Goodbye 2010

I know I've been a slow blogger. I've had lots of posts swimming around in my head, just waiting for the clarity and free time to get them typed in. But our family seems to have slid into the holiday season, the year's end, panting and dirty and trying wildly to keep all our balls in the air. Somehow it feels like tomorrow morning will dawn and everything will have been reset. We suddenly won't be playing an eternal game of catchup anymore. We'll start fresh and new and ahead of the game. Or something.

But I owe it to tonight to give a brief glance back at the last 365 days, to give a nod of appreciation, one last smile, a mental note of thanks.

Thank you for every morning I woke up to Alina's laughter and exploration and growth.

Thank you for my daughter's sweet kisses, her toddler-version of "I love you," her hugs and her mischievous, crinkly-nosed smile.

Thank you for my son, kicking around inside me as I type. Thank you for the movement I can see in my belly right now.

Thank you for the growth in my marriage, for the father my husband has become, and the husband my babies' daddy has become.

Most of all thank you for the deep, soul-satisfying sense of peace and contentment I have.

It's been an incredible journey from January 1 to December 31. An incredible journey through the greatest year of my life. I can only imagine the heights that are in store for 2011. Double the crazy, double the fun.

Double the joy.

So happy OLD year and happy NEW year from our house and hearts to yours. (And I promise to get back to our regularly scheduled blogging next year...er...tomorrow!)

P is for Potential

**If you're new to the alphabet series, start here.**

Baby girl, there are so many important P's I wanted to talk to you about. Priorities. Principles. Patience. I got started on each one, and each time I stalled out, not really knowing what to say next, not really feeling like it was ultimately all that important. And then I realized I was talking to you about the wrong P.

Today, P is for potential.

For the last couple of years, I worked for a woman who was, in all honesty, fairly hard to work for. She had a short temper. She was driven and determined and knew exactly what she wanted. If you kept your head down and did an amazing job on everything, she was pleased and happy, but mistakes were hardly tolerated and when frustrated, her temper would flash, revealing a hard, cold, mean interior. She was divorced and childless. The quintessential career woman.

I was able to stay on her good side at first. I'm an excellent employee, smart, sharp, organized. I pleased her. I made her look good.

And then I got pregnant.

Slowly, subtly, she started giving me a hard time about my doctor's appointments. At first the message--to schedule them outside of work hours--came off as joking. But she got serious very quickly. I started taking whole days off work when I had an appointment so that she wouldn't feel like my appointments were interfering with my job.

Things only got worse after I had you. She told me to code time spent taking you to your appointments differently than time spent at my own doctor's appointments. She complained to her superiors about my pumping twice a day to provide milk for you (a complaint that fell on deaf ears). When I had to stay home with you when you were sick, she took projects away from me and wouldn't speak to me for days.

One day, I overheard her telling someone that women who have children lose their potential.

I had had enough. I documented everything and submitted a packet to our human resources department with a letter stating that I felt discriminated against based on my family status. Thankfully my company treated my complaints seriously, and--skipping the stressful process in the middle--I was shortly thereafter transferred to another team.

When I got pregnant with you, when I looked at that test and screamed with joy, when I became a mother, your mother, I believed I was joining a club of esteemed women. Mothers are loved. Mothers are celebrated. Mothers impress everyone around them with their ability to solve all problems, cure all pains, soothe all fears, and encourage and enable all successes. I never thought there would be people who actually thought less of me for being a mother.

Potential. She thought I lost my potential when I had a child.

I am here to tell you she could not have been more wrong. You have given me more potential than I ever knew I was capable of. Because of you, I am a better person. A stronger person. I can do more than I ever thought possible. I can love more than I ever imagined. I have accomplished more than I ever would have without you.

You didn't steal my potential. You enhanced it.

I tell you this so that you'll understand that one day, someone will look down on you for something, will think less of you. When that happens, ignore them. Defy them. Never let their limited understanding of you limit your actual beliefs and actions. You are better than them; it is they who lack the potential for greatness, the potential for understanding and appreciation. 

