Hmm. I should check old post titles - that one sounds kind of familiar. It wouldn't surprise me to find I'd written about anger before. Probably wouldn't surprise you, either.
Anger is such a strange issue. One side of our family hides it, stuffs it down deep inside and lets it out as passive aggression, and the other lets it just explode in your face at the most unexpected of times. And now, as parents, M and I are having to navigate what is appropriate with a child. For us (what does acceptable behavior look like when you're angry) and for A (how much is she allowed to vent and in what ways?).
I'm bumbling through this issue kind of blindly. My first instinct is that anger is bad - I was taught to think that - and so the point is never to get angry. Or, if you have gotten angry, to deny that you were and to say it was sadness or something else. But that's not how life works, so I'm having to redefine how I "do" anger. Don't think I've gotten far - I haven't, really. I'm at the "it is okay for me to be angry" self-affirmation stage, at which point my brain just kind of turns off. Crickets. Silence. I have no idea how to be angry next.
If I'm not okay with A hitting when she's angry, then obviously that's off the table for me, too. I don't actually get that far, but the point is that I'm totally at sea with this and even extreme boundary conditions are helpful. Okay, so no hitting.
Yelling? Also not great. We don't want her to yell, and yet we get to the point where we do it. But I get there every other time I'm furious. (I also tend to put my foot down earlier than M so that I don't actually get as furious in certain situations. Don't worry, in others I'm way more unreasonable than him).
Walking out? Hmm. That one is a tougher call because it feels either like defeat or surrender instead of taking time to cool down. But as I write this and think how would I like it if A walked out and cooled down every time she was angry, I realize I'd be pretty happy with that. So maybe that is a new way to think about that option.
What I'd love to be is the person who can express verbally what I'm angry about in a way that vents it but doesn't (and my kid has just messed up some tape she's playing with at this instant, started making upset sounds, and I'm wondering should I duck lest the tape dispenser come flying my way) hurt the feelings of another person. And in a way that gets it out of my system.
I guess that last part is the other problem I have with my anger. I don't purge it very quickly. If I don't get an apology I have a hard time letting things go.
There is no neat bow to tie up this post and end with some epiphany. Just something I was thinking about. What is anger good for?
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Furry, furry, furry
It has now been, what, 5 or 6 months since I stopped shaving my legs (and toes - yes, they, too are a bit fluffy). And it is almost winter, and I soon won't be able to bend down that comfortably anyway, so they're going to stay hairy.
Do I finally think my legs are feminine even with the hair? Nope. Doesn't look feminine to me. Or pretty.
But what I find interesting is that it is the looking feminine that I am less concerned with now. I still wear dresses sometimes, jewelry and makeup, even. But the leg thing doesn't come in to play as often.
Now, this isn't to say that I find hairy legs and a knee-length skirt normal looking. I don't. I just don't pack a razor with me on trips anymore.
I might shave again next summer. And I'm still on the lookout for a well-fitting boy-short swimsuit (Target, the one I got from you had a seam that was 50 shades of wrong). But I'm not going to worry about it as much.
I just look at my legs now, in my pajamas at home, without thinking so much about them. That's been nice.
Do I finally think my legs are feminine even with the hair? Nope. Doesn't look feminine to me. Or pretty.
But what I find interesting is that it is the looking feminine that I am less concerned with now. I still wear dresses sometimes, jewelry and makeup, even. But the leg thing doesn't come in to play as often.
Now, this isn't to say that I find hairy legs and a knee-length skirt normal looking. I don't. I just don't pack a razor with me on trips anymore.
I might shave again next summer. And I'm still on the lookout for a well-fitting boy-short swimsuit (Target, the one I got from you had a seam that was 50 shades of wrong). But I'm not going to worry about it as much.
I just look at my legs now, in my pajamas at home, without thinking so much about them. That's been nice.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Testing for Down's Syndrome
It is early days yet, but there now exist a number of companies that can use a pregnant woman's blood to detect DNA from the fetus. For certain conditions, then, this means no more amniocentesis - which requires sticking a large needle into the actual amniotic fluid (anything that is being stuck into my stomach, by definition, is too big) and carries a slight (read: unacceptable if you're worried about the pregnancy in any way and there is another way to go) risk of miscarriage.
