Month: October 2013

Musings On a Night By Myself

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My husband is out of town.  I had the house to myself after the tiny one went to bed.  I thought perhaps the complete freedom might be liberating, but honestly, I’m bored without my partner.  I miss him.  I decided to take a bath and as I took my hair down, I thought about how hideous it currently looks and I made the ugliest face I could contortion.  I am not sure why, but I sometimes choose to do this.  I prefer it when I can perform this for my husband.  I adore his responses.  He is slightly horrified by what I can conjure, particularly if I am inspired by either old school Rachel from Glee or my perception of zombies.  I thought about this during my free time tonight and I thought maybe I should be concerned that this would eventually be a major repulsion for my husband.  I immediately dismissed the thought.  “Come on, he’s crazy about you” was my inner response.  Then I realized that this is a gift my parents gave me long ago.  I have never felt unloved by them.  I have never doubted the family bond of my parents, my brothers, and myself and it has allowed me to feel security in my grown up family.  This is not to say that I have not been allowed to blow around in the wind on my own, because I have, and I am also grateful for this.  My parents knew me and trusted the relationship enough to let me flounder and succeed or fail as needed before swooping in to save the day.  I am so happy, after the fact, that they did.  Here is what shaped me:

  • My parents let me sing multiple verses of Santa Claus is coming to town to our congregation at church, in June, at age 3.  (This led to me thinking teenage boys would like to hear me sing too, which was a very successful method of birth control.  Sneaky parents.)
  • My parents allowed me to audition for everything and drove me to said auditions.  If I failed, they talked with me but let me know that failure is part of life.
  • When I realized TCU’s music program was terrible for musical theater goals, they let me decide whether to stay or transfer.  No judgment made.  For the record, I made the wrong choice.
  • When I asked when we were all moving me to New York City, my mother said I had it wrong and I should buy a one-way ticket and figure out where to stay.  I thought she was evil.  In hindsight, she was both brave and brilliant.
  • When I could not figure out how to live in New York City, my parents did save the day and paid for my broker’s fee for the apartment.  I paid the rent.
  • My dad drove me out to California to go back to school.  I paid for school; he paid for all the insurance needed on my 26-year-old self.  I got a 4.0 and the outstanding student award for my major.  I needed to pay for school myself in order to achieve that.

Catching your child on every stumble can lead to an insecure child/adult, I have decided.  I am learning how hard it is not to sprint over when someone pulls the tiny one’s hair, or he falls 4 inches and bruises his forehead, but learning disappointment at a young age is ok.  I would rather that he be disappointed about being in his crib and learn to figure it out, than have an adult who is constantly disappointed about everything, without seeing how to make it ok internally.  I want to raise a boy who is so confident about having been so loved and believed in that he was allowed to fall a little bit, knowing he could pick himself up.  All of this rambling comes from one ugly face in the mirror.  Come home soon Patrick.

Needs and Wants

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There are needs and then there are wants.  I count my blessings, when I run, that all of my needs are provided, along with many of my wants.  I am still greedy.  Here are my wants:

  • A new couch.  Mine is repulsive.
  • An outdoor rug for my courtyard.
  • To live in a stronger school district for the tiny one.
  • Hair extensions.
  • Botox.
  • In all honesty, I desperately want a Chloe handbag.
  • To win the lottery even though I don’t buy lottery tickets.

We just met with our fertility specialist who told us that we have roughly a 0% chance of having a child naturally.  Suddenly, my wants change, and unfortunately they are wants.

  • A second child.
  • Another happy and HEALTHY tiny one.
  • More belly laughter from someone under 1-year-old.
  • More diapers to change.
  • More croup to keep me awake at night.

We have decided that there is another round of ivf left in us. There is another round of injections, potential surgeries, emotional hurt, financial (God awful) stress, and weight gain (forgive my vanity) in us to try.  If you have not been through this, let me give you hope.  It can work.  I remember sitting in my doctor’s exam room, crying that I could take no more after having to cancel our second round of ivf in exchange for a second surgery.  It takes you to the depths of despair, but I had an incredible partner to catch me in those moments.  Surprising no one more than myself, every day I thank God for how hard it was to have this tiny bundle of joy.  I am more patient because of our struggle to conceive him.  I value each repulsive diaper because I wanted him so badly.  I see beauty in a sleepless night at 4 a.m. because I so desperately wanted to rock my own child.  Truthfully, the money we spent seems like a bargain because of what it gave me emotionally in return.  I can only say this after the fact.  Had it not worked, I would have been resentful of forgoing numerous glamorous vacations and Chloe handbags.  The glorious side of today and not yesterday is the worst case scenario: if the tiny one is the only child we are graced with, he is enough.  Enough joy, enough laughter, and enough love to share.  He was our need.

My Parenting Pearls of Wisdom

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I have been a parent for just over a year.  The tiny one is 13 months today.  I am not an expert; I have roughly 5% of the answers.  I search the internet daily for answers or clues into certain things he does or does not do.  I have been in molar and illness hell since August.  (I love him madly whether he is a baby disaster or not, just to clarify.)  I do not know what to do for him in these situations other than give him Motrin, sing, make funny voices, and read “Good Night Little Sea Otter” over and over until he is soothed.

I write today because I feel proud of a piece of advice I recently gave him.  I felt it was wise and translated well throughout different phases of his life.  The tiny one discovers body parts and becomes enthralled, entranced, and engaged with each part.  He found his feet at 4 months and they are still hilarious to him.  He recently found his penis, as all little boys do.  Now, if his feet are amazing, this is clearly above amazing.   I was changing his diaper the other day and said to him, “You only get one of those.  Be gentle.  Choose wisely.”  Whether this is referring to the current manhandling, seeing if it can be shut into a door in a few years, or inappropriate choices as a 40-year-old (a girl can still dream as a mother), this is the best advice I can offer.

Namaste.