God help us, we have arrived in the land of 'tweeners and teenagers. It was a landing my husband and I knew was coming yet it still felt as though we were blindsided and hurdled full bore into an unprepared crash landing. The teen world is a whole new world with a whole new set of rules (and just when we thought we were getting the hang of kiddo rules!). To be fair, I'll say the "transition" has been, um, interesting. Our biggest hurdle to date is A.'s unwavering support/defense of her mother.
A. is what I would consider a bit immature for her age. Not in a goofy sort of way but rather still very naive and sheltered for her age so one afternoon when she arrives home from her mother's announcing that she "needed to speak to Dad and M. in the kitchen" we knew something was changing. Amused by such a grown up show of communication my husband and I followed her into the kitchen where we were floored when she very openly announced to us that she had started her period. I am not sure if was the announcement itself or the fashion that it was delivered that surprised us most. This type of behavior is very much out of her character. Or so we thought. And it signaled a big relational shift we didn't see coming.
Since the "big" announcement and the arrival of erratic female hormones, A. has begun to shift her relational center of gravity back toward her mother which is causing the familial divide we often experience to expand. For a while we really felt like A. was a neutral party--not favoring one parent over the other. She was content to spend time at both homes, share in our traditions equally and was comfortable in building on our step-mom-daughter relationship. However, as a young woman in transition she needs her mother more which is a natural reaction and a change I can accept.
What I am peeved about, if you will, is what feels like the constant attitude and her unwavering defense of her mother and anything her mother would want. It isn't that I wouldn't expect her to defend her mother but she blindly does it without knowing the facts, without realizing that the opinion she is giving really isn't her own and that she is being used as a pawn to further her mother's "agenda" (for lack of a better word) and she sometimes does it with complete disregard to her dad's feelings. A. is full of excuses and they are just that--excuses with no real fact behind them. A.'s attitude may be just those teen hormones kicking in but it often feels like it is her declaration that her mother is perfect and can do no wrong and that we are tragically flawed.
Several examples of this behavior come to mind. Not long ago, there was some confusion about a parent teacher conference. A.'s mother is the primary contact for schooling and was notified that the conference was scheduled, then canceled and then rescheduled sometime later. However, only the initial scheduling and cancellation were communicated to C. so he missed the rescheduled conference. Naturally, he was upset. After picking up the kiddos, A. smartly tells her dad that he forgot; that her mother told him. C. had to remind A. that he has not missed anything that was related to them in sometime and would not have missed this if he had known. Yet, A. still defends her mother on this one.
Another behavior that we deal with often is A.'s mother's inability to be on time. For anything. Ever. A.'s defense of her mother is "well, she has kids" which I find amusing because, um, so do we. She explains that it is hard for her mother to get everyone out of the house, with everything they need on time. I admit. It isn't easy but we manage to do it on a daily basis with a toddler in tow and when, on the rare occasion that we are late, we a) call and say so and b) accept responsibility for it. A.'s mother on the other hand just always seems to have an excuse.
One of the most blatant displays of tardiness came one Sunday. A. and her brother N. attend a children's program at a local church about 2 blocks from their mother's home--literally within walking distance. A. was asked to read at both of the church's services--one at 8:30 and one at 10:30. She was very excited. My husband sent his ex a text Saturday night and told her we would be at the 8:30 service to watch. He rushed home from his job which is about a 30 min. drive, showered, changed and rushed another 20 minutes up to the church. We arrived a few minutes early, found our seats and waited. We watched the children pile in the church but there was no sign of A. The children read and performed their song and departed the church. It was over in about 10 minutes and A missed the whole thing. As we were leaving, A. and her mother arrived. The excuse this time was that N. was sick with a sore throat and she was under the impression that they needed to be here at 8:30. Um, either excuse is not a reason to be late. There were 3 other adults at A.'s house that could have taken care of N. for the 20 minutes she would have been gone and she arrived at 8:45 so she would have STILL been late despite their starting promptly at 8:30. On top of that A.'s mother drives by the marquee in front of the church stating the service times weekly and has done so for at least 3 years.