You can do anything. Anything. You are the embodiment of unlimited potential. You are smart and funny and confident and beautiful and determined and brave and tender and compassionate. There is nothing that is beyond your reach. Never let anyone make you think less of yourself. Never let anyone label you.

Ever the bit of a feisty one, it wasn't enough that I got myself off this woman's team. She had refused to speak to me after she met with HR. She refused to acknowledge her role, refused to take responsibility for her behavior. I wanted her to know how wrong she was. So when I got pregnant with your brother, I made a shirt that said "Full of Potential" right across my big, gorgeous, pregnant belly.

Because I am. I am a mother, and that makes me FULL of the most incredible potential for greatness. And in the other sense, my growing belly was full of you, of your brother, the embodiments of raw potential itself.


You not only allowed me to grow into my own potential, you yourself are potential in its most pure form. Go explore the unlimited reaches of it, and relish every second.

Holding Hands

there was a week, maybe two
when you were learning to walk
when you were unstable, unsure
when your determination outleapt your abilities
when you wanted to hold my hand

your tiny fingers fit comfortably inside mine
your hand relaxed, dependent, trusting
i walked beside you, slowly, every step of the way
and when there was a misstep, a trip, a fall,
i caught you before you ever hit the ground

one evening as we walked, two girls rode by
handle bar streamers flying
ponytails flapping in the wind, mixing with their girlish chatter and laughter
i thought about the speed of their wheels
the smoothness
the independence of riding a bike with your best friend through your neighborhood
such a different universe from your slow, shuffling, faltering step-step-step beside me
and i cherished the warmth of your hand in mine
knowing that, for a brief window, i could always catch you before you fell

only a few days later, your confidence abounding,
you stopped wanting to hold my hand.
aware of your new abilities, your new freedom,
my hand became a restriction, an anchor
rather than a comfort, a support

as i watched you stagger off on your own
full of glee and determination
i tucked the memory of your hand in mine into the folds of my heart
where i could revisit it, the warmth, the trust, the need
any time i wanted

bath time
a month of independence later
we splashed and played and chatted
until the cat, ever watchful, rose from his perch and stalked along the edge of the tub
something in his prowl caught your attention and,
startled, nervous,
you reached for my hand

and we sat,
hand in hand,
reconnecting, reassuring each other without words
you still need me
and i will always catch you before you fall

A Son

There are very few days in my life when I've had my mind completely and utterly blown. I love surprises . . . I'm just pretty observant and organized and goal-oriented, and the truth is there just haven't been very many instances at ALL where I've been truly and completely surprised. I'm very rarely caught off guard because I know where I'm heading and I know what to expect. I can usually spot something coming.

I didn't see this coming.

As predicted, I was a hot mess of nerves in the 24 hours leading up to my appointment. I was anxious that evening, trying to keep busy to keep my mind off of obsessing about the next morning. I had already been through all the "what ifs," had traveled down every road mentally. And I knew, KNEW what was coming. We went to bed that night talking girl names.

That night, I had a mildly disturbing dream. I was spending time with another man, a man I ended up kissing. I felt all the excitement of a first kiss, something I had given up on ever feeling again. Then I realized I had to tell him that I was married, and that I had to tell TH that I had kissed another man. Terrible, right? I woke up bothered and immediately told my husband about my dream that had bummed me out. He asked how I had felt kissing the other man, and the one clear emotion I remember was excitement. The excitement of something new. Then he wanted to talk about what would happen in real life if that ever actually happened, and I told him we might as well talk about what would happen if I had sex with a unicorn because that was an equally likely scenario. The we laughed and went on with our morning.

When we settled into the exam room, our nurse asked us if we were finding out the sex (which got a perhaps too-loud "YES!" from both of us) and if we had a guess.

"Oh, I am absolutely positive it's a girl." I said.

She laughed and I caught a hint of patronizing tolerance in her chuckle, and I got the sense she had heard that kind of thing before.
 
