On Excellence versus Perfection

I found these quotes on striving for excellence versus perfection. I like them a lot. Motivating and inspiring.

Striving for excellence motivates you; striving for perfection is demoralizing
Harriet Braiker

Striving for perfection is the greatest stopper there is. It's your excuse to yourself for not doing anything. Instead, strive for excellence, doing your best

Sir Laurence Olivier

It is not the straining for great things that is most effective; it is the doing of the little things, the common duties, a little better and better
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps

Excellence is to do a common thing in an uncommon way
Booker T. Washington

Excellence is not a destination; it is a continuous journey that never ends
Brian Tracy

The Not So Glamourous Life of a Working Mom

"You wear a lot of hats at your house" observes a co-worker. Indeed I do.

That is how I end up, several mornings per week, sitting topless and cross legged on the floor of my bathroom in front of a mirror after a shower, with a baby cradled in my lap, my knees supporting him as he nurses at 5:30 in the morning because gawd forbid the child should sleep more than 15 minutes in the morning without my warm body by his side, my hands occupied with a hairbrush and eyeliner.

I sometimes feel like I live in the Land of Too Much and Not Enough.

Not Enough sleep.... is what I'm getting.

Not Enough milk... is what I'm pumping at work.

Not Enough time... is what I have for each child one-on-one.

Not Enough attention... is what I am giving to my relationship with my husband.

Too Much mess and clutter... is all over my home.

Too Much stress... is what I feel.

Too Much pressure... is what I am under.

"We need lots and lots of Shanas" SchmoopyBoy tells me. When your three-year old thinks you need to clone yourself, you know you're in trouble.

I can't complain because, ultimately this is the life I chose (sort of). Just sayin'... sometimes I'm just hanging on by a very thin thread...

His Mother's Child

SchmoopyBoy was recently moved up into a new classroom at his preschool. He is now in the room with the older children – 3 1/2 to 4, with a few as old as 5 if they’ve had a birthday during the school year. It is a slightly more structured preschool environment as compared to the room with the 2-3 year olds. He was promoted along with his best friend, a vivacious, outgoing, gorgeous little girl who I’ll call Leah (not her real name), which is helping to ease the transition.

Last Tuesday the school had a special Friendship Day event. All the parents were invited to join the classes for snack time. It was the first time since his promotion that I’ve been there. It was the first time I’ve had the opportunity to see him in action, per se, in the new environment. He is slowly adjusting. Very slowly. Big kids intimidate him a little. Groups of big kids that all know each other intimidate him a lot. The only child he wants to play with is Leah.

There are a lot more girls in this class than their previous class. Lots of little girls at the same level as Leah. She is, of course attracted to them and is starting to branch out and increase her circle of friends. SchmoopyBoy wants to play with her only. He wants her to play with him only. When she plays with another girl he feels rejected and lonely.

I don’t know how to help him branch out and become friends with other children in the class. Whenever I suggest it he tells me he only wants to play with Leah. I asked the teacher what I can do to help and encourage him, and she told me he just needs to find his way. I mentioned that he has told me that the bigger kids scare him. She pointed out that there are other children his age and size, but they have a “different energy” than SchmoopyBoy. They are extroverts, they are doers. SchmoopyBoy holds back. He observes. He wants to check out the scene and feel comfortable before he ventures out. He prefers one on one interactions with a few special friends to large groups.

What's important to note here is that everything I have written above describing SchmoopyBoy might as well have been written about myself at his age.

As I was observing the scene, something was triggered inside me. I don’t know if I was transported back to my own preschool days and was reliving my own social anxieties through my child, but I was overcome with emotion. I cried the entire drive home and then some.

I don’t want him to be like me. I don’t want him to have my social anxieties, my insecurities. I don't want him to know the loneliness of self-imposed isolation.

Of course I initially fell into the mother-blame trap. Perhaps if I did something different he would be more comfortable and confident in new social environments. But then, I am his mother for crying out loud, genetics have got to account for something, is it really so surprising that he is so like I was at the age of three?

I was talking to a very old and dear friend on the phone over the weekend and telling her about how I was feeling. She said to me, Yes, if he is like you he may not have so very many friends. But look at the friends you do have. Once you make a friend, it is a friend for life. Your friends love you, would do anything for you. Would it really be so bad if he is like you after all?