I am a realist you see and I believe in representing things the way they ACTUALLY are versus how I want to see them. I accept responsibility for my actions, good or bad, and wish other people would too. I don't care if A. defends her mother. Really, I don't. I just want her to do it with a clear, unbiased perception and to use logic and reason when she does it. I want her to take into account all the facts and the history behind these actions. And more importantly, I want her to understand that sometimes when there really is no defense for poor behavior it is OK to admit that her mother (or even herself) was wrong.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Ladies & Gentlemen, step right up ...
Our family unit has been experiencing a lot of change in the past few months. Not that is different than any other time but it seems as if these changes are coming in rapid succession making them harder to juggle. This is tough for me to admit because I've always secretly aspired to be super mom--she who can handle all, quickly, effectively, efficiently, pleasing everyone and doing it with style and grace and a smile on my face. Um, yeah. Who am I kidding? Blame society, blame my perfectionist tendencies, blame TV moms out there who solve the world's problems in 30 minutes. Blame who or whatever you want because no matter who or what is to blame I've set myself up for failure because it's impossible to be everything to everyone, do everything for everyone, be everywhere at once and to do it all without falling to pieces.
Motherhood, no scratch that, life is a balancing act. We are all tight rope walkers with too many balls in the air. Lately, I've been feeling like I'm a tight roper walker who is walking high above a deep body of water, which is my probably one really irrational fear, and there is some unknown force down below that keeps yelling up "Just one more ball, OK? You can do it, right? You've done so well with all the others. You can handle it." Problem is that this tight rope walker is pregnant and if you've ever been pregnant you know your center of gravity is off and that every brain cell you have in your head (whatever was left after the last baby) is going to the task of growing that little person. Not a good position for a tight rope walker to be off kilter with a foggy brain trying to juggle all those delicate balls--baby growing, toddler, husband, kids, grandmother, house, finances, schedules, chores... the list goes on. Eventually, something has got to give. But what?
So I guess that's where I am at... what gives? It's not as if you can give back any of those things and I really wouldn't want to. All of the things that cause me stress are the things that are most important to my life which is why I worry about them. How do I keep it all balanced? What I really have to give back is the notion that I can do it all and to stop comparing myself to the people who appear to be doing it because just like the tight rope walker at the circus... not everything is as it appears. I simply can't. That might be the toughest lesson of all. I'm only one person and, unfortunately, I'm not a super hero. Just a circus act. :-)
Motherhood, no scratch that, life is a balancing act. We are all tight rope walkers with too many balls in the air. Lately, I've been feeling like I'm a tight roper walker who is walking high above a deep body of water, which is my probably one really irrational fear, and there is some unknown force down below that keeps yelling up "Just one more ball, OK? You can do it, right? You've done so well with all the others. You can handle it." Problem is that this tight rope walker is pregnant and if you've ever been pregnant you know your center of gravity is off and that every brain cell you have in your head (whatever was left after the last baby) is going to the task of growing that little person. Not a good position for a tight rope walker to be off kilter with a foggy brain trying to juggle all those delicate balls--baby growing, toddler, husband, kids, grandmother, house, finances, schedules, chores... the list goes on. Eventually, something has got to give. But what?
So I guess that's where I am at... what gives? It's not as if you can give back any of those things and I really wouldn't want to. All of the things that cause me stress are the things that are most important to my life which is why I worry about them. How do I keep it all balanced? What I really have to give back is the notion that I can do it all and to stop comparing myself to the people who appear to be doing it because just like the tight rope walker at the circus... not everything is as it appears. I simply can't. That might be the toughest lesson of all. I'm only one person and, unfortunately, I'm not a super hero. Just a circus act. :-)
Friday, July 22, 2011
Momnesia: The Result of my Alien Encounter
Yesterday, as I was frantically trying to select and coordinate frames at Aaron Bros. before my child, who was over due for a nap, boarded the train to Melt Down City, I had a fabulous thought about a blog topic. I'd tell you what it was but with J. screeching and running at warp speed through a store full of breakable items with his daddy-turned-parrot in tow repeating "No, J. Don't touch that," I was completely distracted and I forgot it. As quick as I had that thought, it was gone. I actually wonder if it happened or if I just imagined it. A moment of panic set in. I used to be razor sharp. I would remember everything for everyone and now? I'm losing my marbles and I need to find them. Quick. I'm only 30-ish. Could it be early Alzheimer's I thought? Oh no ladies the answer is much simpler. It's a complicated medical condition called Momnesia a.k.a. Pregnancy Brain. It affects hundreds of thousands of women each year and can be quite debilitating--names of your children... gone from memory. Grocery list you used to be able to remember by heart ... a thing of the past. That important meeting at school ... um, what meeting? Don't panic though. The good news is there is treatment. However, before we get to the treatment. Let's discuss the cause.
