Saying Goodbye.

Tonight, I held my son as he fell asleep. He's almost 6 months old, teething, and his infancy is passing by too quickly. I listened to my daughter, talking in her sleep, over the monitor in her room and I'm not sure where the time has gone with her either. I thought of their milestones, their births, my pregnancies with them and thought, "never again."

Never again will I hold my hand over my abdomen, mentally counting the days, and wondering if life is growing inside me. Nor will I feel the the strange warmth that was my first indication of a new pregnancy, the butterfly flutter of first movements, the rolling wonder of a baby mid-swim or the jolt of hiccups. My days of waddling with an achy pelvis, wearing clothes meant to make my stomach stand out versus suck in, eyeing the teeniest section of infant clothes and holding my breath while listening for a heartbeat are now in the past. No more waking at night in wonder at the acrobatics inside, patting my tummy and waiting for the return kicks. I enjoyed the excitement of labor (when it was the real deal, not that scary preterm crap) and giving birth, knowing my body played a role in bringing a miracle to light.

My husband and I never hoped for more than two children, and we spent many days wondering if we'd be blessed with even one. When it was confirmed that I was pregnant with our son, I remembering thinking "Really, God? You're going to give me everything I've hoped for? This is really happening?" Even though I'd felt convinced there were supposed to be two, the thought that my dreams were actually coming true just floored me.

Never again will I take my temperature or submit to ultrasounds, tests, medications, treatments and timing in hopes of conceiving a child. There will be no more obsessing over charts, "signs," estimated test dates or my dog-eared copy of Taking Charge of Your Fertility. No more getting excited over a temperature rise occurring the day after intercourse or feeling sick to my stomach as the temperature bottoms out and my period inevitably comes. I won't be driving myself crazy with "magical thinking" - convincing myself this is going to be the cycle because it's someone's birthday, anniversary, a holiday or some other date that just must mean this is it. (Though I do have to say my positive test with my daughter came during a blue moon and my son was conceived on Mother's Day, right in between a regular moon and a blue moon)

No more freaking tampons!

A new phase of my life begins next week, and while I will still be me through and through, it feels odd to think that so much will change and none of it will be visible from the outside. I fought horrible periods, infertility, gave birth to two gorgeous children, have had a horrible recovery period and terrible infection and now I'm getting off the ride, never to return. Forget "stop the ride, I want off," I'm blowing up the train.

I'm okay with being done having children. I couldn't ask for more than the family I'm blessed with, truly truly blessed. I do wonder about the two children I lost, and some recent comments from my daughter make me think the time is coming to truly mourn their loss. Still, my family does feel whole.

I'm not going to miss trying to conceive. TRYING is an understatement, and I feel so lucky that my marriage is one that came through that period stronger, not strained.

But.

So much of the last many years has been tied up in the struggles of trying to get pregnant and have a healthy outcome, there is a bit of a "now what" aspect to it. I'm afraid I'm going to have to wait a bit before going to Disneyland.

I know there will be times when I see a baby and feel that pang that many women know so well. I have loved babies my whole life, and in another set of shoes I might have had many. I can honestly say when its all over, even though I'm having surgery, that I will have had as many children as God would give me. Doesn't have to be a big number to fit that bill.

I'm a bit sad, knowing we're done and done in such a permanent fashion. My hubby had a vasectomy in April, and I was surprised when he walked out to find tears filling my eyes. I felt more than fine about taking that step to be done. Making it official was still a little emotional.

Next Thursday, I'll be having surgery and it's now official. There are simply too many issues with my uterus and it's coming out. I'm okay with that, just a little surprised at how all of this has turned out. Many years ago, I told my husband that I felt I would be done with having children at 30. I didn't have any major reasons for that number, I thought, but I guessed part of it was the tendency for women in my family to lose their reproductive organs at an early age.

I turned 30 just a few weeks ago....and here I am....Done.

All the riches

My Emily.

You wake in the morning with a smile on your face, and make a beeline for Daddy. If he's going to work that day, you sit on the toilet and talks to him while he shaves. Later, when he's getting dressed, you help him guide his belt through the loops on his pants. It's your job and you take it very seriously. If he's not going to work, you greet him at the side of the bed with a book. When you wake from a midday nap, you typically tells the first one of us you see "I was missing you while I was sleeping."

We missed you too.