She could laugh all she wanted. I was positive. I had been over and over and over all the benefits of having two girls. My head and my heart were prepared for sisters.

This is when I let you in on a little secret: when TH and I decided to try for our second, even though I agreed not to temp and chart, I told him that we at least had to use OPKs so that I would know when I was ovulating so that we could try for a boy. I do believe in the science behind Shettles, and I told him that I wouldn't be able to be satisfied if we didn't at least try for a boy. He agreed. We got pregnant (surprise!) about three weeks before I would have started using OPKs. Through the first trimester, I realized that getting pregnant before I had "planned" was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. It removed all semblance of control, truly leaving everything up to chance and, if you believe in that kind of thing, fate. If we had actively tried for a boy, and still ended up with another girl, I would have been disappointed NOT in the girl, but in my own apparent lack of success. And I didn't want to EVER be disappointed in the sex of my child.

So through the first trimester, I prepared myself for the girl. I brainstormed all the pros. I focused on all the benefits. And along the way I realized that a little girl would, actually, be perfect for our family. Yes, we'd get to reuse all of our stuff, all of our gear, all of those tiny, adorable outfits that baby girl only got to wear once or twice before outgrowing them. Yes, baby girl would get a sister, a soul mate and confidant to share her life with. Yes, I'd get another child who is, let's face it, the calmer and easier of the two sexes, at least for the first 10 or so years. But really what got me was that I'd get another sweet, cuddly girl, who makes my heart explode with her smile and her lilting laughter and the twinkle in her eye. Basically, I couldn't imagine a boy making my heart explode into a million pieces every second the way my daughter does. I fully understand that this is because I only have a little girl, so I can only understand feeling this way about a little girl. I know that moms of boys feel this way, too, about their sons. But still. There it was. In my efforts to see the benefits of having another girl, to prepare myself, to keep myself from being disappointed if that were the case . . . I ended up in a place where all I wanted was another little girl.

And maybe it was because I was thinking about girls so much that girl-girl-girl was just always on my mind. Or maybe it was because I have only ever been pregnant with a girl, so I couldn't really imagine being pregnant with anything but a girl. Or maybe it was because the heart rates were so similar for each appointment of this pregnancy as they were with baby girl. Whatever the reason, not only was I ready for it to be a girl . . . I honestly believed it was a girl in there.

Hopefully now you have some sense of my mental state going into that appointment yesterday, climbing up on that exam table and answering the nurse's question. Why I said I was positive it was a girl, and why there was such a smile on my face when I said it.

She then asked TH what he thought. "A boy," he said. "I think it's a boy." This wasn't a surprise to me. He thought it was a boy simply because, he said, I was SO sure it was a girl.

The nurse seemed relieved that at least each of us thought different things, so we wouldn't both be shocked if the outcome were something unexpected.

She began the ultrasound.

Immediately my baby's beating heart flashed onto the screen. Arms moved, and we saw long legs bent at the knees. We watched as the baby waved at the camera, then moved a hand toward its mouth. We saw the mouth open to suck on the hand. We saw the two halves of the brain and the stomach bubble that meant that amniotic fluid was already been swallowed, like it should be. Then, when we had oo'd and ahh'd and laughed over ever little squirm and detail, it was time.

"You want me to take a guess," the nurse asked one last time, "if I see something?"

"Yes!" we replied excitedly. My eyes were glued to the screen as she started flashing back and forth across the babies butt, trying to get a good angle. She seemed to be struggling to find the right view, but with each move, I strained to see if I could tell what was there before she said anything. And with each flash, though she was dissatisfied with her angle . . . I started to see something.

Flash (what the hell was that?)

Flash (uhh . . . there's something pointing OUT from my baby's genital region.)

Flash (no really. there's something THERE.)

I became aware that my heart had started pounding in my ears.  I realized that was what people were talking about when they wondered if other people could hear their heart beat.

Flash (holy shit. That's not three lines on the inside.)

