress I made on Monday.
By Wednesday, I'll be feeling good about my efforts and feel like I deserve a break.
By Thursday, I'll be tired and my good habits will have been replaced by lethargy.
By Friday, I'll be looking forward to having an extra set of hands to help out over the weekend.
By Saturday, I'll be overwhelmed while looking at our impossible "to do" list next to the impossible laundry pile and dirty dishes.
By Sunday, chaos will reign supreme and I'll be trying to catch up with everything that didn't get done the day before.
And then will come another sweet Monday. Monday is the day that I am queen. Josh has gone back to work, meaning that there is only one set of opinions regarding when to do chores, how much Wii time the boys are allowed, how to handle discipline and what constitutes a "meal." My word reigns supreme and I am once again in control of the household.
TGIM.
By Tuesday, I'll be trying to maintain the progress I made on Monday.
By Wednesday, I'll be feeling good about my efforts and feel like I deserve a break.
By Thursday, I'll be tired and my good habits will have been replaced by lethargy.
By Friday, I'll be looking forward to having an extra set of hands to help out over the weekend.
By Saturday, I'll be overwhelmed while looking at our impossible "to do" list next to the impossible laundry pile and dirty dishes.
By Sunday, chaos will reign supreme and I'll be trying to catch up with everything that didn't get done the day before.
And then will come another sweet Monday. Monday is the day that I am queen. Josh has gone back to work, meaning that there is only one set of opinions regarding when to do chores, how much Wii time the boys are allowed, how to handle discipline and what constitutes a "meal." My word reigns supreme and I am once again in control of the household.
TGIM.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Decision. Serious stuff.
I love baking.
I hate making phone calls.
Josh's aunt made a delicious cake a few months ago and I finally decided to beg for the recipe. So I emailed her.
She emailed a reply, telling me to call her for the recipe.
Which do I feel more strongly--my love of baking or my hatred of phone calls? Time will tell.
I hate making phone calls.
Josh's aunt made a delicious cake a few months ago and I finally decided to beg for the recipe. So I emailed her.
She emailed a reply, telling me to call her for the recipe.
Which do I feel more strongly--my love of baking or my hatred of phone calls? Time will tell.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Unattainable
To love something unattainable is hell.
That's what I decided today after breaking down into tears on my voice teacher's front porch. I quickly had to mentally edit the sentence--not to exclude the word hell, which I don't think is meant in a profane way here, but to clarify the thought.
To love something unattainable is just part of life. We can love the sight of a distant mountain peak with the sure knowledge that it will never belong to us, and that type of love causes no pain.
To love and desire something unattainable is hell. It's a mental contradiction that should never be toyed with, to want something that you know you can't have. This is a lesson we learn when we're toddlers--accept the limits of what you cannot have and don't throw a temper tantrum about it. The hard part is to recognize when your desires are unreasonable so that you can bring your feet back to earth and adjust your attitude.
In church last week, the discussion turned to the talents that we develop. It is the belief in my church, for those who don't already know, that we are born with some talents that we began developing before we were born. Some people just seem to be born patient or artistic or good with words or musical. I wondered vaguely is some might mistakenly guess that music is a gift that I was born with.
The answer is a resounding no, but it is worse than that. I was born with an unflinching love of music--but no natural talent for it. Hence my initial sentiment above. I cry when I hear beautiful music because of the way it reaches inside and echoes deep within me--but also because I want so badly to create that beauty for myself instead of depending on others for it.
(I have to pause here to apologize to those who have read these frustrations of mine before. They are on my mind a lot and blogging about them is a good way to work through them.)
If I didn't love music so much, it would be so simple for me to accept my own limitations (which are many) with regard to singing. When I listen to women with ethereal, lyrical voices I am absolutely enchanted. Those are the voices that people want to listen to. There is nothing ethereal and lyrical about my voice. It's more of a train running at full speed than a canoe lifting gently on the waves of a river. This is why I broke into tears as I was leaving my voice lesson today. I was waffling about whether or not to enter the annual singing competition again. I said to my teacher, "I don't know why I have such a hard time singing in front of other people, but it's just really, really hard for me."
Then it hit me suddenly. I knew why I'm scared to death of performing. "I guess it's because nobody tells me they like to hear me sing," I said to her as the tears started forming against my wishes. It's not that I want people to fawn on me and shower me with compliments. That would just embarrass me. A little encouragement, however, is always appreciated. After all, I've devoted a lot of hours to voice lessons over the last 10 years--and a few thousand dollars. I have done it for my love of music and not because I expect any greatness, but frustration still creeps in when I feel like I cause other people pain when I'm doing what I love.
My voice is overpoweringly big. I cannot make it small except when I sing in a very small, comfortable range. I have heard people often mock "those women in church who show off and think they're the only ones in the room." This kind of comment is always met with the nodding of heads and murmurs of assent. Apparently those of us born with big voices are legitimate targets of ridicule--we ought to know better than to sing loudly. It's just that I never asked for the Great Big Voice--and I would have to be really, really GOOD to rein this voice in. I try to blend in--I really do--and sometimes I give up and just close the hymnbook in frustration. Ward choir is a bit of a travesty, especially when the numbers are small. Every mistake stands out with a capital M.