Go figure, just as I am feeling so low about myself and what I have imposed on my offspring by nature or nurture, my oldest and dearest friend tells me just what I need to hear.

It's Thanksgiving! (and I'm still here)

Wow, time flies when at least one person (typically 2 or more) in my home have been sick nonstop for a month. It's Thanksgiving, so it's all the more appropriate for me to take a moment to thank the family and friends, even virtual friends that I've never met in real life, who checked in with me to see if everything was ok. To be honest, I was fairly far off in postpartum land for a while, but I think I am doing a little better now. I pretty much checked out from the computer. I haven't been reading any of my regular sites that typically provide inspiration and motivation for my own blog posts. Not much reading, no writing. It's pretty much been all baby all the time, and one-dimensional life has never been particularly good for my emotional state. Not to mention, between all the illness, and Lil' Schmoo's determination the past several weeks that the carseat is the most awful torture device in the world, I haven't been getting out of the house much. Isolation is another aspect that has never been particularly good for my emotional state. I've been forcing myself out of the house a bit this past week, and with the holiday I'll likely get out of the house a bit more this weekend (Thursday for Thanksgiving lunch at my in-law's at a minimum).

So, in honor of Thanksgiving, and in the spirit of getting out of my funk, here are 5 things I am thankful for:

1. Mastitis is cleared up. Whew!

2. Family and friends that care enough to take a moment to check in on me when I go MIA (yes, I mentioned this above, but it's worth repeating here)

3. Baby smiles (pictures forthcoming)

4. Kisses from SchmoopyBoy - he has been quite generous with them recently

5. Morning naps - I got one today. It was awesome.

Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone!

Preparing for Joyful Birth - Making Peace with my Soul

Welcome to the First Carnival of Birth Reflections

This post was written for inclusion in the Carnival of Birth Reflections hosted by Patti at Jazzy Mama and Zoie at TouchstoneZ. Participants are writing posts that reflect on how birth has transformed them into who they are today. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.

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This is the third post in a series I have written about healing from trauma and preparing for a joyful birth. In my first post, I published the original birth story I wrote in the weeks after SchoopyBoy's birth, and wrote that things had been left unsaid - things that caused me to feel guilt and shame. In my second post, I wrote about making peace with my body after developing pre-eclampsia and then having two consecutive miscarriages. In this final post on birth reflections, I want to talk about what I experienced during the birth, how it impacted bonding with my newborn, and how I am preparing for a more joyful birth experience this time.

Throughout my pregnancy with SchmoopyBoy, I felt that if I needed an emergency cesarean I could live with it because I trusted my care provider and believed it wouldn't be done unless truly necessary. The one thing I had wanted to avoid with all my heart was a chemical induction, which is exactly what I was facing due to my pre-eclampsia diagnosis. I checked into the hospital with dread. My (extraordinarily opinionated and manipulative) childbirth educators had virtually drilled into my head that an induced labor was nothing more than hours of tortuous pain followed by an inevitable cesarean. I strongly considered bypassing the several hours of tortuous pain and requesting we go straight to cesarean, since I figured that was the inevitable outcome anyway.

I actually tolerated the induced labor well – until the bag of waters burst. Wow, what a difference that made! As I wrote in my original birth story, I thought I was less than 4 cm dilated since the balloon inserted behind my cervix had never fallen out. I didn’t think I could handle the pain for an unknowable number of hours, so I requested an epidural at that point. It was during the preparation for the epidural that I found out that I was in transition, at 8cm. My childbirth educator had sat in front of a room full of expecting first time parents and told us that transition only lasts 15 minutes (not that it may only last 15 minutes for a lucky few, but that it does last approximately 15 minutes). I thought I could tolerate the pain for only 15 more minutes, declined the epidural, and set to work.

I was not one of the lucky few with a 15 minute transition. I lost track of time, my head and body reeling from what it was experiencing. At some point, after almost 2 hours had passed, I figured it had been more than 15 minutes and cried out "Why is it taking so long?!” When my doula answered, “It takes as long as it takes” I knew I had been lied to, and was livid.

After another hour of pushing, during which time the intense pitocin-fueled transition contractions never let up, the doctor became alarmed at the baby’s dropping heart rate every time I pushed, and so initiated an emergency vacuum extraction.

Let me make this entirely clear. No living creature should ever experience having a baby ripped out of her nether region without so much as an ibuprofen. Seriously. No one. The sensation is Un.Real.