And then she caught her angle. And there it was, plain as day. And she laughed and said, "Woah! Uhh . . . . I think . . . no, I'm pretty sure we're seeing a boy here! I mean, there's not really any mistaking that!"

And I, somehow with my chin hanging on the floor, managed to say something along the lines of "Oh. My. God."

And I laughed. And stared. And TH laughed. And looked at me. And I said, "Oh WOW." In fact, I think I said "Oh WOW" like 50 times. No lie. I would start to say something, begin to put together a coherent thought and sentence, and then just trail off and say, "oh WOW!"

My mind was officially blown. For the first time in a long time, maybe even for the first time ever, I was utterly and completely caught off guard. Despite the fact that this all started, three short months ago, with the goal of trying for a boy, I had spent the interim time preparing myself for a girl. I was emotionally unprepared to see a penis on the screen.

What an incredible, amazing rush of emotions that was.

The nurse left, with a still shot of my son's very obvious penis on screen, and we waited for the doctor to come in to confirm. That period, between nurse and doctor, was full of incredulous laughter and wide eyes and me putting my hands to my cheeks and over my eyes, full of incomplete thoughts and sentences, full of "WOW." I wanted to yell and run around, shaking people by the shoulders. I wanted to give release to the overpowering swell of emotions that was swirling inside me. And the only thing I could do was sit on the table, tummy still goopy from the ultrasound gel, and cry. Not cry-cry per se, but amidst the wide smiles that cramped my cheeks and the wide eyes and the "wows," tears leaked sweetly from the corners of my eyes, the only release my body had left available for the emotions within.

I think my husband was worried my reaction was negative, that I had spent so much time thinking about and preparing for a girl that I was disappointed in my boy. And I think I freaked him out a little by not being able to speak coherently.

He reached out a tentative hand to touch my back, as if worried I might explode upon contact.

I had to eek out a breathless, incredulous, "I'm happy!!"

And I was. Beyond happy. Thrilled. Ecstatic. Shocked. Incredulous. Elated. I wasn't getting my girl. It was true. There would be no sharing of clothes, no sisters. My vision of my children was gone in an instant.

But I was getting my son. A new adventure. Something exciting that would keep at bay the feelings of "been there, done that" with this pregnancy. I haven't been here! I haven't done this! A new experience that made my feelings of excitement about this pregnancy and this sibling relationship infused with new found intensity. (It was only later, when the storm of emotions had rolled through and I was left, exhausted, limp with bliss, that I realized that maybe, just maybe the mystery man dream, with the new guy who I had kissed and had such feelings of excitement about, maybe that wasn't a cheating dream after all. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . it was my body's way of preparing me for something that was coming.)

The "boy" verdict was confirmed ("110%, without a doubt at all!") by my doctor.

A son. We are having a son.

I do still feel a sense of loss over the girl. I feel pangs of sadness over the loss of my vision of two girls playing together, sharing clothes, sharing the bond that is the sweetness of sisters. We may not ever have another child, so that vision, that reality might very well be gone for good. And I certainly feel justified and right in mourning that. And there's still a twinge in the back of my heart when I tell people we are having a boy, and they explode with happiness in a way that I think may be more exuberant than it would have been with a girl, and when they say things like, "One of each! The perfect family." Two girls would have been no less perfect than one of each. I feel defensive of my second daughter who may never be.

But that's not to say that I am disappointed about the outcome. Quite the opposite. I didn't think I could ever feel so excited about something. I don't think I've ever bee so happy about any outcome before.

There's a lot to get used to now. Using the pronoun he has been a big one. The idea that there's a boy inside me rather than a sweet girl. Hearing the terms son and grandson and nephew have made me explode with incredulity and happiness all over again. We have never looked at the male side of the name books. We have never looked at the boy clothes in stores.

On the way out of the office, we kept repeating something that I hope will stick with me for the rest of my life. "I can't believe how blessed we are." "Blessed beyond deserving."