I have anxiety that others think I'm showing off when I'm just doing what I love.
I have anxiety that others hear my frequent pitch problems or know that I'm breathing exactly where the choir director told me NOT to breathe or that others hear me break on the high notes because I just don't blend in.
I have anxiety that others expect a lot from me because my voice is so big and rich, not knowing that you need a certain level of skill to make the most of a voice like this. The Great Big Voice + a lot of talent produces opera stage prima donnas, not ward choir blender-inners. The Great Big Voice without a Great Big Talent is just a train wreck.
I just feel scared when I sing most of the time, but I keep doing it because of that unforgivable love of music. It is so much fun when I can quiet the anxiety. It is so relaxing when it's not the opposite. It's so rewarding when my insecurities are not overwhelming my every thought like they are today. I keep thinking, "Someday all this frustration will result in something wonderful" so I keep on singing. And I keep hoping. I keep thinking that maybe someday a miracle will occur and I will actually like the color of my singing voice. I'll listen to it and feel at peace because I really enjoy that sound I'm creating. Is that such an unreasonable desire?
After all, there are magical moments in my singing when the hair on my arms stands on end and the room is spinning because everything came together so well and I know I had a Moment. A beautiful, magical Moment that makes me giddy and dizzy. I clearly remember having one of those Moments when I sang "Memory" last year and knew I had absolutely nailed it. It wasn't good--it was great. I remember once having a Moment singing "I Dreamed a Dream." It wasn't amazing except that I knew I had sung it as perfectly as I ever could sing it and who can really ask for more than that?
Today, however, I'm struggling against one of those "I GIVE UP. NOW AND FOREVER!" moments. I am feeling so fragile and so frustrated. It was hard to write the check that enters me in the singing competition next month. But I made a promise and I want to stick to it. Even if I feel apologetic about unleashing the Great Big Voice on unsuspecting listeners. Even if I'll be 6 1/2 months pregnant and my heart will absolutely go CRAZY when I'm on stage and then I know I won't be able to breathe. Even if I'm so scared that I keep bursting into tears at the thought of it.
Because I want to respect myself, and I'm not ready to accept that my dream is unattainable. Not yet. I'm willing to live with my own personal hell just a little bit longer.
That's what I decided today after breaking down into tears on my voice teacher's front porch. I quickly had to mentally edit the sentence--not to exclude the word hell, which I don't think is meant in a profane way here, but to clarify the thought.
To love something unattainable is just part of life. We can love the sight of a distant mountain peak with the sure knowledge that it will never belong to us, and that type of love causes no pain.
To love and desire something unattainable is hell. It's a mental contradiction that should never be toyed with, to want something that you know you can't have. This is a lesson we learn when we're toddlers--accept the limits of what you cannot have and don't throw a temper tantrum about it. The hard part is to recognize when your desires are unreasonable so that you can bring your feet back to earth and adjust your attitude.
In church last week, the discussion turned to the talents that we develop. It is the belief in my church, for those who don't already know, that we are born with some talents that we began developing before we were born. Some people just seem to be born patient or artistic or good with words or musical. I wondered vaguely is some might mistakenly guess that music is a gift that I was born with.
The answer is a resounding no, but it is worse than that. I was born with an unflinching love of music--but no natural talent for it. Hence my initial sentiment above. I cry when I hear beautiful music because of the way it reaches inside and echoes deep within me--but also because I want so badly to create that beauty for myself instead of depending on others for it.
(I have to pause here to apologize to those who have read these frustrations of mine before. They are on my mind a lot and blogging about them is a good way to work through them.)
If I didn't love music so much, it would be so simple for me to accept my own limitations (which are many) with regard to singing. When I listen to women with ethereal, lyrical voices I am absolutely enchanted. Those are the voices that people want to listen to. There is nothing ethereal and lyrical about my voice. It's more of a train running at full speed than a canoe lifting gently on the waves of a river. This is why I broke into tears as I was leaving my voice lesson today. I was waffling about whether or not to enter the annual singing competition again. I said to my teacher, "I don't know why I have such a hard time singing in front of other people, but it's just really, really hard for me."
Then it hit me suddenly. I knew why I'm scared to death of performing. "I guess it's because nobody tells me they like to hear me sing," I said to her as the tears started forming against my wishes. It's not that I want people to fawn on me and shower me with compliments. That would just embarrass me. A little encouragement, however, is always appreciated. After all, I've devoted a lot of hours to voice lessons over the last 10 years--and a few thousand dollars. I have done it for my love of music and not because I expect any greatness, but frustration still creeps in when I feel like I cause other people pain when I'm doing what I love.
My voice is overpoweringly big. I cannot make it small except when I sing in a very small, comfortable range. I have heard people often mock "those women in church who show off and think they're the only ones in the room." This kind of comment is always met with the nodding of heads and murmurs of assent. Apparently those of us born with big voices are legitimate targets of ridicule--we ought to know better than to sing loudly. It's just that I never asked for the Great Big Voice--and I would have to be really, really GOOD to rein this voice in. I try to blend in--I really do--and sometimes I give up and just close the hymnbook in frustration. Ward choir is a bit of a travesty, especially when the numbers are small. Every mistake stands out with a capital M.