We chose to use a test like this, which would tell us a limited number of things about the baby in my womb. Specifically, it looked for trisomies, triple chromosomes, four of which can lead to viable babies. First, chromosome 21, in triplicate, means Down's Syndrome. Next, there are two less likely, more extreme trisomies, 13, and 18, in which many major organs are severely affected, and many babies don't live past a year or two. Finally, there are sex chromosome trisomies, that may or may not affect fertility, and since they test X's and Y's, you also find out the sex of the baby from this test.
First of all, we didn't really care about the X's and Y's - in any way that would affect our birth preparation. Next, if the baby had Down's Syndrome, we wanted to know now, to help us prepare (and yes, mourn now, the ideal of a baby without), instead of being caught by surprise at the birth. I wanted to be able to smile a full on smile at the birth. Then, trisomies 13 and 18. This one was harder.
The reason we chose the test in the first place is because of my "advanced maternal age" - I'm a grand dame of pregnant ladies now, and that puts me at a higher risk of a baby with any of these trisomies. And to be honest, I just didn't know what I would do if we found out a positive on 13 or 18. A baby whose organs are failing. I would have had to spend a lot of time in books and talking to doctors and on websites to figure out what to do. Yes, I am talking about abortion. But do not make the mistake to think I'm talking about it in any way lightly.
Ever since the first ultrasound with baby A, almost 5 years ago, I've realized that what was growing inside of me was its own being. I had no right to terminate that life. I don't speak for other pregnant women, just myself. I could tell that that was how I felt.
But a baby with so many health problems, severe ones, that could cause death soon after birth? This presents me with another issue. I don't believe in a god that is directly working in my life, and I also think that nature is dispassionate. Evolution does not save human beings from pain and suffering. There is no "god will do what's best" excuse for an agnostic. And as a parent, even of an embryo, I think it is partly my responsibility (a huge one at that) to think about my own children's suffering. I don't get to pass on the guilt, worry, any of it to a god who knows all. If I'm grown up enough to have a child, I'd damn well better be grown up enough to tackle the most difficult questions that life has to throw at me.
I didn't have to make those tough decisions in the end, because the tests all came back negative.
In the process, I read (albeit on Wikipedia) that: "A 2002 literature review of elective abortion rates found that 91–93% of pregnancies in the United Kingdom and Europe with a diagnosis of Down syndrome were terminated." This shocked me. I was just still for some 30 seconds, trying to understand that statistic. (Some biology friends later explained that this was for people who had specifically tested for it, which means people who knew there was a risk but didn't test and kept the baby are not included, but still...).
I also found out the sex of the baby. At around 14 weeks of pregnancy. This was through a phone call - which probably shouldn't be the way the test results are announced, now that I think of it. But my OBGYN (the test was through a hospital and lab, not my doctor) was a bit surprised they told me the sex. Her surprise surprised me, until she explained that there is controversy over whether or not hearing earlier than around 20 weeks might allow for more gender selective abortions. It is earlier, you're not there seeing an image, with a doctor near you to discuss the outcome, etc. Interesting. For us, we were happy either way, so it did not make a difference. But it made me think more about the OBGYN/patient relationship.
So, in the end, we spent a lot of money (these new blood tests do not come cheap) on this journey, but it was a good use of the cash. And we are lucky to have been able to afford it. And I've yet again had time to be a bit more thoughtful about life, death, and babies. Never a bad thing.
We chose to use a test like this, which would tell us a limited number of things about the baby in my womb. Specifically, it looked for trisomies, triple chromosomes, four of which can lead to viable babies. First, chromosome 21, in triplicate, means Down's Syndrome. Next, there are two less likely, more extreme trisomies, 13, and 18, in which many major organs are severely affected, and many babies don't live past a year or two. Finally, there are sex chromosome trisomies, that may or may not affect fertility, and since they test X's and Y's, you also find out the sex of the baby from this test.
First of all, we didn't really care about the X's and Y's - in any way that would affect our birth preparation. Next, if the baby had Down's Syndrome, we wanted to know now, to help us prepare (and yes, mourn now, the ideal of a baby without), instead of being caught by surprise at the birth. I wanted to be able to smile a full on smile at the birth. Then, trisomies 13 and 18. This one was harder.
The reason we chose the test in the first place is because of my "advanced maternal age" - I'm a grand dame of pregnant ladies now, and that puts me at a higher risk of a baby with any of these trisomies. And to be honest, I just didn't know what I would do if we found out a positive on 13 or 18. A baby whose organs are failing. I would have had to spend a lot of time in books and talking to doctors and on websites to figure out what to do. Yes, I am talking about abortion. But do not make the mistake to think I'm talking about it in any way lightly.