I am having a son.

I can't believe how blessed I am. Blessed beyond deserving.

Wordless Wednesday

Win/Win

My 16-week appointment is tomorrow. For my doctor's practice, this is the standard appointment for sex determination.

Tomorrow I will find out if we are having a baby girl or a baby boy.

Oh. Em. Gee.

The emotions swirling around this question have been so much more intense the second time around than the first. We always knew we wanted multiple kids, so the first time we found out boy or girl, it was largely inconsequential. It was simply finding out which sex we were starting out with.

This time though. This time carries so much more weight. So much more to think about. On the one hand, it might be a girl. A sister. The gift of a sister is something that is so incredibly precious. I have two brothers and a sister, and though I am closer in years to one of my brothers, the relationship I have with my sister is so different, so much more intimate and honest and close. We share clothes and talk about boys. The blessing of a sister is something I would LOVE for my children to have. Plus we could reuse all of our stuff. So, a girl would be a win.

On the other hand, a boy. One of each. Everyone's idea of the perfect family. A new adventure, a new experience. A brother to protect baby girl, a boy to teach her how to interact with the opposite sex. A boy would be a win, too.

So we head into tomorrow's appointment looking at a win/win scenario. There can't be a bad answer. What a wonderful position to be in.

And then my mind wanders there. To the other side of the coin. We may very well be done after two kids. So whatever the outcome tomorrow is, there is a very real possibility that will be the final outcome for our family. Either baby girl will never have a brother, and I will never have a son, or she will never have a sister, and I will only ever have one of each. In my emotionally, hormonally charged existence right now, both possibilities make me cry. Find out you are having one sex, and that means you have lost the other, possibly forever. Looking at it that way makes it a lose/lose.

And if I'm being totally honest with myself, I know what I think it is (girl). I know what I hope it is (girl). It's possible that the most appealing thing about the other option (boy) is that I feel like people expect me to want it. I feel like people will be disappointed for me if it's another girl. I feel like my dad will continue to lament his lack of a grandson. And my cousin will snicker about us not having done the Shettles method to ensure having a boy. And people will cluck their tongues and say, softly tilting their heads to the side and looking at me with gentle eyes, "Ah, you didn't get your boy." And I don't want to deal with people thinking I'm disappointed. I don't want to deal with people asking me if I'm disappointed. Because truth be told I wouldn't be. At all. When I sit down and think about the pros and cons of boys vs girls, the girl's "pro" side is WAY longer than the boy's. And of course that's likely because I HAVE a girl, and I know all the wonderful things that come along with it. But the fact remains that one of the most appealing things about having a boy to me is that it would shut everybody else up. And that's not a good enough reason.

Whew. Sorry. Side rant about societal and familial sex expectations.

That line of thinking, that lose/lose mentality, that "I secretly (not-so-secretly) hope it's a girl" mentality, just leave me feeling gloomy. So I'm resolving to focus on the win/win.

There is no bad answer tomorrow.

Note to self: schedule all future doctor's appointments for first thing Monday morning. This waiting a couple of days into the week and obsessing about things is for the birds.

22 hours and 10 minutes to go. And counting.

The Second Gets Shafted

I've heard this all along. The second kid gets shafted. When you're pregnant the first time, you have nothing to do but sit around all the time and think about and prepare for your child. You read all the books. You do the exercises. The name is picked out early. The nursery is finished early. You do research into the best baby gear. You play classical music to your stomach. You carve out time each week with your spouse to read the Pregnancy Week by Week book together, cuddled on the couch, spending time thinking about each other and the miracle inside. When baby finally arrives, there are a million pictures taken a day. Oh, look at that! First bath. First smile. First time the cat showed any interest. First time in your alma mater's gear. Not one second of your child's life is undocumented. And the attention. Oh, the attention. Your first child's cries are tended to immediately. They are held constantly, passed from one loving set of arms to the next. Not one moment of their life is void of attention and entertainment.