I have anxiety that others think I'm showing off when I'm just doing what I love.
I have anxiety that others hear my frequent pitch problems or know that I'm breathing exactly where the choir director told me NOT to breathe or that others hear me break on the high notes because I just don't blend in.
I have anxiety that others expect a lot from me because my voice is so big and rich, not knowing that you need a certain level of skill to make the most of a voice like this. The Great Big Voice + a lot of talent produces opera stage prima donnas, not ward choir blender-inners. The Great Big Voice without a Great Big Talent is just a train wreck.
I just feel scared when I sing most of the time, but I keep doing it because of that unforgivable love of music. It is so much fun when I can quiet the anxiety. It is so relaxing when it's not the opposite. It's so rewarding when my insecurities are not overwhelming my every thought like they are today. I keep thinking, "Someday all this frustration will result in something wonderful" so I keep on singing. And I keep hoping. I keep thinking that maybe someday a miracle will occur and I will actually like the color of my singing voice. I'll listen to it and feel at peace because I really enjoy that sound I'm creating. Is that such an unreasonable desire?
After all, there are magical moments in my singing when the hair on my arms stands on end and the room is spinning because everything came together so well and I know I had a Moment. A beautiful, magical Moment that makes me giddy and dizzy. I clearly remember having one of those Moments when I sang "Memory" last year and knew I had absolutely nailed it. It wasn't good--it was great. I remember once having a Moment singing "I Dreamed a Dream." It wasn't amazing except that I knew I had sung it as perfectly as I ever could sing it and who can really ask for more than that?
Today, however, I'm struggling against one of those "I GIVE UP. NOW AND FOREVER!" moments. I am feeling so fragile and so frustrated. It was hard to write the check that enters me in the singing competition next month. But I made a promise and I want to stick to it. Even if I feel apologetic about unleashing the Great Big Voice on unsuspecting listeners. Even if I'll be 6 1/2 months pregnant and my heart will absolutely go CRAZY when I'm on stage and then I know I won't be able to breathe. Even if I'm so scared that I keep bursting into tears at the thought of it.
Because I want to respect myself, and I'm not ready to accept that my dream is unattainable. Not yet. I'm willing to live with my own personal hell just a little bit longer.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Winter Rain
Winter rain
Refreshes
Freshens
Brightens
Cheers
Renews
Cleanses
Uplifts
We pray for rain
Not only to nurture life in the soil
But to overcome the death in the air
The grey lifts?--
Or falls?
It is conquered.
We give thanks.
Refreshes
Freshens
Brightens
Cheers
Renews
Cleanses
Uplifts
We pray for rain
Not only to nurture life in the soil
But to overcome the death in the air
The grey lifts?--
Or falls?
It is conquered.
We give thanks.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Hearty
My heart was pumping quickly all the way to the cardiologist's office. Stress. I didn't even want this appointment, but in the wise words of my obstetrician, "You don't mess around with the heart."
What I expected from my cardiologist: an hour-long wait followed by lots of questions, no definite answers, and a round of excruciatingly irritating tests.
What I got: a warm and personable receptionist who told me I'm her hero for having four kids (she only has one), an empty waiting room and brief wait, a reassuring doctor who only ordered one test (yippee! ... even if it's the one I dread the most) and who told me to relax and try not to worry about it.
You know how they always say, "Consult a doctor before starting a new exercise program?" I've always thought that was kind of unnecessary in most cases, but discovered today I am one of those exceptions. No new exercise for me right now. If my heart rate is 120 just loading the dishwasher, I guess training for a marathon is out. (Mwahahaha... like I'd ever train for a marathon. I crack me up!)
When I was scheduling my follow-up appointment, the adorably happy and friendly receptionist suddenly stopped and said, "Oh! Do you want brownies?" Then she looked over her shoulder a little and said, "Ooh, but you can't tell the heart doctor I said that!"
So I came home with a clean bill of cardiac health (pending results of the upcoming test), instructions to relax, not worry about it and live my life. And on top of all that, I brought home brownies.
That was so much better than I expected.
What I expected from my cardiologist: an hour-long wait followed by lots of questions, no definite answers, and a round of excruciatingly irritating tests.
What I got: a warm and personable receptionist who told me I'm her hero for having four kids (she only has one), an empty waiting room and brief wait, a reassuring doctor who only ordered one test (yippee! ... even if it's the one I dread the most) and who told me to relax and try not to worry about it.
You know how they always say, "Consult a doctor before starting a new exercise program?" I've always thought that was kind of unnecessary in most cases, but discovered today I am one of those exceptions. No new exercise for me right now. If my heart rate is 120 just loading the dishwasher, I guess training for a marathon is out. (Mwahahaha... like I'd ever train for a marathon. I crack me up!)
When I was scheduling my follow-up appointment, the adorably happy and friendly receptionist suddenly stopped and said, "Oh! Do you want brownies?" Then she looked over her shoulder a little and said, "Ooh, but you can't tell the heart doctor I said that!"
So I came home with a clean bill of cardiac health (pending results of the upcoming test), instructions to relax, not worry about it and live my life. And on top of all that, I brought home brownies.
That was so much better than I expected.