Ever since the first ultrasound with baby A, almost 5 years ago, I've realized that what was growing inside of me was its own being. I had no right to terminate that life. I don't speak for other pregnant women, just myself. I could tell that that was how I felt.
But a baby with so many health problems, severe ones, that could cause death soon after birth? This presents me with another issue. I don't believe in a god that is directly working in my life, and I also think that nature is dispassionate. Evolution does not save human beings from pain and suffering. There is no "god will do what's best" excuse for an agnostic. And as a parent, even of an embryo, I think it is partly my responsibility (a huge one at that) to think about my own children's suffering. I don't get to pass on the guilt, worry, any of it to a god who knows all. If I'm grown up enough to have a child, I'd damn well better be grown up enough to tackle the most difficult questions that life has to throw at me.
I didn't have to make those tough decisions in the end, because the tests all came back negative.
In the process, I read (albeit on Wikipedia) that: "A 2002 literature review of elective abortion rates found that 91–93% of pregnancies in the United Kingdom and Europe with a diagnosis of Down syndrome were terminated." This shocked me. I was just still for some 30 seconds, trying to understand that statistic. (Some biology friends later explained that this was for people who had specifically tested for it, which means people who knew there was a risk but didn't test and kept the baby are not included, but still...).
I also found out the sex of the baby. At around 14 weeks of pregnancy. This was through a phone call - which probably shouldn't be the way the test results are announced, now that I think of it. But my OBGYN (the test was through a hospital and lab, not my doctor) was a bit surprised they told me the sex. Her surprise surprised me, until she explained that there is controversy over whether or not hearing earlier than around 20 weeks might allow for more gender selective abortions. It is earlier, you're not there seeing an image, with a doctor near you to discuss the outcome, etc. Interesting. For us, we were happy either way, so it did not make a difference. But it made me think more about the OBGYN/patient relationship.
So, in the end, we spent a lot of money (these new blood tests do not come cheap) on this journey, but it was a good use of the cash. And we are lucky to have been able to afford it. And I've yet again had time to be a bit more thoughtful about life, death, and babies. Never a bad thing.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Pregnancy loss and infant loss
There was a day last week that I posted a link in Facebook to a New York Times article - about pregnancy loss and infant loss. I don't usually do these kinds of "share if you know someone who has gone through...." posts on Facebook. I may have done once before for the issue of depression.
Still, it got me thinking. I'm pregnant now, apparently successfully, with my second child. I've been through fertility treatment for both pregnancies, and it has taken an average of 3 years each time to get to a pregnancy that made it past 12 weeks. There were many many months of sadness and feelings of hopelessness (and a fair dose of bitterness at all the pregnancies around me) - something like 50-60 rounds of "Maybe I'm finally pregnant this month. Did it work? Shhh, don't hope too much. I'll just assume I'm not until I can take a pregnancy test. Why not just wait until after my period is supposed to come? But what if that was a pang of something other than cramps coming? Shit - no....there it is, I'm not pregnant. Again."
And after a miscarriage at 10 weeks a few years ago, most of my early pregnancy excitement got wiped away. We had told many people we were pregnant, and then, we had to go tell them we weren't. We had to un-imagine the due date and all those thing that went with it. I finally stopped thinking about the due date and what could have been, about 6 months after friends' babies conceived around the same time were born.
I am extremely lucky to be where I am right now, with one child here and one on the way. But it is luck, fortune. There is no greater purpose or reason I got pregnant and it stayed this time, but didn't 2 years ago. Or that the first time worked. I approach pregnancy in a very different way than some who have easily gotten (and stayed pregnant) without help from the medical community. But I am not more or less deserving (because of God, or because of what kind of person I am, or anything like that) of what I have gotten.
And the book I just finished, a memoir about going through the inability to have children (Silent Sorority by Pam Tsigdinos) got me thinking, once again, how going through pregnancy difficulties changes you. I found the author's writing to be extremely powerful, and helpful, for clarifying a sense of loss. In her case, the loss is of never having children. And there is nothing she can do that will erase that loss. She will have a different life now. It will not be all sadness, but Mother's Day will always be bittersweet for her, because there are things that happen to us in life (inability to bear children) that are not erasable by other, not quite same, things (being an aunt, an adoptive mother, etc.). What I appreciated most about her writing was the willingness to just acknowledge this fact - you don't erase monumental losses from life. It isn't fun, it is hard to know how to sit with someone who goes through them, it is scary, but it is authentic.
