Miscarriage

So the baby is not coming after all, at least the doctors are "pretty sure". I had only known I was pregnant for a few days. I didn’t tell anyone except for Mark and Liam because I was bleeding, after all, and I wasn’t sure this pregnancy would last. I wasn’t sure, but I was convinced it would. But for whatever reason, this one wasn’t supposed to come. I don’t know why.

It wasn't much. It was nameless, genderless. It probably wasn't even a heartbeat. It was the bassinet I hadn’t bought yet. It was the imaginary bunk beds for the older children. It was the reserve in our savings account for medical expenses. It was the future spates of jealousy from Kyle being cranky over having to share me. It was Kyle’s hand-me-down clothes that would have fit perfectly.

I think that’s what twinges a little. I'm not anguished or despondent right now, and I feel lucky that the miscarriage didn't happen later when it would have been much harder. But here's why I sometimes feel mopey lately. “It” will always be “it”. And I hope I remember “it”, but now “it” will only ever be a fantasy, a figure in my imagination of what might have been.

If the office was like motherhood

1. Your boss would ask you to do twenty-two things simultaneously, then yell at you for not completing item fourteen fast enough.

2. Your co-workers would meet by the smoking area on a regular basis to beat each other up. You would have to test your interpersonal skills by intervening (trying not to get your own nose broken in the process).

3. Your boss would staple his fingers, stub his toe on his office door, burn his hands on the lamination machine, and blame you.

4. During your lunch break, you would be expected to feed yourself, your boss, the secretary, and two coworkers a nutritious meal.

5. Your boss would come into your office, throw your files on the floor, get her lunch crumbs in your keyboard, and smudge her dirty fingers all over your computer screen. On purpose.

How to keep from going crazy

1. Get yourself a hotrod, girlfriend! Since we bought another vehicle, I have discovered that having the means to escape is more important than the escape itself. A prison is not a prison if there's an escape hatch. If I think I'm trapped, I feel trapped. If I feel trapped, I get frustrated.

2. Exercise. I'm not talking about walking around the block. I'm talking about breaking a sweat and getting those muscles moving. Exercising at home did not work for me. The children do not sit still while I work out and do not sleep if I wake up early. All the financial advice columns I've read suggest getting rid of your gym membership because you can't afford it and you don't use it anyway. Personally, I can't afford not to have one. The difference in my mood is marked enough that I now consider myself irresponsible if I don't get to the gym every other day. The kids need a happy mama.

3. Lower your standards. This one took awhile for me to learn since, when I was a teenager, church was all about having high standards and setting goals. But goals have to be realistic. A completely clean house is just a dream for me now. Set those aspirations a-plummeting, and life will be much more manageable. Love to launder? Muse about mopping? Buy more clothes and get a dog.

4. Laugh. I once knew a lady who had five kids who said, (you remember this, Christie?) "Sometimes I don't know whether to laugh or cry. So I just laugh." So take funny pictures, tickle your kids, jump on the bed, blog, call your friends...

5. Recognize your limitations. Like right now, my kids are sick, I need to leave, I don't have time to blog, I won't get the grocery shopping done...Too bad. Bye!

The Good Stuff

1. My older child saying "please". It's nice to know that he sometimes listens and that, occasionally, something sinks in.

2. My children walking. I've watched it all happen, from crawling to creeping along furniture to first steps. The miracle of mobility is that the child who once kicked inside me can go running around outside my body completely independent of me.

3. Eating. Once, all they ate was mama juice. Now they pick food up with their fingers and stick it in their mouths and then they chew it and swallow it. Their little digestive systems take it in and keep them alive and we (the parental types) taught them how to do it.

4. My older child talking in sentences. Every time he expresses himself he uses the pronoun "I" to represent himself--a complete being with his own beating heart, his own brain, his own thoughts, his own feelings. Yet he learned how to talk from us, and many of his phrases come from us. He us so much a part of us, and so much his own person at the same time.

5. "I love you". Usually, Liam says this after prefacing with "Mama? Mama? Mama?" until I'm so exasperated I finally yell in my most exasperated voice, "WHAT?" Then he says in his most cheerful, quiet little voice, completely unaffected by my outburst, "I love you" and makes me feel like Scummy Mummy.