Saturday, January 09, 2010
2010 : learning the fine art of consumption
As I drove my kids to preschool this morning, the whole city seemed to be drowsy still. Cars moved quietly along at five miles below the speed limit and nobody seemed to mind. By this afternoon, people will be zipping along at heart-stopping paces and everything will come alive.
That's how 2010 started out for me: slow and lazy but gradually awakening to new possibilities. I was embarrassed to think that an entire week of the year had passed (that's 1/52nd of the year wasted!) without that One Perfect Resolution that would change my life. Then it came to me in one of those moments of clarity that inevitably follow moments of confusion or unhappiness or introspection.
I've spent the last two days doing something I love: paper crafting. (Photos later!) I went to the library to check out some books on the subject and suddenly felt burned out. Why? Why? Why was I feeling this way just when I was starting to make some progress?
Simple: I was burned out. Just like I was totally burned out from Christmas music by December 1st because I'd been listening to it nonstop since the start of November. Yes, Virginia, that really is "too much of a good thing." By the time we finally tore down our final Christmas decorations (two days ago), I wanted to shove them into the box and scream, "GOOD RIDDANCE!!!"
Too much of a good thing. Burned out.
Just like when you eat too much candy, you get nauseous. Or when you go shopping and impulsively spend too much, you feel guilty. It's like that with time, too: if you consume too much of it with "fun" and ignore the important stuff, you get burned out. You feel emotionally nauseous. That's how I felt today.
So my 2010 Resolution is to be more moderate in my CONSUMPTION in every little corner of my life. I need to consume money carefully because my husband brought up graduate school with me again this morning. That will require some savings. I need to consume calories more carefully because I've fallen into some very bad habits while pregnant and I don't want to be defined by obesity the rest of my life.
I need to consume time more carefully because I do not relish the inevitable guilt that comes from letting the laundry pile up or listening to my son say to me, as he did yesterday with a sad look on his face, "I wish you would spend more time playing with me, Mommy."
I live in a culture of waste--consumption gone wild. What does the rest of the world think of Americans? Fat. Lazy. Overindulged.
Yep, they pretty much got it right and it's not something we should be offended by. It's something we can listen to and ask, "Do you mean there is another way?"
Yes! When I was in Germany last year, the entire lifestyle that my relatives lead was appealing to me. They savor their time with family. They savor their food. They savor every square inch of their property by planting flowers and shrubs and trees all throughout their yard. They savor life by consuming the right way.
Here are my initial thoughts on how to be a better CONSUMER:
SAVOR!
Close my eyes and savor the taste of my food instead of just robotically chewing and swallowing. Breathe deeply when the air is heady with the fragrance of spring roses. Pull over to the side of the road and just stare when that perfect sunset is in the sky. Sit on my front porch and just enjoy the autumn weather. Slow down. Pay attention. Be happy.
PRIORITIZE
Enjoy my hobbies after the kitchen is clean. Do the hard stuff first--and be grateful for arms and legs and health that make it possible to fold laundry and sweep floors and dust furniture. Stick to schedules, look at the calendar, don't complain about the boring stuff. I know myself well enough to know I will never enjoy the good stuff if the important stuff hasn't been completed.
GET CREATIVE
Think about the phrase "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" in every facet of my life. Can I reduce the amount of time it takes to get this done? Can I make this food do double-duty somehow? (Like make it both nutritious and really delicious? Or add something to the meal so that it will fill daily requirements of calcium and protein? Or protein and fiber?) Can I multi task so that I'm having fun and doing important stuff at the same time? (Like practicing my singing--fun--while doing the dishes--not fun.)
Suddenly the year ahead of me is looking bright and happy! Though seemingly vague, this goal is achievable. There is no way to measure whether I have succeeded or failed, but that's okay. It's what I need right now.
That's how 2010 started out for me: slow and lazy but gradually awakening to new possibilities. I was embarrassed to think that an entire week of the year had passed (that's 1/52nd of the year wasted!) without that One Perfect Resolution that would change my life. Then it came to me in one of those moments of clarity that inevitably follow moments of confusion or unhappiness or introspection.
I've spent the last two days doing something I love: paper crafting. (Photos later!) I went to the library to check out some books on the subject and suddenly felt burned out. Why? Why? Why was I feeling this way just when I was starting to make some progress?
Simple: I was burned out. Just like I was totally burned out from Christmas music by December 1st because I'd been listening to it nonstop since the start of November. Yes, Virginia, that really is "too much of a good thing." By the time we finally tore down our final Christmas decorations (two days ago), I wanted to shove them into the box and scream, "GOOD RIDDANCE!!!"
Too much of a good thing. Burned out.
Just like when you eat too much candy, you get nauseous. Or when you go shopping and impulsively spend too much, you feel guilty. It's like that with time, too: if you consume too much of it with "fun" and ignore the important stuff, you get burned out. You feel emotionally nauseous. That's how I felt today.
So my 2010 Resolution is to be more moderate in my CONSUMPTION in every little corner of my life. I need to consume money carefully because my husband brought up graduate school with me again this morning. That will require some savings. I need to consume calories more carefully because I've fallen into some very bad habits while pregnant and I don't want to be defined by obesity the rest of my life.