So anyway, here, at the end of a kind of meandering, not-so-well-written post, is my point. I've been thinking about pregnancy loss these last few weeks, and reading about how often it is a silent condition - to be not pregnant but really really want to be and have been trying. There are no un-baby showers, or cards, or such. And yet, infertility is a very real part of some women's (and couples') lives. And the lighting of a candle at 7pm last Tuesday was a beatiful gesture. But it struck me as still too silent - for me. This, then, is my add-on.
An empty womb, where no pregnancy has ever been but has been hoped and prayed and wept for. A womb that held a being, but only for a while, not long enough to be born. And a being that survived for long enough to be a baby, but only for a while. Each situation is different, and people have gone through each have gone through unique processes. And this is meant to recognize the feelings of loss.
It will be going up on my Facebook profile for a few weeks. Because even though I'm pregnant right now, seemingly successfully, my miscarriage has defined how I approach this pregnancy - with caution, and with reserve. And it has helped me in the past to know that others have gone through this, too.
If you've been through a lost pregnancy or baby, and want to put it up, too, feel free to grab the image.
Still, it got me thinking. I'm pregnant now, apparently successfully, with my second child. I've been through fertility treatment for both pregnancies, and it has taken an average of 3 years each time to get to a pregnancy that made it past 12 weeks. There were many many months of sadness and feelings of hopelessness (and a fair dose of bitterness at all the pregnancies around me) - something like 50-60 rounds of "Maybe I'm finally pregnant this month. Did it work? Shhh, don't hope too much. I'll just assume I'm not until I can take a pregnancy test. Why not just wait until after my period is supposed to come? But what if that was a pang of something other than cramps coming? Shit - no....there it is, I'm not pregnant. Again."
And after a miscarriage at 10 weeks a few years ago, most of my early pregnancy excitement got wiped away. We had told many people we were pregnant, and then, we had to go tell them we weren't. We had to un-imagine the due date and all those thing that went with it. I finally stopped thinking about the due date and what could have been, about 6 months after friends' babies conceived around the same time were born.
I am extremely lucky to be where I am right now, with one child here and one on the way. But it is luck, fortune. There is no greater purpose or reason I got pregnant and it stayed this time, but didn't 2 years ago. Or that the first time worked. I approach pregnancy in a very different way than some who have easily gotten (and stayed pregnant) without help from the medical community. But I am not more or less deserving (because of God, or because of what kind of person I am, or anything like that) of what I have gotten.
And the book I just finished, a memoir about going through the inability to have children (Silent Sorority by Pam Tsigdinos) got me thinking, once again, how going through pregnancy difficulties changes you. I found the author's writing to be extremely powerful, and helpful, for clarifying a sense of loss. In her case, the loss is of never having children. And there is nothing she can do that will erase that loss. She will have a different life now. It will not be all sadness, but Mother's Day will always be bittersweet for her, because there are things that happen to us in life (inability to bear children) that are not erasable by other, not quite same, things (being an aunt, an adoptive mother, etc.). What I appreciated most about her writing was the willingness to just acknowledge this fact - you don't erase monumental losses from life. It isn't fun, it is hard to know how to sit with someone who goes through them, it is scary, but it is authentic.
So anyway, here, at the end of a kind of meandering, not-so-well-written post, is my point. I've been thinking about pregnancy loss these last few weeks, and reading about how often it is a silent condition - to be not pregnant but really really want to be and have been trying. There are no un-baby showers, or cards, or such. And yet, infertility is a very real part of some women's (and couples') lives. And the lighting of a candle at 7pm last Tuesday was a beatiful gesture. But it struck me as still too silent - for me. This, then, is my add-on.
An empty womb, where no pregnancy has ever been but has been hoped and prayed and wept for. A womb that held a being, but only for a while, not long enough to be born. And a being that survived for long enough to be a baby, but only for a while. Each situation is different, and people have gone through each have gone through unique processes. And this is meant to recognize the feelings of loss.
It will be going up on my Facebook profile for a few weeks. Because even though I'm pregnant right now, seemingly successfully, my miscarriage has defined how I approach this pregnancy - with caution, and with reserve. And it has helped me in the past to know that others have gone through this, too.
If you've been through a lost pregnancy or baby, and want to put it up, too, feel free to grab the image.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
No deal
I didn't get the job. Didn't even get called back for the second round.
Crap.