Having several hours of painful contractions that rated 11 on a pain scale of 1 to 10, culminating in a vacuum extraction left me… in shock. Literally. They immediately placed my baby on my chest, but I could not move. I could not breathe. I felt only a weight on my chest and horror at what my body had just endured.

The only thought in my head was “It’s still not even over. I still need to birth the placenta. What pain still awaits me?”

I finally calmed down enough to realize that I ought to at least look at my newborn son. The only thing I could move were my eyes, which had been staring ahead, seeing nothing. My eyes turned down and I saw blood on my baby’s face. I knew it was my blood. I knew it meant that I had either torn or had an episiotomy, and that I would need stitches.

The thought that ran through my head was “Oh God, it’s still not over. I need stitches too. When will this torture be over? I just want this torture to end.”

Did I mention that my newborn baby son was on my chest this whole time, and all I could think of was “Good heavens please just let this torture end”?

Where was the overwhelming flood of maternal love? Where was the exquisite tenderness? The immediate bond of falling in love with my child the moment he exited my body?

I could not feel any of it. I was so traumatized and in shock over what I had physically experienced that I was unable to bond with my own baby.

What the heck was wrong with me? Here I had just become a mother, my first born child lying in my arms across my chest and all I could think about was my own physical pain? What kind of mother was I? And if my maternal instinct had failed at this most significant of moments, what kind of mother could I possibly hope to be? As far as I could tell, I had no maternal instinct. First my body had betrayed me by developing pre-eclampsia, and now my soul – that which made me ‘maternal’ failed me.

Postpartum depression followed in the weeks after SchmoopyBoy’s birth. I didn’t trust myself. I kept repeating “I have no maternal instinct. I don’t know what to do for this baby, how to respond to him, how to take care of him. I can’t do this.” I think I loved him, but I wasn’t in love with him. He was a great scary bundle of need, and it terrified and overwhelmed me.

The happy ending to this story is that of course, it did get better. It took somewhere around 8 weeks – about the time it took my body to heal – for me to realize one night as I was nursing him to sleep how truly, deeply, and tenderly I loved him. I started to feel more competent and trusting in myself as a parent.

Today, I can gaze upon his sweet sleeping form and feel so full, such deep and poignant love, that the feeling overflows from my body and spills out in tears.

But guilt remains. And shame remains. I couldn’t bond with my baby. I couldn’t love him the way I was supposed to. I was too self-centered, too focused on myself.

I don’t want another birth experience like this. I can’t stand the thought of going through that torture again. A torture so acute that I cannot bond with my baby.

That is why I freaked out when my doctor once again expressed concern about my blood pressure and put me on medication a couple of months ago. My brain buzzed and hummed No No No Not again. I cannot go through that again. Fear and dread overwhelmed me.

I am lucky to have a great doula team. One, an apprentice midwife, had a similar experience. Her first birth was a cesarean, her second was a pitocin-induced VBAC, and her third was a midwife assisted home birth. She tells me that, according to her experience, the worst of the natural contractions doesn’t come close to the most mild of the pitocin contractions. Her greatest fear is that I will be looking for those intense pitocin contractions, and won’t realize that I’m in labor until I’m in transition, and she and her partner will barely get to me just in time to catch a baby. Ha-ha, the unassisted home birth I never planned!

It was also my doula that suggested, as she reacted to my telling her of this birth experience, that I might be suffering from post traumatic stress as a result of a traumatic birth experience. It was she who emphasized the need for me to forgive myself, that trouble with bonding after a traumatic birth is not uncommon.

So here I am, preparing to birth my second child with joy. Learning to forgive myself – forgive my body for developing pre-eclampsia in the first place, and forgive my soul for reacting to physical trauma in a common and normal way. Writing and sharing my stories to find healing for myself and encourage healing in others. Practicing gratitude for all the joys in my life. Repeating positive affirmations – “I welcome my baby with happiness and joy” so the fear and dread have no room to breathe and are crushed out of existence among all the positive and joyful energy engulfing me.



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Visit Jazzy Mama and TouchstoneZ to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Birth Reflections!

 
 

Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants:

• In the Middle - A Progression Through Four Birth Experiences Amy at Peace 4 Parents shares her birth experiences and the central focus that holds them together.