I need to consume time more carefully because I do not relish the inevitable guilt that comes from letting the laundry pile up or listening to my son say to me, as he did yesterday with a sad look on his face, "I wish you would spend more time playing with me, Mommy."
I live in a culture of waste--consumption gone wild. What does the rest of the world think of Americans? Fat. Lazy. Overindulged.
Yep, they pretty much got it right and it's not something we should be offended by. It's something we can listen to and ask, "Do you mean there is another way?"
Yes! When I was in Germany last year, the entire lifestyle that my relatives lead was appealing to me. They savor their time with family. They savor their food. They savor every square inch of their property by planting flowers and shrubs and trees all throughout their yard. They savor life by consuming the right way.
Here are my initial thoughts on how to be a better CONSUMER:
SAVOR!
Close my eyes and savor the taste of my food instead of just robotically chewing and swallowing. Breathe deeply when the air is heady with the fragrance of spring roses. Pull over to the side of the road and just stare when that perfect sunset is in the sky. Sit on my front porch and just enjoy the autumn weather. Slow down. Pay attention. Be happy.
PRIORITIZE
Enjoy my hobbies after the kitchen is clean. Do the hard stuff first--and be grateful for arms and legs and health that make it possible to fold laundry and sweep floors and dust furniture. Stick to schedules, look at the calendar, don't complain about the boring stuff. I know myself well enough to know I will never enjoy the good stuff if the important stuff hasn't been completed.
GET CREATIVE
Think about the phrase "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" in every facet of my life. Can I reduce the amount of time it takes to get this done? Can I make this food do double-duty somehow? (Like make it both nutritious and really delicious? Or add something to the meal so that it will fill daily requirements of calcium and protein? Or protein and fiber?) Can I multi task so that I'm having fun and doing important stuff at the same time? (Like practicing my singing--fun--while doing the dishes--not fun.)
Suddenly the year ahead of me is looking bright and happy! Though seemingly vague, this goal is achievable. There is no way to measure whether I have succeeded or failed, but that's okay. It's what I need right now.
Friday, January 08, 2010
2009 resolution revisited, and coming tomorrow ...
2007 resolution :: Stop saying, "I can't" and start saying, "How can I make it happen?"
2008 resolution :: Discover confidence from within.
2009 resolution :: Create joy in my life, instead of waiting for it to happen to me.
Last year, I wrote the following about my New Year's Resolution for 2009: "I'm used to stealing happy moments when I can, not actively seeking them out or planning for them. This will require a complete mental reboot for me. If I can pull it off, this will be, hands down, the best year of my life."
I'm happy to report that although 2009 began as one of the most emotionally tiring years of my life, it ended as the BEST YEAR OF MY LIFE! I can hardly believe all that morphed, solidified or resolved itself during the past 12 months. It's been amazing.
It all started to change in the middle of the year and made it possible for me to (finally) feel ready for one last baby. As I feel her doing kick-boxing moves in my tummy, I have a tangible reminder of how far I've come and how good my life is.
I am at such a happy place in my life right now, despite bouts of hormone- and pregnancy-induced moodiness. Those things don't define me. They are just things that I "get" to deal with occasionally.
TOMORROW: My 2010 resolution revealed, a principle that might just change everything.
2008 resolution :: Discover confidence from within.
2009 resolution :: Create joy in my life, instead of waiting for it to happen to me.
Last year, I wrote the following about my New Year's Resolution for 2009: "I'm used to stealing happy moments when I can, not actively seeking them out or planning for them. This will require a complete mental reboot for me. If I can pull it off, this will be, hands down, the best year of my life."
I'm happy to report that although 2009 began as one of the most emotionally tiring years of my life, it ended as the BEST YEAR OF MY LIFE! I can hardly believe all that morphed, solidified or resolved itself during the past 12 months. It's been amazing.
It all started to change in the middle of the year and made it possible for me to (finally) feel ready for one last baby. As I feel her doing kick-boxing moves in my tummy, I have a tangible reminder of how far I've come and how good my life is.
I am at such a happy place in my life right now, despite bouts of hormone- and pregnancy-induced moodiness. Those things don't define me. They are just things that I "get" to deal with occasionally.
TOMORROW: My 2010 resolution revealed, a principle that might just change everything.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Moody, with a chance of cheer
I was awakened by loud, stomping footsteps over my head. This is one of the things I don't understand about the Y chromosome. Why do my boys (yes, all of them) have to be so loud about life? Why can't they walk quietly or close doors quietly or speak quietly? (Okay... Yes, it's a bit hypocritical of me to want them to speak quietly, but I can dream.)
The loud, stomping footsteps were, predictably, followed by loud knocking on my bedroom door. At 6:54 a.m., I don't take well to this. It makes me grouchy. I was dreaming that I was in Disneyland and the lights were on inside Space Mountain and then suddenly I was awake and dealing with Male Loudness. Who wouldn't be grouchy?
When I'm pregnant and I wake up grouchy, it's hard to shake it off. I don't know why, but no matter how much I try to choose happiness, it all ends up as grumpiness instead. It's very annoying. A while later, when I was contemplating the inevitability of a day filled with guilty grumpiness, I had almost lost hope of cheering up. Losing hope by 8:55 a.m. is a bad sign--a sign that the day is, indeed, not going well.