I'm not all that surprised since I can't do the teaching in German that they wanted (in addition to in English, c'mon, I'm not that out of it to have applied to an all-German job). But still, dreams of having found my new little clan, like, actual human beings to see on a daily basis, that just went out the window again.
They were nice. And even asked me to propose a workshop I could teach for one of their programs. And that is lovely. But it also means me sitting some more, alone, trying to be inspired. And that well has just about dried up, people. It is 2:30pm on a Wednesday and I have yet to leave the house. The one person I interacted with who wasn't family was the dishwasher repair guy. And let me tell you, he got an earful of my carefully constructed logical arguments on what wasn't the problem with the dishwasher. The German words I used to make said arguments were probably only right 60% of the time, but the arguments themselves should have been quite impressive coming from what appears to be a stay-at-home housewife.
Well, ok, is a stay-at-home housewife at this point.
Because I didn't get the job. Crap.
I'm gonna go take a nap now, and think about what I can do when I wake up (in addition to some dishes I'm going to have to go wash by hand...again.).
Crap.
I'm not all that surprised since I can't do the teaching in German that they wanted (in addition to in English, c'mon, I'm not that out of it to have applied to an all-German job). But still, dreams of having found my new little clan, like, actual human beings to see on a daily basis, that just went out the window again.
They were nice. And even asked me to propose a workshop I could teach for one of their programs. And that is lovely. But it also means me sitting some more, alone, trying to be inspired. And that well has just about dried up, people. It is 2:30pm on a Wednesday and I have yet to leave the house. The one person I interacted with who wasn't family was the dishwasher repair guy. And let me tell you, he got an earful of my carefully constructed logical arguments on what wasn't the problem with the dishwasher. The German words I used to make said arguments were probably only right 60% of the time, but the arguments themselves should have been quite impressive coming from what appears to be a stay-at-home housewife.
Well, ok, is a stay-at-home housewife at this point.
Because I didn't get the job. Crap.
I'm gonna go take a nap now, and think about what I can do when I wake up (in addition to some dishes I'm going to have to go wash by hand...again.).
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
60 seconds more
My brain is usually revving like an engine, overflowing with ideas and thoughts, when I'm feeling normal. Which I'm not feeling these days. I'm pregnant again.
Which is also why I've not written in months.
I've been out of it. Only thinking one thought at a time. Or per day, even, other than "blech, I feel bad again, and I'm not sure if I'm hungry, but maybe eating something random will help."
I'm slow. I'm sure I was slow last time, with A in my belly, but I notice it more this time.
Until about a week ago, thinking about writing made me nauseous, as did trying to do anything in German. Thinking, in general, made me sick.
I'm better these days, a fact for which I am extremely grateful, and German doesn't make me want to throw up anymore. But I'm still slow.
And there is a sweet little silver lining to that slowness - I've slowed down to a better pace for many of those around me. I'm not as impatient, mostly because I'm just tired, and really happy to just sit for another minute. Or twenty.
I routinely take another minute, another 60 seconds, waiting for A to hear or comply with something I've asked of her. And with the dog, I take another 60 seconds to let her sniff a spot I would have formerly pulled her away from once she'd done her business.
I don't try to cram 3 events (or even errands) into an afternoon with A anymore, and it feels much more sane. More calm. I like this version of myself better.
Who knows if I'll be able to keep it up once I'm no longer pregnant. It is hard to calm my thoughts and impatience. And to calm the fears of not having accomplished enough in a day of errands and emails.
At least I'll have had a good many months' practice.
Which is also why I've not written in months.
I've been out of it. Only thinking one thought at a time. Or per day, even, other than "blech, I feel bad again, and I'm not sure if I'm hungry, but maybe eating something random will help."
I'm slow. I'm sure I was slow last time, with A in my belly, but I notice it more this time.
Until about a week ago, thinking about writing made me nauseous, as did trying to do anything in German. Thinking, in general, made me sick.
I'm better these days, a fact for which I am extremely grateful, and German doesn't make me want to throw up anymore. But I'm still slow.
And there is a sweet little silver lining to that slowness - I've slowed down to a better pace for many of those around me. I'm not as impatient, mostly because I'm just tired, and really happy to just sit for another minute. Or twenty.
I routinely take another minute, another 60 seconds, waiting for A to hear or comply with something I've asked of her. And with the dog, I take another 60 seconds to let her sniff a spot I would have formerly pulled her away from once she'd done her business.
I don't try to cram 3 events (or even errands) into an afternoon with A anymore, and it feels much more sane. More calm. I like this version of myself better.