• A Birth Story-The Post Where I Finally Let Go Jennifer at Hybrid Rasta Mama finally frees herself of all of the negativity she held onto regarding the way in which her daughter came earthside.


• From Hospital to Home Birth Kerry at City Kids Homeschooling explains how it took three pregnancies to realize that birth is a natural, empowering life event to be celebrated at home.


• Preparing for Joyful Birth-Making Peace with my Soul Shana at Tales of Minor Interest prepares to birth her second child with joy after a traumatic first birth experience.


• Reflections Rosemary at Rosmarinus Officinalis reflects on the planned cesarean birth of her breech daughter.


• The Top Five Utterances of my HBAC Leah @ Zen and the Art of Cloth Diaper Maintenance comments on how an HBAC brings many new expierences and phrases.


• Labor Phases: Latent, Sleep, Transitional, Hell CatholicMommy shares the surprises of her birth story.


• The Birth of My first Child - Our Miracle Baby Darcel @ The Mahogany Way Birth Cafe shares her story of the traumatic birth of her first child. Darcel still feels guilt over the birth and is looking for ways to heal.


• My Thoughts on Birth: 10 Months Later Adrienne at Mommying My Way compares how she feels about her son's birth now that he's ten months old with how she felt right after he was born, and how that impacts how she relates to other new moms.


• Jasmine's Birth, My Rebirth Patti at Jazzy Mama discovered that the birth of her third daughter would change her entire view of her Life.


• Birth Reflection: It Only Takes A Second Zoie at TouchstoneZ reflects on her third homebirth-the birth of her second living child

Preparing for Joyful Birth – Making Peace with my Body

Earlier this week I posted the original birth story I wrote in the weeks after SchoopyBoy's birth. In the post, I wrote that things had been left unsaid. Things that I now, more than ever, need to face if I am to prepare for a joyful birth this time. In this post, I want to talk about body image, and how my birth experience combined with two consecutive miscarriages left me feeling broken and disconnected from my body.

First, I want to talk about developing pre-eclampsia. I know every woman probably says this, but it really wasn't supposed to happen to me. I was diagnosed with hypertension in my first trimester. This was unexpected given my reasonably healthy lifestyle - lots of fresh and healthy foods, regular exercise, etc. My OB told me I would be lucky to make it to 36 weeks, and told me induction might be likely. I wanted a natural childbirth and I knew I needed to stay healthy if I were to achieve this goal, so I took proactive steps towards that goal. I got nutritional advice and made dietary changes, I took self-hypnosis classes, I went to pre-natal massage, I switched providers to someone who was more supportive of my natural childbirth goals. My risk of pre-eclampsia was about 25%, and I was determined to be in the 75% that does not develop it.

One could say my efforts paid off a bit. I did make it to week 39 before the lab results indicated that my health was indeed heading south. But I was disappointed. Angry. My body had failed me. It hadn’t merely denied me the natural birth I envisioned and hoped for. It threatened the proper function of my critical internal organs. It downright threatened my life, and in doing so my baby’s life.

At 39 weeks, SchmoopyBaby was fine. Better than fine. He was released from the hospital to go home before I was! (We did leave the hospital together just one extra day later.)

Given that both of us ended up fine and healthy, I could have moved on, and in fact did.

But then my next pregnancy, two years later, ended in miscarriage. And then so did my next pregnancy after that.

Now, being a feminist, I do in fact believe that I am more than my fertility. I am a complete and whole valid and worthy human being whether I have 8 children, 2 children, 1 child, or no children. That being said, I also identify spiritually with the feminine Creative Goddess, and desire a connection with what I refer to as the Light of Creation.

Given my body’s failings during my pregnancy with SchmoopyBoy and the fact that my next two pregnancies ended in miscarriage, it’s safe to say I’ve been not too pleased with my body’s performance as the feminine Creative Goddess, and felt decidedly unconnected with any Light of Creation.

A couple of months ago, I wrote about how my blood pressure was showing signs of going too high again, so my doctor once again put me on medication. I totally freaked out. I was (am) terrified of reliving what I went through at SchmoopyBoy’s birth. I went into such a state of anxiety that ‘it was happening again’ my blood pressure spiked even more, I got a 3-day migraine, and my digestive system went into a spin. It took me checking into the hospital foe an afternoon and getting labs done – all which came back smashingly normal – to calm down.

