Relief

Today marks three weeks until our scheduled C-section to meet our new baby.

THREE WEEKS.

That is not a lot of time.

At this point with our first, Sophie, I was ready. Hospital bag packed, stroller assembled, crib built, nursery set up, car seat installed. And I was sure I would go at ANY. MINUTE. I didn't go super early (just a couple of days), but man, were we "ready".

With Lillian, I felt like I should do the same thing, so we were just as ready. It was a scheduled C-section, so it was a bit easier to prepare the need-all-the-stuff-together date, but still. We were "ready".

And this one??

The crib is still in 5 pieces.

The nursery is still in shambles.

Clothes are still in boxes.

And I am napping more than ever.

NOT GOOD.

So last night we had to do some shopping because our first (remember, Sophie, from above?) is starting school in just over a week. A week this coming Tuesday. ???????????? Where the heck did the time go???????????? And while we were shopping, we may as well pick up some things for this baby that is also coming super soon.

Now I have new baby things in my house again. :) :) NEW BABY THINGS. And for the first time this pregnancy, I'm really starting to get excited. I know everything can still go downhill or be mega hard (and probably will be), but we are actually moving in the RIGHT direction...instead of just napping and hoping some elf or fairy will come at night and take care of everything for us.

Here are some of the adorable things we bought!

We needed the gender-neutral going-home outfit (and the hanging out in the hospital outfits). We zipped off to Bonnie Togs, a gorgeous (and affordable!) children's store full of baby and children clothes.

Our baby will be lounging around in the following adorable Carters outfits:

These onesies are perfect - no snaps along their sensitive bellies, only at the diaper area, sweet soft shoulders, and cute animal prints, including HIPPOS!! I love hippos. Seriously. If you live in Canada, you've probably seen the House-Hippo commercials, and let me tell you, if it wasn't an advertising lie we'd own one. YESTERDAY.

This sleeper set is so sweet...and as a family that has never found out what they are having, all our babies have worn ducks at some point or another. This one will fit right in. ;)

 

And this adorable teddy bear set is the let's-break-outta-this-place-and-get-back-to-our-normal-chaos outfit. I felt guilty that it says I *heart* Mommy, but Ben assured me that he didn't feel left out and so we bought it and now it's what's happening. I still feel guilty.

 

I also felt like we needed a new diaper bag - we've used the same one for both babies and it's old, ripped, tired, and falling apart. So we bought this one - instead of the backpack version we used to have, this is a cross body one. It's manish enough that Ben won't mind carrying it and if we have a boy they won't mind having their stuff carted around in it. We found it at Wal-Mart and it's Fisher-Price. Best feature? That pocket on the left with the orange hole in it hangs onto your wipes so that you have instant access to them. GENIUS.

 

Our last purchase? This.

 

Because you know. Nipple bootcamp is also just three weeks away.

*sob*



Conversations

The last time I talked to a baby in my belly, it was to tell Charlie to go if they were leaving...to let go and be in peace and that I would be okay and Daddy would be okay and everyone would be okay and that that all they had to worry about was their journey and that they were loved and didn't need to hold on.

I was bleeding. And scared. And I knew in my bones. I KNEW I was miscarrying. I KNEW I was losing a baby, full of life and hope and the future and that baby smell...I knew. And I wanted the baby to go without having to deal with a mess of a mama.

That was the last time I talked to a baby in my belly.

And here I am today. Pregnant. With a belly that looks bigger than my 13 weeks (I'm told they get bigger faster the more times you do this...it's my fourth time, so...).

And I'm on the couch, watching a movie and rubbing my belly and wanting to whisper to it. To talk about how excited we are to meet this person. How exciting the next appointment will be because we'll get to hear their heartbeat. How I have no idea how we're going to handle 3 crazy little ones at once, but somehow we'll figure it out.

And yet...all I can think about is that last conversation. That last time when I was trying to be brave and kind and loving and the best mama I could be to someone I had never met or kissed or cooed at.

The last time when I said goodbye and told my baby to go into the great beyond, to not worry about me.

I miss my gone baby today. I hate that that feeling is mixed up in the feelings I have for this baby, my fourth baby...