Bottom line, babies have us fooled. Underneath that cute, cuddly, soft, sweet smelling (sometimes) exterior they are tiny aliens who have come to Earth to suck the brains out of all their hosts. With our natural resources on board their little bodies they begin their quest for total world domination. (Okay, they start with toy domination and work their way up but you get my drift.) Left with a brain void of operating brain cells, mothers everywhere end up wandering around the house like zombies from Shaun of the Dead. OK, at least this is what it felt like at Aaron Bros. Babies, I'm afraid, are the only known cause for Momnesia.
In case you weren't aware, frame selection is a tough task with the multitude of choices, sizes and finishes. It can be overwhelming for anyone but for a sufferer of Momnesia it is downright impossible. Despite my best attempts to ignore the commotion running up and down the aisles, I couldn't seem to formulate a complete thought. I'd start to say something and ... nothing would come out. Reese, the salesperson, looked at me confused. "Can I help you ma'am?" Um, yes. You can start by not calling me ma'am and then you can find me a mat to fit this frame because I don't have the brain power to do it.
This isn't the first time the symptoms have occurred. I have simply been ignoring them hoping this condition would correct itself. I've forgotten my mother-in-law's birthday, to pay bills, my own social security number and conversations with my husband ... 30 seconds after we have them. The other day when I made, what must have been the 100th trip upstairs (tough work for a preggo), and I got to the top of the stairs I forgot why I was there. Infuriated I walked back downstairs only to remember on the last step what I had intended to do/get. It was as if my brain was short circuiting like a computer and that I was only minutes away from getting the blue screen of death. Most sufferers experience these symptoms for a minimum of 9 months and often for a year or possibly two after the alien invasion. Keep an eye out for these symptoms and seek help as soon as your condition has been identified.
It wasn't until dinner that I figured out what was really happening. It's a couple of things, actually. As previously stated, babies are aliens. And we all know from those horrible sci-fi movies we've watched over the years, aliens come with special skills that we mere humans do not possess. First step is to cripple us by sucking our brain cells dry then step two is they continue to control the few we have left. It kinda works like a radio scrambler. Everything is coming in loud and clear and then ... WHAM! The baby/alien starts screaming or whining and your thoughts are suddenly scrambled beyond recognition. Sneaky little crumb suckers.
So on to treatments. In an effort to prevent mothers from wondering where they parked the mothership or who exactly the leader is around here, you must immediately and as frequently as possible mother's need to sleep, focus on one task at a time (ha!), "back up" your brain by commencing the note taking, list making and setting reminders, share your important forget-me-nots via adult conversation preferably with someone less affected than you, and laugh at your forgetfulness as much as possible. Laughter is, after all, the best medicine.
Bottom line, babies have us fooled. Underneath that cute, cuddly, soft, sweet smelling (sometimes) exterior they are tiny aliens who have come to Earth to suck the brains out of all their hosts. With our natural resources on board their little bodies they begin their quest for total world domination. (Okay, they start with toy domination and work their way up but you get my drift.) Left with a brain void of operating brain cells, mothers everywhere end up wandering around the house like zombies from Shaun of the Dead. OK, at least this is what it felt like at Aaron Bros. Babies, I'm afraid, are the only known cause for Momnesia.
In case you weren't aware, frame selection is a tough task with the multitude of choices, sizes and finishes. It can be overwhelming for anyone but for a sufferer of Momnesia it is downright impossible. Despite my best attempts to ignore the commotion running up and down the aisles, I couldn't seem to formulate a complete thought. I'd start to say something and ... nothing would come out. Reese, the salesperson, looked at me confused. "Can I help you ma'am?" Um, yes. You can start by not calling me ma'am and then you can find me a mat to fit this frame because I don't have the brain power to do it.
This isn't the first time the symptoms have occurred. I have simply been ignoring them hoping this condition would correct itself. I've forgotten my mother-in-law's birthday, to pay bills, my own social security number and conversations with my husband ... 30 seconds after we have them. The other day when I made, what must have been the 100th trip upstairs (tough work for a preggo), and I got to the top of the stairs I forgot why I was there. Infuriated I walked back downstairs only to remember on the last step what I had intended to do/get. It was as if my brain was short circuiting like a computer and that I was only minutes away from getting the blue screen of death. Most sufferers experience these symptoms for a minimum of 9 months and often for a year or possibly two after the alien invasion. Keep an eye out for these symptoms and seek help as soon as your condition has been identified.
It wasn't until dinner that I figured out what was really happening. It's a couple of things, actually. As previously stated, babies are aliens. And we all know from those horrible sci-fi movies we've watched over the years, aliens come with special skills that we mere humans do not possess. First step is to cripple us by sucking our brain cells dry then step two is they continue to control the few we have left. It kinda works like a radio scrambler. Everything is coming in loud and clear and then ... WHAM! The baby/alien starts screaming or whining and your thoughts are suddenly scrambled beyond recognition. Sneaky little crumb suckers.
So on to treatments. In an effort to prevent mothers from wondering where they parked the mothership or who exactly the leader is around here, you must immediately and as frequently as possible mother's need to sleep, focus on one task at a time (ha!), "back up" your brain by commencing the note taking, list making and setting reminders, share your important forget-me-nots via adult conversation preferably with someone less affected than you, and laugh at your forgetfulness as much as possible. Laughter is, after all, the best medicine.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Know Your Role
My first realization as a step-mother was that if a job description existed for my title it would be lengthy, complicated and very few people, if any, would ever apply. The way I see it is this: as a mother (or father for that matter) your job is to love and protect your child unconditionally and to do right by them regardless of what others might think of your child rearing ways. Sure, the actual task of protecting and doing right by them might not be easy in execution but doing it unconditionally and regardless of what others think is a piece of cake for most parents I have met. Not so with step-moms. While we are encouraged to love, protect and do right by our kiddos it is almost always with conditions and according to someone else's rules. All the parenting blogs, magazines and articles I read about step-parents say it's important to respect your role. But how can you "respect" your role if it constantly changes according to what someone else deems appropriate? And your level of "respect" is never enough.
It is this issue that I have struggled with the most during my stint as a step-parent. I have been accused more than once of "over-stepping" my boundaries when it comes to the kiddos. Love them but do not have a relationship with them because that might threaten the other parent. Be involved but do not do anything the other parent would want to do with them. Protect them but not when the other parent is around. Talk to them but not when they come to you with the tough questions. Help raise them in the practical sense by feeding, clothing and bathing them but do not expect to have any input on how they are raised morally or educated. Provide a house for them but not a "home." I am not sure that I know how to do that so my husband's ex-wife, A., and I do not see eye to eye on this.
Don't get me wrong. As step-moms go, I like to think of myself as pretty open minded and respectful of what I feel are basic courtesies. There are certain things that I know A. would not approve of and we do our best to respect those wishes. I will respect her wishes to take the children to church and raise them in a Christian fashion but I do not think that I should be told to not provide them with an age appropriate factual response to the "where do babies come from?" question if they come to ME with that question. A. does not always see (or acknowledge) the effort that is put in to respecting her role (or wishes) as mother and rarely attempts to respect anything that pertains to my husband, C., or I. This is extremely difficult for C. and me as we are very fair people and believe that you should do unto others as you would have done to you. Unfortunately for us, A. is not and can be a quite stubborn individual who believes that the world revolves around her and her wishes alone. Knowing this about my situation, I subscribe to a few basic guidelines in my approach to the whole "know your role" argument.
First, I accept the fact I will NEVER meet A's ever changing expectations on what my "role" entails so I shouldn’t beat myself up over it. It is almost impossible to hit a moving target. I am trying to come to terms with and be happy with just being NEAR the target since that is as close as I'll ever get.
Second, I let the kiddos call the shots on our relationship and what "role" they need me to play (within reason). As long as the kiddos are comfortable with our relationship/my role then I am comfortable whether A. is or not. I was a child of divorce and had a step-mom (my mother's former best friend) who tried unrelentingly to use her magical powers to morph me somehow into her biological daughter and to erase all evidence of my "other" family. Naturally, as most kids in this situation, I was not too keen on the idea and harbored a lot of resentment toward her. This is the LAST thing I want to inflict upon my kiddos. I WILL NOT use them as emotional pawns. I am NOT trying to replace their mother and they KNOW that. Instead, I am trying to carve out my own special place with them. While it may be hurtful to me that they may not always feel comfortable hugging me in front of their mother or even saying hello when we are all together--they know that I will never make THEM feel awkward about it. In the end, the only people that have to be comfortable with my “role” are the kiddos and I.
Third, I try to keep everything in perspective. God does not give us situations that we cannot handle. He is teaching me something and while I might not enjoy His lesson I know in my mind that I will come out for the better (if not slightly beaten up). Bottom line is A. is threatened by me--I know this, she knows this. So, through gritted teeth and with my most superficial smile, I throw on my flax jacket for protection, take cover and try my damndest to cut her some slack when she starts acting like an ass. I am not always successful and it does get me fired up occasionally but I have to keep in mind that she's only hurting herself with her bad behavior and one day the kiddos will see the truth. And occasionally when that doesn't work I fantasize about causing her great bodily harm until she begs for mercy. Hey, no one's perfect are they?
And last but not least, I will make sure every day until the day I take my last breath that those children know that I love and would do anything for them. Unconditionally and regardless of what anyone else thinks.
It is this issue that I have struggled with the most during my stint as a step-parent. I have been accused more than once of "over-stepping" my boundaries when it comes to the kiddos. Love them but do not have a relationship with them because that might threaten the other parent. Be involved but do not do anything the other parent would want to do with them. Protect them but not when the other parent is around. Talk to them but not when they come to you with the tough questions. Help raise them in the practical sense by feeding, clothing and bathing them but do not expect to have any input on how they are raised morally or educated. Provide a house for them but not a "home." I am not sure that I know how to do that so my husband's ex-wife, A., and I do not see eye to eye on this.
Don't get me wrong. As step-moms go, I like to think of myself as pretty open minded and respectful of what I feel are basic courtesies. There are certain things that I know A. would not approve of and we do our best to respect those wishes. I will respect her wishes to take the children to church and raise them in a Christian fashion but I do not think that I should be told to not provide them with an age appropriate factual response to the "where do babies come from?" question if they come to ME with that question. A. does not always see (or acknowledge) the effort that is put in to respecting her role (or wishes) as mother and rarely attempts to respect anything that pertains to my husband, C., or I. This is extremely difficult for C. and me as we are very fair people and believe that you should do unto others as you would have done to you. Unfortunately for us, A. is not and can be a quite stubborn individual who believes that the world revolves around her and her wishes alone. Knowing this about my situation, I subscribe to a few basic guidelines in my approach to the whole "know your role" argument.
First, I accept the fact I will NEVER meet A's ever changing expectations on what my "role" entails so I shouldn’t beat myself up over it. It is almost impossible to hit a moving target. I am trying to come to terms with and be happy with just being NEAR the target since that is as close as I'll ever get.
Second, I let the kiddos call the shots on our relationship and what "role" they need me to play (within reason). As long as the kiddos are comfortable with our relationship/my role then I am comfortable whether A. is or not. I was a child of divorce and had a step-mom (my mother's former best friend) who tried unrelentingly to use her magical powers to morph me somehow into her biological daughter and to erase all evidence of my "other" family. Naturally, as most kids in this situation, I was not too keen on the idea and harbored a lot of resentment toward her. This is the LAST thing I want to inflict upon my kiddos. I WILL NOT use them as emotional pawns. I am NOT trying to replace their mother and they KNOW that. Instead, I am trying to carve out my own special place with them. While it may be hurtful to me that they may not always feel comfortable hugging me in front of their mother or even saying hello when we are all together--they know that I will never make THEM feel awkward about it. In the end, the only people that have to be comfortable with my “role” are the kiddos and I.
Third, I try to keep everything in perspective. God does not give us situations that we cannot handle. He is teaching me something and while I might not enjoy His lesson I know in my mind that I will come out for the better (if not slightly beaten up). Bottom line is A. is threatened by me--I know this, she knows this. So, through gritted teeth and with my most superficial smile, I throw on my flax jacket for protection, take cover and try my damndest to cut her some slack when she starts acting like an ass. I am not always successful and it does get me fired up occasionally but I have to keep in mind that she's only hurting herself with her bad behavior and one day the kiddos will see the truth. And occasionally when that doesn't work I fantasize about causing her great bodily harm until she begs for mercy. Hey, no one's perfect are they?
And last but not least, I will make sure every day until the day I take my last breath that those children know that I love and would do anything for them. Unconditionally and regardless of what anyone else thinks.
Sitting Around Waiting on Two Pink Lines
Who really ever knows what they are getting themselves into when they first see those two pink lines? I sure as hell didn’t.
The first time I got a positive pregnancy test I was terribly excited as you’d expect one to be and I was quick to share my news. I all but took out an ad in the LA Times to make the announcement. However, my excitement quickly turned to horror when I discovered at my very first doctor’s appointment that I was going to miscarry. While I think most women rationally understand that a miscarriage is a possibility no one ever thinks it will ACTUALLY happen to them. I was devastated but was told that it was perfectly normal. Right, “perfectly normal” my ass. Perfectly horrible and gut wrenching was more appropriate. There is nothing worse than having to explain to all the well wishers who didn’t know the horrible news what happened or to tell your parents that they aren’t going to be grandparents anymore.
When the second test came back positive I was happy but hesitant. I was trying to keep a positive outlook and relax but was secretly terrified. We chose not to share the news at all this time. I honestly tried to forget I was pregnant just so I wouldn’t obsess over my insane fear. After our first and second appointments, I started to relax. Everything was looking good. And then appointment three rolled around and the sucker punch came flying in from somewhere in the back … another miscarriage. Again, devastation set in but then came alternating waves of fury and fear. Fury over how it was that every woman I seemed to pass on the street was pregnant but I wasn’t and fear that I wouldn’t be able to have children.
Luckily for me, my fertility issues were short lived and after one exploratory surgery my problem seemed to be fixed. Even so when the third pregnancy test came back positive, almost a full two years after our first miscarriage, my first reaction was still terror. I did not want to go through another miscarriage and I was sure that without a shadow of a doubt it was going to happen again. Fast forward to the present. I'm sitting here listening to my boy on the monitor as he sleeps peacefully in his room. My pregnancy was textbook. Unfortunately for me, I was what I would classify as “cautiously optimistic” through at least my second trimester and just couldn’t relax enough to fully experience the miracle that was happening to me.
I’d like to say that everything changed when my beautiful son made his way into the world but I can’t say that it has. Yes, I absolutely can (and do) enjoy the miracle who smiles up at me each morning when I greet him in his crib. Yes, I’m insanely happy when he snuggles his head against my shoulder or giggles and shrieks with delight at his daddy. It fills me with joy to see the look on my grandmother's face when she sees her great-grandson. I love him more than I ever thought possible but mixed in with that love also comes more terror. I’m terrified that something will happen to him or that I’ll somehow fail him. I'm terrified that he'll feel disconnected from his brother and sister because they are only with us part time. The list could go on ...
I thought I’d be giving up all that terror when he was born but realized that I just traded it in for a new and different kind of terror. The kind that will last the rest of my life. It was my first realization that I’m now officially a mommy. Actually, four months away from being a mommy a second time. I'm not sure how I'll manage a toddler, a newborn and my grandmother's needs as well as my step-kids, husbands and last but certainly not least, my own. It terrifies me but I pray that the Lord will give us guidance and am confident that He would never steer us in the wrong direction. So, this time, instead of focusing on the terror that will never go away I'm just trying to enjoy those "two pink lines."