Then something strange happened. I was in the car, driving my kids to preschool. I was staring off into space ... err, at the road ahead of me ... and a new mood flew in through the window and blanketed me with hope. It may sound strange, but the cheerfulness was tangible and came from the west. It just plopped itself down and decided to stay a while.
I laughed out loud. Who wouldn't laugh out loud when happiness flies in the car window from the west and settles in for a stay?
It's been a few hours and I feel as chipper as ever. Life is good. Life is great. And the greatest thing about it is the great gift I've been given: happiness when I least expected it.
The loud, stomping footsteps were, predictably, followed by loud knocking on my bedroom door. At 6:54 a.m., I don't take well to this. It makes me grouchy. I was dreaming that I was in Disneyland and the lights were on inside Space Mountain and then suddenly I was awake and dealing with Male Loudness. Who wouldn't be grouchy?
When I'm pregnant and I wake up grouchy, it's hard to shake it off. I don't know why, but no matter how much I try to choose happiness, it all ends up as grumpiness instead. It's very annoying. A while later, when I was contemplating the inevitability of a day filled with guilty grumpiness, I had almost lost hope of cheering up. Losing hope by 8:55 a.m. is a bad sign--a sign that the day is, indeed, not going well.
Then something strange happened. I was in the car, driving my kids to preschool. I was staring off into space ... err, at the road ahead of me ... and a new mood flew in through the window and blanketed me with hope. It may sound strange, but the cheerfulness was tangible and came from the west. It just plopped itself down and decided to stay a while.
I laughed out loud. Who wouldn't laugh out loud when happiness flies in the car window from the west and settles in for a stay?
It's been a few hours and I feel as chipper as ever. Life is good. Life is great. And the greatest thing about it is the great gift I've been given: happiness when I least expected it.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Depression
If my recent post about the Pit of Despair wasn't enough of a clue, I'm seriously fighting off some depression right now.
It started about two weeks ago and I told my husband I could feel that depression blah setting in. The tiredness. The listlessness. The feeling that no matter how happy your life is, you can't be happy. You just look at it analytically and say, "I should be happy. Life is great. There is no reason to be unhappy, but there is no way to feel otherwise." If you haven't experienced it (or if you aren't currently experiencing it), it's hard to understand how real this is.
I'm not in some catatonic depressive state where I can't get up in the morning or brush my teeth. I'd call this mild depression. It's just that constant, nagging feeling of unhappiness and lethargy that I can't shake. It's annoying. I am living my life in black and white instead of color--but I'm still alive and kicking. I'm still making plans and getting things done and being a (pretty) good parent.
But there are little troubles that irritate me. My oldest is constantly dragged down by my mood. His mood is very dependent on mine and he is really bothered that I'm not being fun and cheerful and laughing with him. In other words, he's bummed out that I'm bummed out. I feel for him and I'm bummed out that I'm not being more fun.
The other thing that is really irking me right now is that I see myself entering a more serious stage of depression. This one I like to call the "Push Away Anybody Who Cares About Me At All" stage. This is the self-pitiful, moody stage where I make myself so incredibly unpleasant that nobody wants to be within a mile of me. I frown. I complain. I am a Piece of Work.
I look at myself logically and wish I could get away from myself, but I'm stuck here living inside this Piece of Work that I don't recognize. She's a stranger to me--so foreign to my naturally sunny and optimistic temperament.
Four more months and the baby will be here. My heart will recognize its' biological speed limit again and slow down so I can fight this with some exercise. And if things are getting worse, I at least have the option of an anti-depressant. I don't like to pop the pills but I'll do it for Joseph. He deserves to have his Mom back.
Why, oh why, do I expose myself to the world this way? We've gone over this before. I'm not ashamed that I was built this way: overly anxious and occasionally prone to depression. That's not a choice I made. It's something that was dealt to me in my genetic deck of cards--the same way some people are dealt diseases or handicaps. I know how to fight this and I always do. I'm proud of how thoroughly I've made this a non-issue in my life (except when I'm pregnant... and getting pregnant scared me to death for that very reason) ... but I remember the first time it hit and I was unprepared. I felt so alone, so misunderstood, so ashamed of who I was.
This is a common, but mostly unspoken, problem and I want others to know they're not alone. I want to shout down into the abyss that others have fallen into and tell them there is hope. Maybe that will be enough of a rope for them to cling to that they can eventually climb out and find normality again.
That's why.
It started about two weeks ago and I told my husband I could feel that depression blah setting in. The tiredness. The listlessness. The feeling that no matter how happy your life is, you can't be happy. You just look at it analytically and say, "I should be happy. Life is great. There is no reason to be unhappy, but there is no way to feel otherwise." If you haven't experienced it (or if you aren't currently experiencing it), it's hard to understand how real this is.
I'm not in some catatonic depressive state where I can't get up in the morning or brush my teeth. I'd call this mild depression. It's just that constant, nagging feeling of unhappiness and lethargy that I can't shake. It's annoying. I am living my life in black and white instead of color--but I'm still alive and kicking. I'm still making plans and getting things done and being a (pretty) good parent.
But there are little troubles that irritate me. My oldest is constantly dragged down by my mood. His mood is very dependent on mine and he is really bothered that I'm not being fun and cheerful and laughing with him. In other words, he's bummed out that I'm bummed out. I feel for him and I'm bummed out that I'm not being more fun.