Liam Potato Head

So, my boy is not a real stud, he's a real spud. Or maybe you could call him my Tator Tot. Ha, ha!

Prodigious child

Here's is Kyle's first sentence, as read from Happy Birthday, Thomas. In case you can't tell, he is saying, "Oh, no! A cow is in the way."

SAHM wanted

Job opening available for SAHM, starts immediately. No experience necessary, but it sure helps.
Here are some benefits for this job.
Wages. You will earn $0.00 per hour. This rate doubles upon completion of training (pregnancy), and triples for overtime.
Company car. If you have a car, you will certainly have company whenever you drive it.
Sick days. There will be plenty of days when you, a child, or a spouse will be sick. Or maybe everyone at once.
Travel. Yes, you will travel. To the grocery store, to school, to Wendy's, to the grocery store...
15-minute breaks. Within a 15-minute time span, your children will break your glasses, their sibling's toys, your 100-year-old prized heirloom, and the DVD you rented for the weekend.
Casual attire. Not only can you wear jeans every day, but your clothes can be covered in baby spit, non-washable marker, and yesterday's lunch, and no one will even care.
Promotions. Once you've learned to handle one child, you will most likely earn more responsibility by getting another one (or two or three) to take care of. The next child, of course, will be completely different in temperament than the first.
Short meetings. Whenever you try to lecture or explain something to your child, you'll be happy if you can finish a sentence before they scream, drop something, or take off to another room.
Health plan. Plan to spend half your days from October through April waiting in a doctor's office.

Job qualifications.
1) Somehow bring in enough money between you and your spouse (while not otherwise formally employed) to keep starvation at bay while you take care of the little ones.
2) Keep busy enough at home that you'll want to leave juggling to the circus clowns.
3) Be crazy enough in love with your children that you can't bear the thought of giving their waking moments to anyone else.

5 things I'm grateful for

1. A child who's scared of the dark. I can't remember when I was so little that spiders and Darth Vader were the most frightening things in my world.

2. Books and toys scattered all over the house. I'm glad they like books and toys more than TV and that they're little enough that they haven't forgotten how to play.

3. Mini-Wheat kisses. My boys want to share everything with their mama, even breakfast.

4. A baby who cries while I work out. It's sad for both of us that separation causes him such anguish, but on the other hand, one day he'll be a teenager and be embarrassed to be seen with me. I'm glad he loves me so much.

5. A baby who weans slowly. We're down to five times a day. I don't have much time left to watch him rub him eyes and slowly close them while I hold him and rock him to sleep.

Feeling guilty about feeling bad

I gave up lots of things when I decided to stay home. I don't think I fully understood that, or that I fully appreciated my life before. I know I'm lucky I finished my degree and worked for a while before motherhood. And yet there are still so many things I like to do.

Are dreams so important? I don’t know. Sometimes dreams have to be laid aside or shelved for a little while. No one ever told me that. I never read it in the live-your-dreams inspirational movies and books I’m so fond of. It was supposed to be all about the power of the individual spirit. You can triumph and achieve the impossible if you’ll just believe.

There has to be compromise. Not just for women, either. I always wanted to get my graduate degree. Mark always wanted to visit Japan. Being in a relationship means sacrifice, especially when there are children.

But let’s not be martyrs about it. Let’s not say “Woe is me but they’re worth it” with a sad self-effacing smile. Of course they’re worth it. If I had to choose between kids and a pay raise, I’d choose the kids (on a good day, anyway).

I still daydream, though, about the B.K. life (before kids). Those were our dirt poor days, but since it's my fantasy, I conveniently forget that part. So I like to imagine what I'd do if the kids were in school full-time. And then, when I have an Actual Conversation with a Grown-Up and said Grown-Up asks if I love staying at home, sometimes the honest answer is, "It depends what day you ask me. Today, not so much." It seems as if I'm supposed to love it all the time. But there are days that I don't.

I’ve received lots of forwarded emails that are really good at promoting my-kids-make-me-crazy guilt. They say things like, “The next time you yell at your kids for dropping the bread on the floor peanut butter-side down, you think about all the parents grieving for the children they have lost and you get on your knees and beg God’s forgiveness for being so unworthy of their precious little souls.” They insinuate that you are a bad person because you have needs, too. That if you lose it once in a while, you’re a bad mother. That if sometimes the freedom of sitting in total silence to finish a thought seems so attractive you can almost taste a period at the end of a sentence, you’re ungrateful.

You are important. You matter. Do we all need to say it aloud like some kind of mantra until we believe it? Because even though motherhood will change you, some things will stay the same. Like, in my case, evening popcorn, playing my flute, writing, and bargain shopping. And (yes, I admit it) guilt.

Love writing, hate writing

Here's what I wrote back in September 2005:

"I feel so stupid today. I don’t know what I’m going to write. I look forward all day to having time to write, and then when the time comes, I dread it because it’s difficult to make clever things come out of my brain. I sometimes just stare at the screen and hate what I’ve written, or my ideas about what to write next. I really could use the money from being published, too, and that makes me feel even more pressure to do well, and to do it quickly."

I wrote that over two years ago, when the first book was less than half done. It makes me feel better to read that now because I still finished it, and I managed to stick a couple of good sentences in there while I was at it. Now, when it's difficult to write, when I'm totally blocked, when I think everything I write is terrible, here's evidence that I felt this way before and I got through it. So all I have to do is keep my butt in the chair and keep writing in spite of it all.

To all the angry feminist partiers in my head

I've read about some SAHMs who complain that when the "What do you do?" question comes up at ######## parties and they answer that they stay home with their children, all they get in response is blank looks and condescending smiles. My response is, "######## parties? My formal dresses are dustier than the tops of my kitchen cabinets. Who goes to ######## parties?"

But just in case I ever have occasion to attend one, and I get asked the inevitable question, I've got my response all ready. Patronizing partygoers, prepare to be busted.

Don’t tell me that I am turning my back on everything good feminism has given us just because I choose to stay home most of the time. What feminism has given us that I embrace with open arms is choice. I want to choose, so let me choose. I don’t have to stay home with my children. I am educated, and I am smart. I could do lots of different things. But I chose to stay home. So I don’t have to throw myself any pity parties (or ######## parties). I may not be appreciated (much) and I don’t expect to be. That’s not why I chose to do this. There will be plenty of time later, when my children are older for accolades and awards. For right now, I am glad that I don’t have to stay home, but I am also glad that I can.

Don’t call me a traitor. Don’t assume that I’m a frumpy housewife with no interests outside the four walls. Yes, I feel disconnected from the world sometimes, but please, don’t make it worse by shutting me out. I still have interest in that world. I can’t keep up with it like I used to, but I want to maintain some connection. So don’t sever me from grown-up land completely. Don’t tell me I made the wrong choice and that I betrayed the thousands of women who sacrificed so much on my behalf. My children won’t be little forever, and I won’t be home with them forever either. I appreciate the choices you’ve given me. I recognize that without you, I probably wouldn’t have gotten the education I did. I wouldn’t even be able to take care of my children as well without you, because I wouldn’t have the knowledge to answer their questions about anatomy ("Do I have any bones in my ear?”) or physics ("Why can’t I hear you when my door is closed?"). I wouldn’t even be as happy about doing it because I without the choice I made to be here, I would feel like a prisoner in my house with no alternative but to keep doing this forever. When they are older and I can put some of my work inside the home aside, I can return to the work force because of you.

The mommy wars we still fight these days are so silly. Feminism and technology have both blurred the lines between stay-at-home mother and working mother. Some of us feel like we’re both, and all of us are in a sense. Some of us teach music lessons. Some of us work from home. Some of us take occasional work, perhaps as consultants. The point is, we love our families, and we also need other interests to sustain us. We are all different. We all walk that line different ways, trying to discover some kind of ideal balance between work and family.

So don’t make assumptions about me. You don’t know how much I’ve struggled, walking that line, trying to figure out what works best for me and my family. I don’t know if I’ll ever have it figured out. Maybe someday when they’re all grown up. In the meantime, cut me some slack.

If I ever dust off my dresses and get out to some kind of social gathering, I doubt I'll ever be invited back.

Time to take down the tree

Yesterday was the big day when we finally took everything down. We took everything apart, sorted it into piles, and put it all in the storage bins. No more ornaments in pieces all over the house. No more children thinking they are ornaments.

Now, of course, our house looks naked without the tree. So now I have to go to craft stores and spend lots of money filling up the huge empty spaces.