The first time I got a positive pregnancy test I was terribly excited as you’d expect one to be and I was quick to share my news. I all but took out an ad in the LA Times to make the announcement. However, my excitement quickly turned to horror when I discovered at my very first doctor’s appointment that I was going to miscarry. While I think most women rationally understand that a miscarriage is a possibility no one ever thinks it will ACTUALLY happen to them. I was devastated but was told that it was perfectly normal. Right, “perfectly normal” my ass. Perfectly horrible and gut wrenching was more appropriate. There is nothing worse than having to explain to all the well wishers who didn’t know the horrible news what happened or to tell your parents that they aren’t going to be grandparents anymore.
When the second test came back positive I was happy but hesitant. I was trying to keep a positive outlook and relax but was secretly terrified. We chose not to share the news at all this time. I honestly tried to forget I was pregnant just so I wouldn’t obsess over my insane fear. After our first and second appointments, I started to relax. Everything was looking good. And then appointment three rolled around and the sucker punch came flying in from somewhere in the back … another miscarriage. Again, devastation set in but then came alternating waves of fury and fear. Fury over how it was that every woman I seemed to pass on the street was pregnant but I wasn’t and fear that I wouldn’t be able to have children.
Luckily for me, my fertility issues were short lived and after one exploratory surgery my problem seemed to be fixed. Even so when the third pregnancy test came back positive, almost a full two years after our first miscarriage, my first reaction was still terror. I did not want to go through another miscarriage and I was sure that without a shadow of a doubt it was going to happen again. Fast forward to the present. I'm sitting here listening to my boy on the monitor as he sleeps peacefully in his room. My pregnancy was textbook. Unfortunately for me, I was what I would classify as “cautiously optimistic” through at least my second trimester and just couldn’t relax enough to fully experience the miracle that was happening to me.
I’d like to say that everything changed when my beautiful son made his way into the world but I can’t say that it has. Yes, I absolutely can (and do) enjoy the miracle who smiles up at me each morning when I greet him in his crib. Yes, I’m insanely happy when he snuggles his head against my shoulder or giggles and shrieks with delight at his daddy. It fills me with joy to see the look on my grandmother's face when she sees her great-grandson. I love him more than I ever thought possible but mixed in with that love also comes more terror. I’m terrified that something will happen to him or that I’ll somehow fail him. I'm terrified that he'll feel disconnected from his brother and sister because they are only with us part time. The list could go on ...
I thought I’d be giving up all that terror when he was born but realized that I just traded it in for a new and different kind of terror. The kind that will last the rest of my life. It was my first realization that I’m now officially a mommy. Actually, four months away from being a mommy a second time. I'm not sure how I'll manage a toddler, a newborn and my grandmother's needs as well as my step-kids, husbands and last but certainly not least, my own. It terrifies me but I pray that the Lord will give us guidance and am confident that He would never steer us in the wrong direction. So, this time, instead of focusing on the terror that will never go away I'm just trying to enjoy those "two pink lines."
An introduction of sorts ...
As an undergrad I was a journalism major who wrote for my campus weekly. Of all the positions I held my favorite was that of Editorial Director. I am a loud mouthed, opinionated type A personality so I love that I can share my thoughts with a captive audience. It has been a decade since I graduated and my career path has me writing lesson plans instead of opinion pieces these days. However, as a way to hold on to an old love I have toyed with the idea of a blog which seemed more doable than a book. The decision was made but a topic was yet to be determined. Like most people, I write about what I know. Right now, that's family life. Yes, I know who wants to read about the life and times of a housewife and stay at home mommy? What's exciting about dishes, laundry and dirty diapers and how is it different from any other wife/mom's life?Well, it probably isn't but it can be entertaining nonetheless.
When I think back to all my many romantic day dreams about the man who would sweep me off my feet and the life that we would undoubtedly live together I can tell you without the shadow of a doubt that the fantasy did not include kiddos from a previous marriage or an ex-wife. However, life has oh-so-gently reminded me every day for the last five years that a) fantasies are a fantastic notion that are not grounded in reality and b) I am not in control of these things. Or anything thing for that matter.