The other thing that is really irking me right now is that I see myself entering a more serious stage of depression. This one I like to call the "Push Away Anybody Who Cares About Me At All" stage. This is the self-pitiful, moody stage where I make myself so incredibly unpleasant that nobody wants to be within a mile of me. I frown. I complain. I am a Piece of Work.
I look at myself logically and wish I could get away from myself, but I'm stuck here living inside this Piece of Work that I don't recognize. She's a stranger to me--so foreign to my naturally sunny and optimistic temperament.
Four more months and the baby will be here. My heart will recognize its' biological speed limit again and slow down so I can fight this with some exercise. And if things are getting worse, I at least have the option of an anti-depressant. I don't like to pop the pills but I'll do it for Joseph. He deserves to have his Mom back.
***
Why, oh why, do I expose myself to the world this way? We've gone over this before. I'm not ashamed that I was built this way: overly anxious and occasionally prone to depression. That's not a choice I made. It's something that was dealt to me in my genetic deck of cards--the same way some people are dealt diseases or handicaps. I know how to fight this and I always do. I'm proud of how thoroughly I've made this a non-issue in my life (except when I'm pregnant... and getting pregnant scared me to death for that very reason) ... but I remember the first time it hit and I was unprepared. I felt so alone, so misunderstood, so ashamed of who I was.
This is a common, but mostly unspoken, problem and I want others to know they're not alone. I want to shout down into the abyss that others have fallen into and tell them there is hope. Maybe that will be enough of a rope for them to cling to that they can eventually climb out and find normality again.
That's why.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Lights Out
I am dreaming and the world looks so black, so cold.
There is a void ahead of me and I am swirling in closer, closer. It is a pit. A blackness. A never-ending shiver that I have tried to shelter myself from.
I turn away, only to fear that I will lose my balance and fall backward. I must face it, stare it down, back away. But it is calling me.
I am tired. I don't want to fight. I just want to fall, fall, fall ...
Now I am standing on the brink, staring into black oblivion. A haunting voice without words calls to me from the depths. It is waiting to welcome me. It says that I am home.
The only string holding me upright is the truth that I will one day want to climb out of the darkness and it will exhaust every reserve of fire inside me. Would that fire be extinguished if I fell down, down, down...?
I awake to discover I've never been asleep.
There is a void ahead of me and I am swirling in closer, closer. It is a pit. A blackness. A never-ending shiver that I have tried to shelter myself from.
I turn away, only to fear that I will lose my balance and fall backward. I must face it, stare it down, back away. But it is calling me.
I am tired. I don't want to fight. I just want to fall, fall, fall ...
Now I am standing on the brink, staring into black oblivion. A haunting voice without words calls to me from the depths. It is waiting to welcome me. It says that I am home.
The only string holding me upright is the truth that I will one day want to climb out of the darkness and it will exhaust every reserve of fire inside me. Would that fire be extinguished if I fell down, down, down...?
I awake to discover I've never been asleep.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Confirmation!
I've known for three weeks, but wanted to wait until after my 20-week ultrasound to put it on the blog. Now I can really, truly, officially state:
IT'S A GIRL!!!!
I can't even begin to describe what this is like for me. We'll just say that I've found myself standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, water dripping from my hands as tears form in my eyes at the realization that I'm finally having a baby girl.
It feels like an enormous responsibility all of a sudden. I don't know how to raise a girl. What do I do with a girl, for heaven's sake?
But for heaven's sake ... thank heaven for little girls.
IT'S A GIRL!!!!
I can't even begin to describe what this is like for me. We'll just say that I've found myself standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, water dripping from my hands as tears form in my eyes at the realization that I'm finally having a baby girl.
It feels like an enormous responsibility all of a sudden. I don't know how to raise a girl. What do I do with a girl, for heaven's sake?
But for heaven's sake ... thank heaven for little girls.
Flowers & Clueless Employees
Flowers
I bought myself flowers today. Why shouldn't I? Do flowers have to be symbols of romantic love, friendship, sympathy or best wishes? No! On the most basic level, they are not symbolic of anything. They are beautiful and, occasionally, fragrant. They are pleasing to the senses.
As I walked past these flowers, I was first struck by some large, peach-colored roses. It is my mother-in-law's birthday and I knew they'd be perfect for her. Then my eyes wandered toward some beautiful stems of unique, white flowers. I don't know what they are but I know I adore them. I have a thing for white flowers. I found some beautiful rust/red flowers to accent both of the other bouquets and took them home.
I snipped them to the right length under some warm water, gave them their flower food and arranged them admirably. Maybe I'll tell my husband I bought them "for him" to make him feel appreciated. He needs to be more appreciated around here. I'm not easy to live with when I'm pregnant. True story.
Clueless Employees
I am one day shy of 20 weeks pregnant and loving it. This is a crazy journey and I felt like an absolutely inhuman monster during my first trimester. I'm human again now (but still hard to live with) and looking forward to May with excitement and trepidation.
Those who know pregnancy will know that "20 weeks" means more than just a halfway stepping stone to delivery. It means an in-depth ultrasound to see if baby is growing the right way and to make sure everything looks healthy.