Who knows if I'll be able to keep it up once I'm no longer pregnant. It is hard to calm my thoughts and impatience. And to calm the fears of not having accomplished enough in a day of errands and emails.
At least I'll have had a good many months' practice.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
What to expect...
One of our nieces is pregnant for the first time, and while we were back in the US visiting family, she said "If you have any advice on pregnancy, let me know." Turns out M and I have about the same advice, at least at the top of our list - "don't read What to Expect When You're Expecting."
That may not have been the only pregnancy book to give me worries, but it definitely provided me with the most of them. It can read like a compilation of the worst things that can happen in pregnancy, aggregated over all women who have been pregnant. So it is like reading this laundry list of doom, and you wind up expecting to experience all of it. Varicose veins, ectopic pregnancies, listeria, stretch marks, vomiting, and on and on. And no woman has all of those. I mean, come on, those of us who have miscarriages at least don't go through Braxton-Hicks contractions and those who get to giving birth, don't go (at least during that 9 months) through miscarriage. It can't ALL happen to one woman during one pregnancy.
And it is less likely to, according to the book, as long as you fruit-juice-sweeten the hell out of your diet, in place of sugar.
I stopped reading that book pretty soon after picking it up, when I was pregnant with A.
I'd say my second piece of advice, especially for a woman who is used to being super busy at work is to give yourself a break. It isn't the rest of your life. If you can afford to, take some time off. Nap, ever day. Instead of trying to keep up being who you were (and will be again, sometime after they turn 12) when you could sleep in, not wake up at 1am with insomnia and heartburn, and weren't throwing up all the time. Rest. Your body is doing a really big job, and your brain can just step aside for a bit.
Oh, and, no one is every really ready for the baby, so don't wear yourself out trying to have the perfect pregnancy or birth, or being completely prepared. You won't even know half of what you'll need until the baby arrives (A didn't need the smallest size onesies because of her birth size, she came two weeks early, and the Swedish baby sling didn't work for us, but the Ergo carrier did). Each kid is different. There is no "best" stroller, carrier, or anything else, and you'll probably burn through your first one in no time anyway, if it works for you. We're currently on stroller #3 and it is falling apart.
Finally, at least in my case, dealing with my issues, my emotional baggage, all that stuff that stands in the way of me acting like an adult - that has been a much more vital part of my becoming a good mother than any matching outfits or appropriate toys or anything else I can buy. Therapy before, and especially after, were the best investments I made in parenthood.
That may not have been the only pregnancy book to give me worries, but it definitely provided me with the most of them. It can read like a compilation of the worst things that can happen in pregnancy, aggregated over all women who have been pregnant. So it is like reading this laundry list of doom, and you wind up expecting to experience all of it. Varicose veins, ectopic pregnancies, listeria, stretch marks, vomiting, and on and on. And no woman has all of those. I mean, come on, those of us who have miscarriages at least don't go through Braxton-Hicks contractions and those who get to giving birth, don't go (at least during that 9 months) through miscarriage. It can't ALL happen to one woman during one pregnancy.
And it is less likely to, according to the book, as long as you fruit-juice-sweeten the hell out of your diet, in place of sugar.
I stopped reading that book pretty soon after picking it up, when I was pregnant with A.
I'd say my second piece of advice, especially for a woman who is used to being super busy at work is to give yourself a break. It isn't the rest of your life. If you can afford to, take some time off. Nap, ever day. Instead of trying to keep up being who you were (and will be again, sometime after they turn 12) when you could sleep in, not wake up at 1am with insomnia and heartburn, and weren't throwing up all the time. Rest. Your body is doing a really big job, and your brain can just step aside for a bit.
Oh, and, no one is every really ready for the baby, so don't wear yourself out trying to have the perfect pregnancy or birth, or being completely prepared. You won't even know half of what you'll need until the baby arrives (A didn't need the smallest size onesies because of her birth size, she came two weeks early, and the Swedish baby sling didn't work for us, but the Ergo carrier did). Each kid is different. There is no "best" stroller, carrier, or anything else, and you'll probably burn through your first one in no time anyway, if it works for you. We're currently on stroller #3 and it is falling apart.
Finally, at least in my case, dealing with my issues, my emotional baggage, all that stuff that stands in the way of me acting like an adult - that has been a much more vital part of my becoming a good mother than any matching outfits or appropriate toys or anything else I can buy. Therapy before, and especially after, were the best investments I made in parenthood.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