This time will not be like last time. This time, the medication is controlling my blood pressure, and at a much lower dose. My blood pressure never got this low during my pregnancy with SchmoopyBoy. I am not swollen the way I was. At this point in my pregnancy with SchoopyBoy I was going to a perinatologist for monitoring twice a week. This time around, my doctor hasn’t even brought up the possibility of needing any kind of monitoring. Everything is on track for a healthy, low risk birth.

I’ve had a few unfortunate experiences along my journey to motherhood. These experiences have taught me a lot, and led me to a path of appreciation and gratitude. I have one wonderful, healthy, energetic, spirited child. I am approaching the end of a surprisingly easy pregnancy. My current physical discomfort this time around is not an indication of impending health crisis, but an indication of a growing, thriving, healthy baby. After all I have experienced, my body appears to be redeeming itself.

It is easy to make peace with my body when my body appears to be making an effort to make peace with me. But what if once again I developed pre-eclampsia in the final weeks and have to face another induction? Would I be able to maintain peace with my body? One of my many learnings is that there are some things in life I can control and some things I cannot control. I cannot control the way my body responds to being pregnant. I can control the food and pharmaceuticals I put in my body, in an effort to optimize the way my body responds to being pregnant. Accepting the limitations of my own power over my body is key to finding peace and acceptance with whatever turn my pregnancy may take (assuming, of course, that whatever turn it takes still results in a live, healthy baby and mama).

I have a lot more to write about my birth experience with SchmoopyBoy. My next post on this topic will delve more into the visceral experience of the birth itself and how it impacted bonding with my newborn as well as my headspace heading into this birth.

A Birth Story and Things Left Unsaid

In the course of preparing for this upcoming birth, I have come to the realization that I have some lingering trauma from my first birth. Lingering trauma that I realize I need to work through before this baby is born. I’ve known this for a while, but the meeting I had with my doula team last month spurred me into taking a more proactive approach. I reread the birth story I wrote about SchmoopyBaby’s birth in the first few weeks postpartum, and what struck me was everything I did not put into it. This birth story is nothing but the basic facts – this happened, and then that happened. There is nothing about my actual visceral experience - nothing about what I felt, or how it affected my ability to bond with my new child.

During the past several months, I found that I had been approaching this upcoming birth with fear and dread, rather than excitement and joy. Quite frankly, I am terrified of having another experience like my first. I have decided to use my blog as a forum to explore my first birth and postpartum experience. The reasons for this are two-fold. First, like with my miscarriages, I find the act of writing and sharing these stories to be therapeutic. Second, I’ve been carrying some shame and guilt associated with my first birth experience. I know that I am not the only woman to experience these feelings, and if another woman reads my words and feels comforted that she is not alone, then I have accomplished something greater than even my own healing.

Today, I am posting the original birth story that I wrote less than a month after SchmoopyBaby’s birth. The only edits I have made are removing names, for privacy. Over the next week or two I will write a follow up post that delves more into my internal experience and what I am doing to overcome the negativity it left behind.

Without further ado, here is SchmoopyBoy's original birth story.

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Well, it wasn’t exactly the birth we had envisioned and planned for, but as the saying goes, life is what happens while we’re making other plans. As you know, I had been diagnosed as high-risk early in the pregnancy due to hypertension. On Friday, May 23, I went to the perinatologist for my regular monitoring appointment and my blood pressure was high. They ordered some blood work to be done “stat” and about 4-5 hours later, literally just as I was getting into bed for the night, we got a call from the on-call doctor. The lab results were in and they were not good. My liver enzymes were elevated, as were my uric acid levels. The diagnosis – pre-eclampsia. The doctor’s order – come to the hospital that night to start the induction.

Unfortunately, it being the start of the holiday weekend, my regular doctor was out of town and couldn’t be reached. So the husband and I finished some last minute preparations and by 12:30am I was admitted. The on-call doctor agreed to insert the balloon behind my cervix that night to help get dilation moving faster (I was already at about 1.5cm), with the pitocin to start around 8-9am.

At 8:30am, my doula arrived, and at about 9am the pitocin started. They started it slow, and the contractions were tolerable. At about 4pm my bag of waters burst, and then things changed *a lot*. The balloon had never fallen out, so I thought I still was less than 4 cm dilated. With so much ahead of me, there was no way I was going to be able to tolerate the pain and asked for an epidural. