Or so I'd been told. They're not going to be the same. This one might be really mellow and sleep really well. I didn't listen to the first part of the message because the last part of the message was too much to risk hoping for. This kid could sleep as poorly as A did. And be as colicky.
As for that first part, though. A was 2 weeks early, and this little one is now one week late. And although it should feel like I've only been waiting one week over my due date, actually, most things have been packed, collected, settled and paid since March 10th (this kid's 2 week early date). So it feels more like 3 weeks.
This feeling of waiting, of having time to think again if we are ready, to do one more thing, but also to spend one more hour with A, playing a bit more consciously, is new to me. To us. As is the feeling of getting really big. I thought I was just not the kind of woman who gets stretchmarks (new ones from pregnancy at least - I've had them from my growth spurt in puberty), but it turns out I get them just fine. Big, dark and red, as my belly gets bigger. We're still coming to terms, they and I, but we'll get there eventually. And I have about 2 hours of up time before I need to lay down and rest so my back stays loose and feeling okay. If I'm walking, it is 1 hour or less. Making dinner feels like a triumph.
And I wake up every day around 5:30 or 6am. So I've been ready for this time shift in Europe for two weeks now. I'm the only one in the house that isn't going to suffer the hour-earlier wake ups. Although I might miss my quiet morning time.
I've realized how many meanings words like "pregnancy", "labor", and "breastfeeding" can take on, just talking to other moms these last few weeks, hearing their stories, having their advice about any phase. And in now having such a different end of my pregnancy. And I've been wanting to put that into visual information somehow, this notion of the huge variations included under the umbrella of a single term. For myself, first of all, as a reminder to not compare myself to others and their process, but also for other women, to see how different the experience can be. So in these early morning wake-ups, I've started putting together in informal survey, on SurveyMonkey.com, about these experiences, and maybe if enough women who've been pregnant answer it, I'll have some data to try to flesh out these words. To make their meanings more subtle. And something that looks nice (once I have some data, then it is time to find someone who really knows how to pull out the most striking features and visualize them well).
So, since I'm only up 30min. before the rest of the household needs to be today, I'm off to make a few tweaks.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Soon to be the last only-child in the house
We are waiting. Those of us who live here, the friends of the people who live here, the family far away. Baby A came 2 weeks before her due date, but this baby has not. So even though the due date is still not here, he feels overdue.
I don't do much right now, apart from fighting feelings of uselessness. I nap. A lot. Twice a day sometimes, in between doing much diminished activities so that my back doesn't bother me. I'm extremely wary of re-herniating a disk. I'm also expecting a C-section - as he gets bigger, so does his head, but alas, the pathways that head is going to have to travel, do not. But I'd like him to come in his own time, so I'm waiting, not piling on too many of the wives's tales methods for inducing labor. I have learned that one study found that actual gestation times for human babies can vary up to 37 days. Depending on things about early pregnancy, mother's age, first child's gestation time, etc. So we're not all set to pop one out in 9 months on the dot. Few babies arrive (6%? less?) on their due date.
So, in the process of not doing what feels like much, there is a lot of time to think. And the last few days my brain has been circling something that happened two nights ago.
I'd done my usual rest/chore/rest/dog/rest/dinner routing and had bought fresh strawberries and blueberries for dessert. To go with plain yogurt and honey. I was a bit excited about this (I told you my days were slow) and thought how good they were going to taste. I still manage to cook a mostly fresh dinner each night, and the bowl of berries was standing on the table, waiting for the meal to be over. When A got home (in her usual tired mode, excited, hungry, probably overwhelmed), she wound up finally at the table and wanted in on the berry action immediately. I let her pick a blueberry and then wait for dessert.
She (and we) ate dinner. And then dessert came. As does my feelings of shame for what happened next.
I put out bowls and spoons, yogurt and honey. And A helped herself. To all but 3 strawberries. It is at this point writing that I can sense the anticipation she must have had, so looking forward to that many. And I gave her flack for taking so many.
Because I want her to learn to share? Yeah, sure, nice answer that gets me out of feeling like a jerk. Nope, while it may have been clothed in that, I was basically upset at the unfairness of losing so many potential strawberries in my own bowl. As far as I can tell, it was two only children at that point and the one with the power in this house, me, messed up. Out of anger about getting enough strawberries.
Who's ready for a second child? Oh yeah, right here. Grade-A mom material.
Of course, guilt and shame set in once she was crying about me telling her she shouldn't have taken all of the strawberries. And it has been circling, quietly in the background for a few days. I've been letting it. Not pushing it away. It comes a bit close to the incident and my barriers go up, protecting myself from saying that I wanted to have the berries. From admitting how hard it can be for me to share my food.
Sure I look forward to it a lot - I love food. Tastes and smells and textures. I really do. High-brow and low-brow.
And I'm pregnant. So, you know, full of crazy hormones that could easily excuse me.
But I'm also an only child, whose own parents always gave her the biggest piece (or all of the berries, probably). Maybe more importantly, I'm an only child that is not usually selfish with a lot of other things. I give, I lend, I share. And I've always felt proud of the fact that it can surprise people I'm an only child. That I don't seem like one.
Except in the middle of the proving ground, with my first-born and a bowl of strawberries. I was so not an adult/parent in that moment it makes me cringe. I was so caught off-guard by that deep, internal "NO!" that it makes it hard to even look at what happened. I form half-sentences of explanation in my head before my guilt and ego shut it down. Too embarrassing, I guess. Too non-mom-like.
These are the kinds of moments that bring me to yet another self-help or parenting book. These moments of regressing to some kind of child-like state, in combat with an actual child that I have power over. They are so raw, so petty, and so strong that they stand out and I can't not do something about them. I can't not try to address them.
I'm not finding much of anything funny to say to wind this up. I do know that as this baby gets closer (to coming out of there, hello? We really are all ready), A is feeling more tension perhaps, and that there is more emotion around dinner time. Did I smash the dessert bowls in protest when this happened, out of nowhere? No, I didn't. Was I also disappointed that my thoughtfulness of making an extra stop to get the berries was totally lost on her? Definitely.
Have I now let her finish all the berries that were left, cringing in guilt when she didn't want to eat some before asking M and me if we wanted them? Yup. Feeling like a schmuck. This whole revisiting of the only-child feelings have only just begun, I'm sure.
Did I then give her my secret stash of crispy M&Ms and Snicker's Ice Cream Bars to make up for it all? Not a chance.
I don't do much right now, apart from fighting feelings of uselessness. I nap. A lot. Twice a day sometimes, in between doing much diminished activities so that my back doesn't bother me. I'm extremely wary of re-herniating a disk. I'm also expecting a C-section - as he gets bigger, so does his head, but alas, the pathways that head is going to have to travel, do not. But I'd like him to come in his own time, so I'm waiting, not piling on too many of the wives's tales methods for inducing labor. I have learned that one study found that actual gestation times for human babies can vary up to 37 days. Depending on things about early pregnancy, mother's age, first child's gestation time, etc. So we're not all set to pop one out in 9 months on the dot. Few babies arrive (6%? less?) on their due date.
So, in the process of not doing what feels like much, there is a lot of time to think. And the last few days my brain has been circling something that happened two nights ago.
I'd done my usual rest/chore/rest/dog/rest/dinner routing and had bought fresh strawberries and blueberries for dessert. To go with plain yogurt and honey. I was a bit excited about this (I told you my days were slow) and thought how good they were going to taste. I still manage to cook a mostly fresh dinner each night, and the bowl of berries was standing on the table, waiting for the meal to be over. When A got home (in her usual tired mode, excited, hungry, probably overwhelmed), she wound up finally at the table and wanted in on the berry action immediately. I let her pick a blueberry and then wait for dessert.
She (and we) ate dinner. And then dessert came. As does my feelings of shame for what happened next.
I put out bowls and spoons, yogurt and honey. And A helped herself. To all but 3 strawberries. It is at this point writing that I can sense the anticipation she must have had, so looking forward to that many. And I gave her flack for taking so many.
Because I want her to learn to share? Yeah, sure, nice answer that gets me out of feeling like a jerk. Nope, while it may have been clothed in that, I was basically upset at the unfairness of losing so many potential strawberries in my own bowl. As far as I can tell, it was two only children at that point and the one with the power in this house, me, messed up. Out of anger about getting enough strawberries.
Who's ready for a second child? Oh yeah, right here. Grade-A mom material.
Of course, guilt and shame set in once she was crying about me telling her she shouldn't have taken all of the strawberries. And it has been circling, quietly in the background for a few days. I've been letting it. Not pushing it away. It comes a bit close to the incident and my barriers go up, protecting myself from saying that I wanted to have the berries. From admitting how hard it can be for me to share my food.
Sure I look forward to it a lot - I love food. Tastes and smells and textures. I really do. High-brow and low-brow.
And I'm pregnant. So, you know, full of crazy hormones that could easily excuse me.
But I'm also an only child, whose own parents always gave her the biggest piece (or all of the berries, probably). Maybe more importantly, I'm an only child that is not usually selfish with a lot of other things. I give, I lend, I share. And I've always felt proud of the fact that it can surprise people I'm an only child. That I don't seem like one.
Except in the middle of the proving ground, with my first-born and a bowl of strawberries. I was so not an adult/parent in that moment it makes me cringe. I was so caught off-guard by that deep, internal "NO!" that it makes it hard to even look at what happened. I form half-sentences of explanation in my head before my guilt and ego shut it down. Too embarrassing, I guess. Too non-mom-like.
These are the kinds of moments that bring me to yet another self-help or parenting book. These moments of regressing to some kind of child-like state, in combat with an actual child that I have power over. They are so raw, so petty, and so strong that they stand out and I can't not do something about them. I can't not try to address them.
I'm not finding much of anything funny to say to wind this up. I do know that as this baby gets closer (to coming out of there, hello? We really are all ready), A is feeling more tension perhaps, and that there is more emotion around dinner time. Did I smash the dessert bowls in protest when this happened, out of nowhere? No, I didn't. Was I also disappointed that my thoughtfulness of making an extra stop to get the berries was totally lost on her? Definitely.
Have I now let her finish all the berries that were left, cringing in guilt when she didn't want to eat some before asking M and me if we wanted them? Yup. Feeling like a schmuck. This whole revisiting of the only-child feelings have only just begun, I'm sure.
Did I then give her my secret stash of crispy M&Ms and Snicker's Ice Cream Bars to make up for it all? Not a chance.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
I tried my hardest
It has been quite a while since I've cried at the thought (or discussion) of giving birth to A. It ended in a C-section, one that I'd hoped, dearly, not to have. It used to make me cry just thinking about it. And talking to someone who'd also had one that way? Yup, tears.
But I've been over that for a while now. It just hasn't gotten me that emotional.
Until yesterday afternoon. On the phone with M, from the hospital cafeteria, after a check up and discussion with doctors about my chances of giving birth the, um, usual way. Basically, some of the concern from last time was about my body, and not the baby's heart or stress level. And given that this current one is big enough now, to the doctors it looks enough like last time's situation (my pelvis hasn't changed size) to warrant telling me they'd be fine with scheduling a primary C-section now. This means just planning for one.
But, they are also fine with waiting to see what happens. So, I told M it seems like a 50/50 chance to me that I end up on an operating table again, just a bit sooner this time than 17 into painful back labor.
And I started getting teary eyed. And my voice had that little catch in it, that made talking without crying really slow. And I heard myself say "well, maybe if this baby isn't turned around like A was, and it still ends in a C-section..." (long pause to compose myself) "I'll know that last time I really did try my hardest." Tears.
Hmm. It seems the trying hard enough is what caught me up the most. Not the actual C-section. I know it might happen again. But saying the words "tried my hardest" is what got right to my core. What choked me up.
So now I've been wondering where that comes from. Is it just the steady diet of it throughout my life: charismatic catholics will tell you that if you can't heal a sick person you weren't praying hard enough, a parent tells you that that "B" you got in history was because you didn't work hard enough, a graduate advisor tells you to "go away and think about your question a bit more" because apparently you aren't thinking hard enough, the natural birth and breastfeeding movements tell you that if you didn't do it their way you just didn't care about your child enough, and depressed people are obviously just not looking on the bright side of life enough. Anyone who tries hard enough can be the president of the United States, or any level of successful, in America.
What a horrible interpretation to impose on people's "failure" to achieve some goal. Maybe it is even the setting of the outcome as a goal (as something you can work for and can get to as long as the work is hard, good, long enough) that is horrible.
The fact that I am expecting my second child is not due to trying harder than the friends I have who haven't gotten to this point, but really want to. I'm extremely lucky that my body took to it this time. That the baby worked. Two names come up instantly of women who are currently trying harder than I ever did to get pregnant. Sure, I did a lot, but not in any overall rankings sort of way. It was a lot for me, and then it worked, and then I stopped. Period. Luck smiled on me earlier.
I guess that is a good position to take on my birth experience, too. Other women got to the vaginal birth part earlier, and then they stopped. Period.
But I've been over that for a while now. It just hasn't gotten me that emotional.
Until yesterday afternoon. On the phone with M, from the hospital cafeteria, after a check up and discussion with doctors about my chances of giving birth the, um, usual way. Basically, some of the concern from last time was about my body, and not the baby's heart or stress level. And given that this current one is big enough now, to the doctors it looks enough like last time's situation (my pelvis hasn't changed size) to warrant telling me they'd be fine with scheduling a primary C-section now. This means just planning for one.
But, they are also fine with waiting to see what happens. So, I told M it seems like a 50/50 chance to me that I end up on an operating table again, just a bit sooner this time than 17 into painful back labor.
And I started getting teary eyed. And my voice had that little catch in it, that made talking without crying really slow. And I heard myself say "well, maybe if this baby isn't turned around like A was, and it still ends in a C-section..." (long pause to compose myself) "I'll know that last time I really did try my hardest." Tears.
Hmm. It seems the trying hard enough is what caught me up the most. Not the actual C-section. I know it might happen again. But saying the words "tried my hardest" is what got right to my core. What choked me up.
So now I've been wondering where that comes from. Is it just the steady diet of it throughout my life: charismatic catholics will tell you that if you can't heal a sick person you weren't praying hard enough, a parent tells you that that "B" you got in history was because you didn't work hard enough, a graduate advisor tells you to "go away and think about your question a bit more" because apparently you aren't thinking hard enough, the natural birth and breastfeeding movements tell you that if you didn't do it their way you just didn't care about your child enough, and depressed people are obviously just not looking on the bright side of life enough. Anyone who tries hard enough can be the president of the United States, or any level of successful, in America.
What a horrible interpretation to impose on people's "failure" to achieve some goal. Maybe it is even the setting of the outcome as a goal (as something you can work for and can get to as long as the work is hard, good, long enough) that is horrible.
The fact that I am expecting my second child is not due to trying harder than the friends I have who haven't gotten to this point, but really want to. I'm extremely lucky that my body took to it this time. That the baby worked. Two names come up instantly of women who are currently trying harder than I ever did to get pregnant. Sure, I did a lot, but not in any overall rankings sort of way. It was a lot for me, and then it worked, and then I stopped. Period. Luck smiled on me earlier.
I guess that is a good position to take on my birth experience, too. Other women got to the vaginal birth part earlier, and then they stopped. Period.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Different kinds of anger
I had a great conversation with a friend by phone last week. We live a few hours away from each other, and I think we do our best work with an hour-long call every 6-9 months. That seems to be how our lives align, and the timescale on which we need an intense session of sorts.
She talks, I talk, about life, what is up with us or bothering us, and in hearing myself talk, I sometimes even hear good advice. We get further together, hashing out a problem, than we do separately.
And this time it was about anger. Good stuff.
About how anger can be a protective device around the parts of ourselves that are still too raw, or not good at keeping boundaries with some people. You know the kinds - the kinds that are just like the toxic personalities we've dealt with in the past and are now almost conditioned to fall in with again. As in "WTF am I doing in this situation AGAIN, the exact one that I promised I'd never be in again?!"
About how anger can be that righteous, noble looking thing that starts major movements for change. The kind that seems almost elegant.
About how anger can also be that ugly-ish, kid-type tantrum anger that we tend to want to hide, to deny we feel, the stuff that doesn't care about elegance or how much snot or rationality is running down your face. And for this last kind, that it is good not to try to quench it too soon. It may be kind of out of control (and it is our responsibility to figure out how to let it out without hurting others), but that there probably still is that kid inside who wasn't allowed to feel those feelings the first time around. To yell, to scream, to get out the pain. And that in trying to hide it, in favor of more elegant versions, we are once again asking that little kid to reign in those feelings. Not to feel them.
Being angry at someone is okay. And it isn't always pretty.
The second thing we talked about that really hit me was redemption. This friend of mine tends more towards believing in the good in all people than I am - or maybe just in a different way. I'm not a forgiver when a person (1) doesn't really want to deal with the pain they've caused me, and (2) isn't ready to work at changing the behavior. There is nothing to help me forgive. Broken trust? Well, if you're not going to do anything to change that, to regain my trust, then there is no reason to give it - that would just be foolish of me. So although I, too, believe in redemption, and that no one is fundamentally scum of the Earth, I guess I also believe that redemption is such a big deal (as does my friend), so precious, that it is not on offer to people who don't actually want to put in the work to get it. You want forgiveness, be ready to actually earn it. Don't just say "sorry", run away from the painful part of dealing with what you made someone feel, and hope you don't have to actually think about how you treat people.
What I don't mean to say is that I get to judge the goodness of others. I meant to say that instead of me working hard to trust someone who has hurt me, I think trust should come more naturally from actions on their behalf to show that they won't repeat (or at least will do so less, and be much more aware of it when it happens) what hurt me the first time. Saying "sorry" without actions or willingness to deal with the emotions means nothing.
She talks, I talk, about life, what is up with us or bothering us, and in hearing myself talk, I sometimes even hear good advice. We get further together, hashing out a problem, than we do separately.
And this time it was about anger. Good stuff.
About how anger can be a protective device around the parts of ourselves that are still too raw, or not good at keeping boundaries with some people. You know the kinds - the kinds that are just like the toxic personalities we've dealt with in the past and are now almost conditioned to fall in with again. As in "WTF am I doing in this situation AGAIN, the exact one that I promised I'd never be in again?!"
About how anger can be that righteous, noble looking thing that starts major movements for change. The kind that seems almost elegant.
About how anger can also be that ugly-ish, kid-type tantrum anger that we tend to want to hide, to deny we feel, the stuff that doesn't care about elegance or how much snot or rationality is running down your face. And for this last kind, that it is good not to try to quench it too soon. It may be kind of out of control (and it is our responsibility to figure out how to let it out without hurting others), but that there probably still is that kid inside who wasn't allowed to feel those feelings the first time around. To yell, to scream, to get out the pain. And that in trying to hide it, in favor of more elegant versions, we are once again asking that little kid to reign in those feelings. Not to feel them.
Being angry at someone is okay. And it isn't always pretty.
The second thing we talked about that really hit me was redemption. This friend of mine tends more towards believing in the good in all people than I am - or maybe just in a different way. I'm not a forgiver when a person (1) doesn't really want to deal with the pain they've caused me, and (2) isn't ready to work at changing the behavior. There is nothing to help me forgive. Broken trust? Well, if you're not going to do anything to change that, to regain my trust, then there is no reason to give it - that would just be foolish of me. So although I, too, believe in redemption, and that no one is fundamentally scum of the Earth, I guess I also believe that redemption is such a big deal (as does my friend), so precious, that it is not on offer to people who don't actually want to put in the work to get it. You want forgiveness, be ready to actually earn it. Don't just say "sorry", run away from the painful part of dealing with what you made someone feel, and hope you don't have to actually think about how you treat people.