And then you get pregnant again. And already you start to notice the difference. Rather than sitting around researching the newest trends in gear or playing classical music to your belly, you are chasing around your toddler, trying to get them fed, trying to get them to put their clothes back on, trying to pick up their toys after they fly through your living room like a banshee. When baby is in bed, rather than snuggling on the couch, thinking about the new baby, you and your spouse do chores, attempt to get the house back in shape, attempt to prepare for the next day, and if you happen to have an hour left before passing out into the sweet oblivion of sleep, you tend to want to do anything BUT talk about babies. You long for 30 minutes to yourself, your adult thoughts, your adult world, your adult television shows and your books that have nothing to do with parenting. When the baby finally arrives, after an initial flurry of photos, there's just no way to keep up with the precedent set by your first. Rather than taking 50 pictures of your child in a cute new dress, you are busy trying to keep your first from coloring on the walls while just be grateful your second hasn't spit up on the dress yet. The nap times that were spent uploading all the pictures the first time around are now spent with whichever child is NOT napping. When your second cries, you rush to him or her . . . as soon as you are done getting your first down for a nap or disentangling them from your leg where they've wrapped themselves so tightly they simply move along with you when you take a step. You can't hold your second all the time because you have to share your lap and your arms with your first. Everyone learns the art of sharing, including mom.

So yeah. The second kid gets relatively shafted.

But what I'm also learning is that the second pregnancy gets shafted to. Not from the kid's perspective. From MY perspective.

When I was pregnant with my first, TH was concerned and attentive, sometimes to the point of overbearing. He'd keep me off my feet. He'd do all the chores. He'd ask how I was feeling and if he could rub anything. He wouldn't let me lift anything or climb anything or do anything. He'd be sensitive when I felt flooded by hormones, defaulting to be more easy going than ever. He'd ask me things like, "Where do your hormones want to go for dinner?" He wouldn't look at me like a crazy woman when I cried over nothing. He would listen to my often illogical ranting and make me feel like I was completely justified in everything I was feeling. In short, he was the perfect pregnant-woman's husband.

I once heard mention on a message board to enjoy the first-pregnancy husband while he lasts, because everything changes with the second. I scoffed at the idea. I didn't believe it. Not MY husband. He is unique. Different than the rest. Surely his attention would never wane, his gentleness would never harden. Those poor women who had hard, uncaring, insensitive husband's. Poor them.

And then I got pregnant again.

And from the get-go, things were different. One of his first questions was, "We don't have to read all those books again, do we?" As if it were a chore. As if they were something he had suffered through. Weeks passed, and we rarely talked about the newest baby on the way. We were busy with our first, busy with our lives. He still expected the normal amount of help from me with keeping up with the house, the laundry, the chores. He didn't understand when I would snap emotionally about something, and he'd often snap back. A totally justified response normally, but gone was the man who understood the hormones racing around inside, making my already emotional personality magnified to the nth degree. He even admitted one day that he'd forgotten about the pregnancy emotions. But then after that realization, he seemed to forget about them right over again. I tried to tell him that I felt like we weren't doing anything to get ready for the baby, and he took it as a criticism and was defensive. I tried to ask him for help in the evenings and he snapped back about his job and how he can't please everyone. He says things like, "What's with the attitude?" rather than already knowing and understanding what is with my attitude.

He is, of course, still a wonderful husband and father. He does chores and our finances and bath time with baby girl of his own accord and nearly always without any complaints. He makes a lunch for me and baby girl every morning. If I tell him I need something, he wants me to have it. He wants to take care of me and our family.

But this second time around just isn't like the first.

So ladies out there, if any of you are pregnant with your first, enjoy. Enjoy the time you have to sit and wonder and imagine and plan and prepare and dream. Enjoy the attention your first is already getting in utero. And enjoy the husband, who, no matter how sweet and attentive he naturally is, will never again match his own sweetness and wonderfulness during this time.

Dos and I already have something in common, something we can bond over in the days and weeks and months to come. Seconds.