And yet I don't know any other way.

I miss Charlie.

Today. Yesterday. Always.

Always.

Drama queen

So, I'm not really fading away.

I'm just pregnant. And have the cold from hell. And I chase after 2-3 little people every. single. day.

I wish I could remember ALL of those things when I'm in the middle of feeling like everything is falling apart and I'm having a bad day.

I know I'm allowed to have bad days, but in the midst of the exhaustion, sickness, run-down-ness, I forget that I'm allowed to sleep longer, nap more, do less. I forget and think that the sky is falling simply because the balls I have in the air are not as high or spun as nicely or are landing on the ground at record speed.

I am a bit of a drama queen on bad days.

Perhaps you could argue that because of past circumstances, because of my past experience, I am completely justified to feel like it's the end of the world when really it's just a blip. But my children don't care that I deserve the right to be dramatic. And my marriage certainly doesn't deserve my normal, everyday nonsense, let alone the over-the-top-unnecessarily-dramatic nonsense.

I remember sobbing in my therapist's office, months after beating postpartum depression, telling her that it was all coming back, that I was losing it. Again.

And she gently (although it didn't FEEL gentle) reminded me that it can't. That once you beat postpartum depression, that's it. It could be something else, but it's not 'coming back.' It doesn't work that way.

Then she asked me how I was sleeping. I had had the flu and the girls were both sick, so sleeping was not an option. She asked me how I was feeling. Ahem...flu! Then she asked me if I had any relief during the day. No, stay-at-home moms don't get sick days.

If bopping people on the head in therapy was allowed, this would be the moment. Instead, she just said, Julia, take a sick day. Figure out a way to get a day off.

So I did.

I spent that whole Saturday in bed, with my computer and the Bridesmaids movie, which literally made me cackle and laugh out loud, and a stack of books, fiction, non-fiction, parenting, goofy, and magazines and I napped and rested and emerged to eat and disappeared again and then spent the night on the couch with my husband, snuggling and enjoying life.

And you know what? I didn't get postpartum depression again. I felt SO. MUCH. BETTER.

It's amazing what a little recharge will do.

And it's amazing what creeping into the second trimester will do and breathing through your nose will do and being able to taste the food you've been craving will do.

So, dear reader(s). I'm not falling apart, the world isn't ending, and I'm okay. I swear.

Just a little overly dramatic when things get rough and pile on top of me.

Now I know where my three-year old gets it....so embarassing.

PS. PREGNANT!! :) Baby number 4 is on its way this September. Trying to stay in my skin and this moment and being excited. Trying so damn hard.

Worth it

There are days that make this all worth it...the temper tantrums and butt-bombs and boogers and whining and wake ups at 3 in the morning to fix blankets and biting and hitting and fighting and tears and spilled water and milk and Cheerios and mouths full of crayons and rocks and markers and the neverending stream of very annoying children's programming...and today is one of those days.

Today, I had this conversation with Sophie:

Sophie: Is this a truck?
Me: Yes.
S: What kind of truck?
M: A moving truck.
S: But I want it to be a doctor's bus.
M: Okay, it's a doctor's bus.
S: Yay! Thanks, Mom!

Imagination in full bloom...but apparently it needs regulatory approval.

Later, Lillian and Sophie were sitting on the bottom stair as they often do, Lillian wearing Ben's dress shoes and Sophie wearing a pair of dress-up high heels, and they were making silly faces at each other, both squealing with laughter.

And at lunch, this exchange happened:

Sophie: Mom, can I have a napkin please? (HUGE DEAL - DID YOU NOTICE THE PLEASE???)
Me: Yes.
Lillian: Napkin.
Me: Please.
Lillian: Peease.
Sophie: Thanks, Mom!
Lillian: Thank you, Mommy! (HUGE DEAL - DID YOU NOTICE 3 WORDS STRUNG TOGETHER WITH NO PROMPTING!!! YAY LILLIAN!!)

See?

Some days are worth it.