You speak like a five year old most of the time, and by most of the time I mean when you're awake. It's true- your doctor and school have said your verbal skills are at that level, and most who hear you agree. You keep us on our toes, to be sure. Sometimes at the end of the day I find myself feeling completely "talked out" but once you're in bed and I've had a bit of time to unwind, I find myself reflecting on the conversations of the day ...and yes, missing you while you are sleeping.

You love us with the innocence of a child, with your mind, body, heart and soul. We joke that there are hugs and then the big, "squeeze my guts out" hugs and we're just not sure who likes them better; the you or us. One of your favorite games is the "I love you better than..." and I'm proud to say you love me better than chocolate, butterflies, stars, peas, cheese, m &ms and even *gasp* yogurt. That last one is huge.

A friend once told me while I was pregnant with you that she thought I'd be a good mom because she could picture me enjoying questions about why the sky is blue or where babies come from. I have to admit, we've had a lot of fun talking about why it rains, why we have fireworks on the fourth of July and many conversations about where babies come from. You keep saying someday you're going to have a husband and "this many children" holding up both hands. The thought of you as a mommy one day is almost more than my heart can stand. You breastfeed your baby dolls and hold them with so much care and love, I know you'll be a wonderful mother someday.

The days of wondering if I'd I'd ever have a child are still fresh in my memory, but here you are- the one who made me Mommy. I'll never forget the day I bought the little pink dress with embroidered roses and matching white bonnet. I was still pregnant, and I cried at the thought of the little girl who would one day wear the outfit. We didn't find out were having a girl until the moment you were born and your Daddy said to me "we have a daughter." Those four words changed my life in was I cannot measure.

You've had a love of all things pink, princess, butterfly, fairy, sparkly and downright girly from the very beginning. I remember wondering how I would teach a girl about femininty, but I have to be honest and admit that you are teaching me. You're three and sometimes says "Mom, I think it's time for us to get our nails painted again." Of course, you're completely correct. And, if sometimes you throw in some truck driver burps or "Did you hear me fart, dad" or end your favorite jokes with the punchline "poopyhead" well, that's ok too.

Smart, funny, beautiful and charming. I'm completely unbiased. You have changed so fast, but those things stay the same. There isn't a day that goes by that I'm not intensely proud of you. There are moments when how awesome you are hits me like a wave. We are so lucky to have you. I hope you never forget that we feel this way.

I have had so much fun watching you change from a baby into this amazing little girl, and I know seeing you develop into a preteen, teen and woman will be amazing as well. No matter how old you are, you'll still be my baby and so I'm going to take advantage of the times you ask me to crawl in bed with you even if you are so active it feels like sleeping on a boat.

I love you, love you, love you little girl.

Who's my bitch now?

There are some who would call me a control freak. When I hear that term, it brings to mind a person who seeks control merely for the reason of wanting it. No logic, no exceptions, just control, control, control. That's not me. Or then again is a control freak someone who wants it but justifies it by listing multiple reasons aka excuses for wanting control?

I choose to believe I have my reasons.

I like to be in control of my mind and body. That means I've not done drugs and I drink only in moderation. Inhibitions are there for a reason. There's a reason why my sober, conscious mind keeps me clothed and out of harm's way.

I remember meeting with my doula to talk about the birth and at the end of the meeting she asked if there was anything else she should know about me. My husband said "She doesn't like to be out of control of her own body." As if this was a weird thing. Maybe it isn't so common, I don't know, but reflecting on my deliveries with both kids I can understand why her eyebrows were raised after that statement. Labor and delivery are in many ways a big lesson on what you can and can't control. Contractions are definitely your body's way of saying "who's my bitch, now?" You're pushing with or without your conscious consent.

I'm going to have surgery on the 24th, and I've never felt so out of control in my life. I don't know what's wrong with my body, though I can now add a raging UTI/kidney infection to the mix. What doesn't kill me, blah blah, blah.

I'm struggling with the concept that I won't know what they had to do during my surgery until it is over. I know for sure they are doing a laparoscopy to look around at my organs. I know they will do hysteroscopy to look inside my uterus. What I don't know is whether I'm *only* having a D &C or if it will be an ablation, or if I will wake up missing my uterus. I've consented to any and all of the above, but I know only the minimum of what they will do.