What I don't mean to say is that I get to judge the goodness of others. I meant to say that instead of me working hard to trust someone who has hurt me, I think trust should come more naturally from actions on their behalf to show that they won't repeat (or at least will do so less, and be much more aware of it when it happens) what hurt me the first time. Saying "sorry" without actions or willingness to deal with the emotions means nothing.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Waiting
I guess the biggest elephant in the room, waiting right now, is this baby. But now that my new inhaler has done its thing and the rain tamped down all that pollen from early spring, it no longer feels so looming.
Right now, it is something completely different. An interaction/negotiation with another person. Someone who wants something different from what I want. And I had to deliver the news about this yesterday.
Basically, I texted (yes, it was by text - my German is best by text and it had to be in German) to deliver news that the other person didn't want to hear. And then that other person texted me back. Many times. With new information, a counter offer to say what I wanted actually was possible, etc., etc.
And I waited.
Usually I don't wait. I'm 40 years old and still used to reacting immediately, and actually feeling like I'm a wuss if I don't. I feel like I'm avoiding something. Hiding. Like I should engage and as soon as the person refutes what I've said, capitulate.
But yesterday, I waited. My brain is fairly slow these days, so I waited because I was overwhelmed. My emotions were running high as well, due to the way the counter-offer was structured. I was upset. I wanted to give a list of other things that were wrong. But I didn't. I waited. And while I waited I practiced looking at my actions as okay, as something I needed to do to give myself time to figure out, now that there was another offer on the table, what it is I really want.
So often in the past I've just given in with something I didn't actually want because I was worried the person would be mad at me, or not like me any more. And that need to be liked drove my down a different path than I actually wanted. In the end I would wind up even more upset at a person who didn't realize that was happening. I would reach a point where I couldn't even negotiate any more I was feeling so used. And I sort of did it to myself, by not letting myself have the time to clarify what was important.
Today, I'm still waiting a bit, to see what my other options are, and there will probably still be a text that I'm not happy to send. One that could make the other person upset with me. I still don't want to talk face to face because I've found that very confusing in the past with this individual. I don't want to be swayed, I don't want to try my hardest to say what I want and have it misunderstood. I want to be clear, and so I'll probably do this by text. And that is okay.
As is the waiting.
Doing the right thing doesn't mean everyone likes you at the end. Doing the right thing just means you tried your best to be clear, and not drag things out when you were sure you were done.
Right now, it is something completely different. An interaction/negotiation with another person. Someone who wants something different from what I want. And I had to deliver the news about this yesterday.
Basically, I texted (yes, it was by text - my German is best by text and it had to be in German) to deliver news that the other person didn't want to hear. And then that other person texted me back. Many times. With new information, a counter offer to say what I wanted actually was possible, etc., etc.
And I waited.
Usually I don't wait. I'm 40 years old and still used to reacting immediately, and actually feeling like I'm a wuss if I don't. I feel like I'm avoiding something. Hiding. Like I should engage and as soon as the person refutes what I've said, capitulate.
But yesterday, I waited. My brain is fairly slow these days, so I waited because I was overwhelmed. My emotions were running high as well, due to the way the counter-offer was structured. I was upset. I wanted to give a list of other things that were wrong. But I didn't. I waited. And while I waited I practiced looking at my actions as okay, as something I needed to do to give myself time to figure out, now that there was another offer on the table, what it is I really want.
So often in the past I've just given in with something I didn't actually want because I was worried the person would be mad at me, or not like me any more. And that need to be liked drove my down a different path than I actually wanted. In the end I would wind up even more upset at a person who didn't realize that was happening. I would reach a point where I couldn't even negotiate any more I was feeling so used. And I sort of did it to myself, by not letting myself have the time to clarify what was important.
Today, I'm still waiting a bit, to see what my other options are, and there will probably still be a text that I'm not happy to send. One that could make the other person upset with me. I still don't want to talk face to face because I've found that very confusing in the past with this individual. I don't want to be swayed, I don't want to try my hardest to say what I want and have it misunderstood. I want to be clear, and so I'll probably do this by text. And that is okay.
As is the waiting.
Doing the right thing doesn't mean everyone likes you at the end. Doing the right thing just means you tried your best to be clear, and not drag things out when you were sure you were done.
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