It's hard to explain this amazing experience to somebody who hasn't witnessed it. It's the point at which the blob of seeming-fat on your front side is suddenly a living human being. It's proof that two individual cells can come together and miraculously turn into a variety of specialized cells, tissues, bones, blood... It's one of those amazing moments that just floors me.
Today is my 20-week ultrasound. I've been looking forward to it for about 18 weeks now and didn't want to miss a moment of it, so I went to the store to buy a DVD-R to record it for my children and family. I was stressed because the ultrasound tech told me a very specific type of DVD to buy. I think she said a "DVD minus" (DVD-R as opposed to DVD+R) but called the office to confirm. The receptionist sent me to an answering machine. Dang.
An employee was next to the DVDs, stocking shelves, and I hoped he might have something to shed on the subject. (Really, I just wanted a little reassurance but wasn't hoping for much.)
I asked, "Do you know the difference between the two types of DVDs?" [Edit: My actual words were, "Do you know the difference between the DVD-R plus and the DVD-R minuses?" but I was too lazy to type that out until a comment made me realize I was being ambiguous....]
"There's no difference," he replied. "They're made by the same company, but some of them are made in a different factory." He looked at as if he was letting me in on a big secret and shrugged. "They just package them differently. Stupid, really."
I squinted my eyes at him just a little in disbelief, dropped my jaw and tried to control the facial expression that I knew I was about to form. I am a big believer in being straight-forward with people and this guy was clearly way off in left field. I appreciate honesty in others so I don't have to second-guess myself or them. But there are times when it's just not polite (and completely unnecessary) to clue people in to your mental process. This was one of those times.
I tried to adjust my face to appear thoughtful for a moment*, smiled at him and quietly said, "Thank you." Then I wheeled my cart away and hoped I was buying the right thing.
* Like Steve Martin in the movie "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" when he is being hit in the leg that he claims is paralyzed, is in terrible pain but trying to mask his pain by looking intensely thoughtful. Great stuff.
I bought myself flowers today. Why shouldn't I? Do flowers have to be symbols of romantic love, friendship, sympathy or best wishes? No! On the most basic level, they are not symbolic of anything. They are beautiful and, occasionally, fragrant. They are pleasing to the senses.
As I walked past these flowers, I was first struck by some large, peach-colored roses. It is my mother-in-law's birthday and I knew they'd be perfect for her. Then my eyes wandered toward some beautiful stems of unique, white flowers. I don't know what they are but I know I adore them. I have a thing for white flowers. I found some beautiful rust/red flowers to accent both of the other bouquets and took them home.
I snipped them to the right length under some warm water, gave them their flower food and arranged them admirably. Maybe I'll tell my husband I bought them "for him" to make him feel appreciated. He needs to be more appreciated around here. I'm not easy to live with when I'm pregnant. True story.
Clueless Employees
I am one day shy of 20 weeks pregnant and loving it. This is a crazy journey and I felt like an absolutely inhuman monster during my first trimester. I'm human again now (but still hard to live with) and looking forward to May with excitement and trepidation.
Those who know pregnancy will know that "20 weeks" means more than just a halfway stepping stone to delivery. It means an in-depth ultrasound to see if baby is growing the right way and to make sure everything looks healthy.
It's hard to explain this amazing experience to somebody who hasn't witnessed it. It's the point at which the blob of seeming-fat on your front side is suddenly a living human being. It's proof that two individual cells can come together and miraculously turn into a variety of specialized cells, tissues, bones, blood... It's one of those amazing moments that just floors me.
Today is my 20-week ultrasound. I've been looking forward to it for about 18 weeks now and didn't want to miss a moment of it, so I went to the store to buy a DVD-R to record it for my children and family. I was stressed because the ultrasound tech told me a very specific type of DVD to buy. I think she said a "DVD minus" (DVD-R as opposed to DVD+R) but called the office to confirm. The receptionist sent me to an answering machine. Dang.
An employee was next to the DVDs, stocking shelves, and I hoped he might have something to shed on the subject. (Really, I just wanted a little reassurance but wasn't hoping for much.)
I asked, "Do you know the difference between the two types of DVDs?" [Edit: My actual words were, "Do you know the difference between the DVD-R plus and the DVD-R minuses?" but I was too lazy to type that out until a comment made me realize I was being ambiguous....]
"There's no difference," he replied. "They're made by the same company, but some of them are made in a different factory." He looked at as if he was letting me in on a big secret and shrugged. "They just package them differently. Stupid, really."
I squinted my eyes at him just a little in disbelief, dropped my jaw and tried to control the facial expression that I knew I was about to form. I am a big believer in being straight-forward with people and this guy was clearly way off in left field. I appreciate honesty in others so I don't have to second-guess myself or them. But there are times when it's just not polite (and completely unnecessary) to clue people in to your mental process. This was one of those times.
I tried to adjust my face to appear thoughtful for a moment*, smiled at him and quietly said, "Thank you." Then I wheeled my cart away and hoped I was buying the right thing.
* Like Steve Martin in the movie "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" when he is being hit in the leg that he claims is paralyzed, is in terrible pain but trying to mask his pain by looking intensely thoughtful. Great stuff.
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