Peter Pan

During a long day, like yesterday or the day before...or the countless days before that, I am so jealous of my mother and mother-in-law. Both of them are single and free of babies and commitments besides work. Sure, they rescue their grown children bunches of times in crazy and new ways, our little family included, but for the most part they have a luxury of floating through this earth with very few people touching them or peeing on them or yelling at them or demanding of them...and I am SO. JEALOUS.

I fantasize and dream about the time when both of our girls are grown up and moved out and living their own lives at a distance. One where I can wake up and shower and take care of myself and fetch myself breakfast and maybe, if I am feeling like it, get my husband his breakfast, make his lunch for work...more whim-like than part of the grinding routine that clouds every day for me.

One where we can stay up later and only have the reprecussions of ourselves the next day, not the demands of toddlers and preschoolers as punishment. One where breakfast could be lazy and not immediately after you get up. Where coffee is hot and clean clothes stay clean until I'm sloppy and supper could be appetizers or toast or cereal and no one will complain or judge.

One where talking to the husband could be purely interesting and purely uninterrupted by shouts or singing or questions that never end.

Oh, the dream.

But yesterday I picked up Sophie, who is now 3-going-to-be-4, and she weighs around 30 pounds and is long and tall and has big feet and little girl hair and full sentences and deductive reasoning and I realized that those 3-almost-4 years have flown by. That just moments ago we were pregnant, then we were announcing, then contracting, then pushing, then c-sectioning, then holding our baby, then becoming parents HOLY-HELL-WHO-LET-US-BECOME-PARENTS.

And I looked at Lillian, who is toddler-going-on-2 and the same thing struck me.

Even though marathon days are all I know, the years are speeding by and soon Sophie will be in school and then Lillian and then they'll be moving out and then I'll cry.

So I asked Sophie to stop growing, to not get bigger, and I even offered to stop feeding her so we could hang on just a little bit longer.

Because the truth is I can't wait to be a free-moving adult in this world again...but I can certainly wait for my babies to get big and disappear into their own fog of being grown-up-ness. Oh, yes I can.

Days like this

There are some days where I want to disappear. Where I want to curl up in bed and never emerge. Today is that day.

The girls have been fighting all morning. Every few minutes is punctuated by L shrieking over something S isn't letting her do...and S whining in that infuriating voice that L has taken something that is "hers".

There isn't enough sleep in me today. There isn't enough energy or peace or patience. There isn't enough of anything.

Today is a bad day. And I know it's a bad day. I can see it as I watch myself handle each situation horribly, as I tell S to stop whining and I tell L to stop being a butt.

I know what I'm supposed to do. I'm supposed to take it easy. I'm supposed to make everything simple. I'm supposed to keep breathing and moving and taking everything moment by moment. I know all of that...but today, I just want to run away. I just want to sleep. I want silence and no demands.

I want, I want, I want.

Time for another coffee, to get dressed, and to start hanging out with the girls...because that is usually the cure. They stop fighting when I am present. And right now I'm hiding out.

Time to be a grown-up.

And time to stop wishing that stay-at-home parents got sick days.

Because today, if I worked a normal job, I would totally call in sick.

Totally.

Miscarriage

I am now the mother of three babies - two here on earth (one upstairs asking to come down right this second) and one in heaven...or eternity...or the realms...just not here.

It breaks my heart that that is the case. It hurts more than I could ever imagine, but there it is.

I wanted some record of it, of that baby being, even though it was only 11 weeks of being pregnant that that baby was around.

Charlie Scott Marie Mills was 'born' (or declared no longer alive) on May 7, 2012. On November 26, 2012 we were supposed to be getting close to meeting them.

Forever, we will love them. Him. Her. Them.

And one day, I might not cry or have to take deep breaths when someone says, I'm pregnant! One day the grief won't be so fresh.

And one day, I'll get to meet the baby that was, but never was, the baby that is but will never be...

Charlie, I love you. I'm your momma. And one day, we will know what that means. Today, it means I miss you. And I can't wait to see you.

Unattractive

Parenthood is hard.

I know a collective "Duh!" just went up from people who have been parents for decades (KUDOS to you, by the way), but bear with me.

When I was pregnant, I read all the books, watched all the shows/movies, took all the classes, asked all the questions, and harangued my mother and mother-in-law for their opinions on everything from napping and showering with an infant to "to use a soother, or not to use a soother?". And do you know how much help it was??

A big fat NO HELP.

Oh wait, it did one thing - it let me think, for 9 blissful months, that I was prepared, that I was ready, that I could handle it.

Which is funny, because literally 1 second after the first contraction, I realized I was none of those things, and that I would probably never be any of those things ever again. Period. (Contractions lend a sort of intensity to thinking - never question a woman who is contracting...it would not bode well for your intent to remain living).

Parenthood is so hard, that I have become one of the most unattractive people on the face of the earth.

And no, I'm not talking about the obvious unattractiveness - the unwashed-hair-no-make-up-bags-under-the-eyes-lumpy-bits-galore-messed-up-fashion-sense unattractiveness.

I'm talking about the personality unattractiveness (the other kind is SO much easier to clean up!).

I have become a martyr. Plain and simple.

I work myself to the bone, trying to be superwomanhousewife...and in the end, I become a snivelling, crying, upset, over-worked, disgustingly self-righteous, nagging martyr.

This morning my husband and I had a pretty bad fight about pretty much nothing at all, and the reason for it? The martyrdom shooting out of every one of my orphices.

I don't know how to stop being a martyr (for example, my retaliation so far today for the fight is to clean up our bedroom, and wash, fold, and put away every stitch of laundry in our house...that will SHOW HIM).

I hate martyrs. I hate them with a passion. And I desperately hate myself right now.

I wish that I could stop for sixteen seconds and actually enjoy the fact that today is finally, FINALLY Friday...that my husband loves me enough not to bite my head off when it's all I seem to do to him...and that for 3 days we get to blissfully hang out together as a little family with few if any interruptions (everyone is busy this weekend, so little to no drop-ins from random people trying to see the baby).

That will be my goal for the rest of the day - focusing on the good that is coming my way...

...while washing, folding, and putting away every stitch of laundry.

Why not?

An English major by trade, I have been trained to read the good stuff. Like a wine connoisseur, I can sniff out the books that will pack a punch for me and the books that will leave me wanting more and hating the fact that I've wasted my time.

There are, however, times where I will delight in reading something that's not completely heady, but sincerely well-written. In my humble opinion, and this is only my opinion, I love the Emily Giffin books Something Borrowed, Something Blue, and now, which I have just started reading, Baby Proof.

The premise of Baby Proof is this: Claudia, a 30-something woman, doesn`t want children. She knows she will not be the mother that she should be and she makes the decision to not have the bouncing babies society tells her she should. This, of course, puts her in a tight spot to find a mate. Eventually, though, she finds her soul mate, Ben. He is perfect and, to top it all off, he also doesn`t want children! A match made in publishing heaven.

They get married and are enjoying the single life when all of a sudden Ben wants babies. This of course throws their whole marriage off-course.

Now, I am a firm believer of making babies. I want them. Ask my husband - I ask for them ALL THE TIME. And although I know that waiting until we move out of our apartment and we have bought our own house with our own space is the best plan for baby-making, (which I heartedly agree with), I still WANT them. NOW. My poor husband. Anyway, I digress.

In the book, Claudia postulates the following question as she is getting bombarded with Ben's protests and arguments, and her best friend's concern: Why, when a woman says 'I don't want children,' immediately everyone asks, "Why not?" but when a woman says "I want children," everyone just understands?

That, I think, is a fantastic question. Why do we do that? I think there are a couple of really good spin-offs to this question.

Of course, the feminist rant comes first.

We harp and harp about women having choice - you can pick a) babies! or b) career! or c) BOTH, but in essence, we are only really offered option c.

If you only choose to have babies and no career, watch as the noses of people who are more professionally-minded start to stick up. Their mantra of career, career, career suddenly gets so resounding you can't hear anything else. Why would you choose raising your children over a fulfilling, rewarding, independent, freedom- and power-filled career? Why???

I remember getting a lot of these looks in just choosing marriage over grad school when I finished my degree. Why wasn't I heading up the mountain of success, and why on earth was a strapping myself to a man??

Well, have you seen my husband?

In all seriousness, I chose what would make me happy long-term, what I wanted, and what I have loved every second of since. Obviously, snooty career-snobs, I made the right choice FOR ME.

If you choose only career, though, like Claudia, you become the anti-mother, shunning all things maternal and gooey. How could you be so cold? So selfish? How could you give up your crowning achievement - your offspring?

Women fought for choice, but it certainly is portrayed that if you don't choose career-woman with 4 kids, you're picking stay-at-home drudgery or workaholic egocentric land. There is no choice. Let's be honest - we fought hard to "have it all" as defined by others, not to be realistic or aware of our very basic wants and needs.

Whoo. Feminist rant gone. Next order of business - BAD mothers.

We all know people who shouldn't have children. We watch them use, abuse, ignore, and forget their children. We watch them mistreat them or not treat them at all. We watch them as their children grow up to be the worst versions of themselves because their parents couldn't get it together long enough to teach them to be and express the best versions of themselves. And we cringe when we hear that they are pregnant. AGAIN.

And we all know people who would make fantastic parents. Give them a baby and it just starts purring. We all know them. And sadly, these star parents-in-training can't have children, for whatever reason. Can't procreate because reality is a big meanie.

And we wonder why?

What if each person who wanted children asked themselves, why? Why do I want kids? Why do I want to bring children into this world? And if they were honest about it, I think that people wouldn't have babies so quickly.

I know of a couple who are having huge marital trouble. They need to fix a lot of holes before they can call their relationship healthy. And yet, she wants children so badly. And she doesn't want to wait. And she has actually said that it's not fair that she's ready but he's not - why should she wait for him when she can have what she wants NOW. Because she wants it NOW.

But, as the age old war cry states, what about the children? How many kids are born into this kind of environment? And they're not just "kids," but human beings with rights and freedoms and purpose. Don't they deserve their best shot?

Which is why my husband and I aren't having babies now (even though I ask relentlessly, and I'm so sorry to make you be the stronger guy). We are waiting to give our children the best shot, not just any shot.

And the next time someone says, "I want children," I think I'll ask them, why? Why kids? Why you? And maybe a child won't be born without some thought behind it.

Because children are more than worth a second, third, fourth thought. And then they are worth your best. Always.

I don't know

Ever since I was small, I imagined myself being a mom. I've pictured what it would be like to carry a child, dreamt of what it would be like to have their heartbeat under mine, and worried over the labour part of the whole ordeal.

My husband has also dreamt of being a dad, and when we had the "Do you want children?" talk that is supposed to occur before you get married, it was a resounding "Yes!" from both of us. And then the dreaming changed, turning into "us" as parents, which, in all honesty, felt more secure than dreaming about it alone.

Now that we are married, the subject of children is all I can think about, because for the first time in my life I'm able to have children and I'm able to support them. I dream of my belly getting big, I dream of holding them, I dream of teaching them, and raising them to be good adults, and I dream about the kind of dad that my husband will be. Let me tell you - I picked a good one. He will be a fantastic dad.

Today we went for a hearing test for my husband. He has Waardenburg's Syndrome and is hearing impaired. He has absolutely no hearing in his right ear, and only partial hearing in his left. He wears a hearing aid in this left ear and this is the ear that we were testing today.

Waardenburg's Syndrome is genetic, which means he got it from his parents (we're assuming from his dad) and it means that our children have a 50% of having the same disability.

The audiologist who did the hearing test for us talked about the risks for our babies, and told us that we should look into genetic counselling before we have children.

She said that there are worse things than hearing loss as an impairment, but that any child with a disability takes an enormous amount of emotional, physical, and financial energy, and that we should make sure we know exactly what we are getting into before we embark on making our own babies.

As I sat there, questions and worries started swirling around in my heart, for that is where all my children thinking goes.

Will we be able to handle the strain, on ourselves and our bank account?

Will we be strong enough to keep our marriage alive with a disabled child?

Will we be okay enough to handle not only a child with a disability, but also a father with a disability?

Is it selfish, that despite all the risks, we still want to birth our own children?

Is it normal that my heart is already breaking for the challenges that my children will face?

Will I be a good enough mother? For any child, disabled or not?

I don't know.