It just so happens that the man of my dreams turned out to be a fireman with a two adorable kiddos and one ex-wife who has, um, made life complicated. Now, throw in a wacky schedule and being a new-ish mom juggling all that comes with a toddler, a new baby on the way, an elderly live-in grandmother who requires care, expectations, hopes and dreams and our life seems to always be in some state of turmoil or constant change. While my family unit isn't what I would have picked from the Happily Family catalog it is what the good Lord delivered to me and for that I am eternally grateful. It's just another day in paradise. I would fight to the death for my husband and kiddos but, truthfully, I never thought I would feel like I was doing it every day and sometimes against people who should be fighting alongside me instead of against me but such is my life. Sometimes we are fighting against an invisible enemy such has a change in our relationship with our ‘tween daughter or how to "blend" a new sibiling into an already "blended" family. Or sometimes we are fighting against an opponent that we can put a face or a name to easily whether it be another person or the multitude of emotions that come with parenthood.
We try desperately to protect our family from the causalities of life but find that it is harder than expected. Even the smallest of issues can be a battle field that you must navigate and you must tread lightly because so many factors complicate your ability to diffuse a situation that it is truly unbelievable. One wrong move and BOOM! you have triggered a land mine that could have irreparable damage. I know it sounds harsh to refer to my family life has a war zone but as far as analogies go it's the most accurate.
While our "war" is a day-to-day battle, we do enjoy our downtime with the "troops." We simply adore our little guy and have a pretty solid relationship with both of our older children despite all that has happened and continues to come up regularly. Communication is the number one family value we promote and we do our best to make sure the lines are open all the time--for good or bad.
I guess that's why I decided to start this blog. I know I am not the only new-ish mom/step-mother/wife out there who has fought the good fight yet I regularly feel as if I'm the lone solider on the front lines and, quite frankly, often find myself pissed off about it. I am not sure whether this blog will be simply cheap therapy for me or whether I'll be able to offer some guidance to those who have been recruited to join the mommy forces. I guess I am hoping for a combination of the two.
When I think back to all my many romantic day dreams about the man who would sweep me off my feet and the life that we would undoubtedly live together I can tell you without the shadow of a doubt that the fantasy did not include kiddos from a previous marriage or an ex-wife. However, life has oh-so-gently reminded me every day for the last five years that a) fantasies are a fantastic notion that are not grounded in reality and b) I am not in control of these things. Or anything thing for that matter.
It just so happens that the man of my dreams turned out to be a fireman with a two adorable kiddos and one ex-wife who has, um, made life complicated. Now, throw in a wacky schedule and being a new-ish mom juggling all that comes with a toddler, a new baby on the way, an elderly live-in grandmother who requires care, expectations, hopes and dreams and our life seems to always be in some state of turmoil or constant change. While my family unit isn't what I would have picked from the Happily Family catalog it is what the good Lord delivered to me and for that I am eternally grateful. It's just another day in paradise. I would fight to the death for my husband and kiddos but, truthfully, I never thought I would feel like I was doing it every day and sometimes against people who should be fighting alongside me instead of against me but such is my life. Sometimes we are fighting against an invisible enemy such has a change in our relationship with our ‘tween daughter or how to "blend" a new sibiling into an already "blended" family. Or sometimes we are fighting against an opponent that we can put a face or a name to easily whether it be another person or the multitude of emotions that come with parenthood.
We try desperately to protect our family from the causalities of life but find that it is harder than expected. Even the smallest of issues can be a battle field that you must navigate and you must tread lightly because so many factors complicate your ability to diffuse a situation that it is truly unbelievable. One wrong move and BOOM! you have triggered a land mine that could have irreparable damage. I know it sounds harsh to refer to my family life has a war zone but as far as analogies go it's the most accurate.
While our "war" is a day-to-day battle, we do enjoy our downtime with the "troops." We simply adore our little guy and have a pretty solid relationship with both of our older children despite all that has happened and continues to come up regularly. Communication is the number one family value we promote and we do our best to make sure the lines are open all the time--for good or bad.
I guess that's why I decided to start this blog. I know I am not the only new-ish mom/step-mother/wife out there who has fought the good fight yet I regularly feel as if I'm the lone solider on the front lines and, quite frankly, often find myself pissed off about it. I am not sure whether this blog will be simply cheap therapy for me or whether I'll be able to offer some guidance to those who have been recruited to join the mommy forces. I guess I am hoping for a combination of the two.
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