I'm churning through these lists of things to do before my surgery - stuff for our business, our home, our kids. So many things to prepare when all I really want to do is sit on the couch and hold my children. Because there is this part of me that is beyond scared. I'm freaking terrified. Terrified, and nobody around me seems to get that.

Before my first surgery, there was a moment in the waiting room with my sister and husband. I was trying to explain that I was nervous, and among other things I hated that I would be in such a vulnerable position and completely unconscious at the same time. It wasn't about trust or lack of trust, wasn't about worrying that something inappropriate would happen - just that I was about to be naked from the waist down, spread eagle in a room full of strangers and asleep. I don't think it's illogical to be uncomfortable with that. My husband and sister started joking about it, trying to lighten the mood, and saying that it didn't matter because I wouldn't be awake for any of it. MY POINT EXACTLY and they totally missed it. It wasn't until I started crying and told them they weren't helping that they grasped just how serious I was.

Now I'm doing it all over again, but the stakes are higher, the anesthesia longer, the potential for organ removal and the fear that I just really don't know what they're going to find in there. Maybe my son left his Red Hot Chili Peppers poster in his womb, I don't know....but I'm worried and no amount of trying to think positive is changing that.

Before I had kids, I didn't worry about what would happen if something happened to me. Now it matters. I mean, yes, my husband would likely miss me a bit. ;) But the thought of missing out on life with my family is mortifiying. I can't control whether or not I wake up from this, what they might find while they're in there, and if I could I'd cancel the surgery RIGHT NOW.

The good news is I'm a little bit over the whole naked in a room full of strangers thing. The bad news is that there is still the anesthetic portion of the evening that has me worried. And, it's not like I'm going in knowing my uterus is coming out. That would be easier for me than wondering. But, here I am. I don't know if my recovery will involve a hospital stay, don't know if I'll have to be away from my babies. I just don't know, and I don't get to be the one to decide.

I hate how awful I feel physically, how tired I feel mentally and I hate that so much is weighting on my mind that I am not even being the mom I want to be because I'm stressed. What if my daughter's lasting memory of me is "Not now, I've got to get this done?:

This is a jumbled, chaotic mess of a post and I'd try to fix it but the fact is it's at least honest even if it isn't good.

If one more person comments on how surprised they are that I haven't lost it, I will probably die from laughter. I'm not ok. I haven't been ok for a while...I'm just treading water with the hope that eventually I will be. Right now, I am not giving my all, my most, or even my best to anything and I hate that. My son is almost 6 months old, and I feel so angry, so robbed, so very very frustrated. He's never seen the best of me, and my daughter doesn't see it as much as she should.

I'd take even the illusion of control back, if I could have it.

Keep your bon bons, I've got something better.

I've worked three years, two months and 10 days at my current job and have yet to see a raise or day off. I've recently earned a promotion by adding another client, but I fear that also means the privileges of unsupervised bathroom breaks and solo showers are on the way out.


I once thought my current position - full time stay at home mom, part time employee for our business- would mean enjoying the best of both worlds. I'd still get a paycheck and have something for myself, while being able to contribute to our family life financially, emotionally and be the one to care for our children. I wouldn't have to leave my child with anyone else and drive myself nuts with worry or guilt. I imagined caring for the children, taking better care of myself than I had been and greeting my husband with a hot dinner, clean house and the smile of a woman fulfilled. I just knew I'd find the time to finally work on that novel in my head.

Innocence is a beautiful and scary thing.

In reality, I haven't had a full night's sleep without responsibility for (and usually the waking, feeding, settling, or thoughts about) another human being since the end of 2004 when I hit the third trimester of my pregnancy. When I have time to write, it is sporadic and scattered, much like my hormone-riddled, sleep deprived brain. Maybe children think their mothers are dumb because we are - thanks to sleep deprivation, stress and hormones. I'm told this brain fog is temporary. I see moms with older children who give me hope, so I'm hanging in there...waiting for my brain to return.

No particular thing I do is that difficult, that's probably why outsiders seem to think I have the cushiest job ever. Feeding, changing, comforting, playing and teaching my children are things I enjoy immensely. Time with my children is rewarding and even changing diapers isn't a big deal. Well, there was the time the baby had a blowout when I didn't have a spare outfit or enough wipes and I had to change him on the seat of the car on a cold, windy day. That sucked, but we survived and he rode home with a new diaper and an origami type receiving blanket arrangment.

The thing is, the job isn't the sum of its parts. If it were, this would be a cake walk. Some people have said a stay at home mom sits around eating bon bons all day. I'm not sure what those are, but I haven't seen one in the last three years and some days I'm lucky to eat at all. Fact is, if I'm sitting down I'm either changing a diaper, nursing or doing something frivolous such as balancing the checkbook. Sometimes I don't even sit to do those things. With a three year old and a five month old, the majority of my day is centered around their food and poop. If you give them one, they're going to give you the other. And lots of it.


The three year old is potty trained at least, but any parent can tell you there's nothing like a potty trained three year old and a list of errands to run that will make you fondly reminisce about the days of diapers. Unless, of course, you want to see the toilets of every establishment you visit. I learned quickly which stores and offices have the cleanest and most accessible toilets. You know you're a parent when bathroom proximity and availability are a factor in choosing with whom you'll do business.

Sometimes I feel a bit nostalgic for the world I left behind, where my accomplishments were measurable. There was a time I could see the results of my work on a piece of paper, in numbers instead of abstract ideas. At times, I'm frustrated knowing many consider what I'm doing unimportant, insignificant, easy and "just" staying at home. I know women who consider staying home a sell-out, a step backward instead of progress. I don't doubt what I'm doing is important -there is value for our family specifically, even if the world does not see it. Even when I worry that I won't know whether I've done a good job until it's too late, until they have children of their own and fully realize how many mistakes I've made.


Then my daughter says, "Mommy I love you. You're my best friend," and it changes everything. My son giggles and squeals at my silly faces. I am reminded that I get to see their firsts, teach them to talk and be the one to witness the everyday miracles that happen in between the meals, diaper changes, meltdowns and crayola mustaches. These days will not last. My children will be grown before I know it, and while I sometimes get frustrated I've always known I will never regret spending time with them. I am incredibly blessed to know I won't have to look back and think "I wish I could have done that." Their mere presence is a miracle in our lives, I'm lucky to have them and lucky to have this opportunity. Not a day goes by, not even the hardest ones, without me knowing that.


Staying at home is a choice I've made, a choice I remake every day I spend with my children. It isn't always easy - often it isn't...it's just the right thing for our family. Some days my husband comes home to a hot meal, a somewhat clean house and fairly happy family. Sometimes he's greeted with a trashed house, a three year old who didn't nap, a teething infant and the news dinner will be delivered some time in the next 45 minutes. On those days I wonder who is more worried - him worrying I might quit or me thinking I might be fired. Each day, I juggle home, work and child care responsibilities and no day sees everything getting done. When I fall into bed at night, I know I'll be awake within a couple of hours at most and my to-do list will be longer than it was when I woke the morning before.

It's not unusual for my day to start with a feeding somewhere between 2 and 4 am, when the previous day ended with the 3 year old's midnight nightmare. Most days are a blur - similar enough to recognize I'm doing the same tasks over and over again, but unpredictable enough that I can't always know how long (or if) either of them will nap, whether I'll get much accomplished or if I should order pizza now or wait until after I've managed to burn dinner.

There was a time when women stayed at home, their sole career consisting of the caretaking of home, husband and children. It was the only option considered acceptable and while it was a lot of work it was at least considered acceptable, valued work. Now women have more options. We can have a career, or family, or even both....but no matter what we choose it will be judged and sometimes by those closest to us.

I'm lucky to have a husband who acknowledges the work of my day and values it, who recognizes that this is the decision we made together and I need his help to make it work. He does more in terms of help with the house and the kids than many fathers I know, and his support lightens my load in more ways than one.

At the end of the day, it doesn't matter whether people think my job is easy or if they think I have nothing to do but sit around all day. They have clearly never stayed up all night to watch a sick child breathe, tried to keep one child occupied with playdough while the other nurses or tried to balance the baby on their hip while they stir spaghetti sauce and explain to a preschooler why it rains. Even though their boss will never (hopefully!) try to join them in the bathroom, demand 24/7 shifts, throw some of their best work down on the floor (or throw it up on their shirt), or smear vaseline/lotion/baby powder all over their work area, they can continue to think their job sucks compared to mine.

Because it does.

I lost a bet.

There. Happy?

And yes, I always laugh when you act stupid. So there.

Better be nice. Metrosexuals I've never met are miserable without me.

Gnomes in the backyard. OH yeah.

My husband.

Pook.

I tried to write something that would sum up the last five years, but you know me - I just kept making the keyboard soggy. On the day we married, I knew I was lucky to have you..you can see it in the pictures of that day. (Luckily you can't see I was so excited I woke up many hours earlier than I should have, and called Grandma to chat because she was enough time zones away that it wasn't too early for her)

Today, I understand even more how lucky I am. You are my strong shoulder, my firm grasp, my best friend and the one who makes me laugh until milk comes out of my nose. You're the knight who comes riding in with my bra on your head to make me laugh as you shower me with caffeine, roses, dinner you picked up on the way home and the promise of a roudy game of scrabble or monkey sex (my choice) after the kids go to sleep. The stinker who once asked me if I wanted to play fairy princess, then handed me a new toilet brush and said "here's your wand!" You told me I wasn't broken at a time when I felt that's all I was. Even now, when I feel cracked, you just hand me some super glue and remind me to call the counselor.

Nobody knows all the trouble I've seen, except for you, and you love me anyway. You spoil me whether I feel like I deserve it or not, and you tell me I do. You do crazy things like telling me we can go shopping for my birthday and don't complain when it takes hours and our daughter introduces you to every toilet in sight (and many you have to search to find). I didn't hear a single complaint about the shopping trip where you had to buy stool softeners, deluxe super ultra absorbant pads, tucks and zoloft after our son was born. Not saying I'd feel super sorry for you, given my condition at the time, but still...you didn't blink an eye, you just did it.

I know we're done having children, and we're so incredibly lucky to have the two we've got, but seeing you with them makes me understand why some people have several. When I watched you teach our nephew to ride his bike, many years ago when we had only been together about 6 months, I instantly pictured you with our own blonde kiddo. At that moment I knew our story would ultimately be one about a family, though I could not have pictured the details of when or how.

It's been a rough year, and we've been through so much since last anniversary and this one. I think it speaks to our strength that we've gotten through it, we're doing okay. You still cop a feel or hump my leg as you pass me in the kitchen and I still look at you and think....



Happy Anniversary. I look forward to so many more.

Love,
Me

THAT Neighbor.

There are some 12-13 year old boys that are all fairly new to my neighborhood. Recently I've seen them all playing together and generally being good, though perhaps a bit mischievious. Nothing too harmful, until I noticed them start playing on the roof of the house across the street. (Where one of them resides)

I debated about whether to say something, or more specifically how to say it to the parents. I just don't want to see any of them get hurt, and I'd want to know. I haven't actually been home when the parents of two of the boys are, and the third lives a few streets over...I'm not sure where.

I had been contemplating a note (though I wondered about it being intercepted) when I ran into two of the boys at the store yesterday. They were polite, respectful and came up to me to say hi. I realized after the fact that I missed an opportunity. (Darn it!)

So today I went out to my car and saw all three boys playing on the roof. I wanted it to stop right away and I couldn't tell their parent right away because they weren't home, but darn it I didn't want to hear a scream a bit later and find out someone had gotten hurt either.

I yelled over (in as much as I could yell, my voice is almost gone) for the boys to come here for a minute, I needed their help.

They all three got down and came over, which I think speaks to the fact they are generally good boys. When they came over I had a moment of panic because there was nothing that would require them to actually listen to me, and I even briefly wondered if my car was going to see some eggs in the future. No matter, I carried on.

"Gentlemen, I really need your help."

All eyes were on me. I could see the gears turning.

"I've seen you playing on the roof."

Cue the "oh shit" looks.

"It's not acceptable and you know it, that's why it needs to stop now. I'm not the only one keeping an eye out in the neighborhood, and the next person to see one of you up on the roof is going to tell ALL of your parents. Got it?"

Solemn nods all around.

"Are you going to stay off the roof?"

Affirmations.

"I don't want anyone getting hurt because they fell off or because their parents found out there were up there in the first place, so keep your word."

Then I asked them to help take some cookies off my hands.

They'll either love me or hate me, but I'll keep my word as long as they keep theirs. If I see them up there again, I'll let all the parents know. As a mom, I 'd want to know the first time, but this seemed a way to warn them without getting anyone in trouble and hopefully get them to stop.

Maybe I'm just incredibly naive, but it seemed worth a shot.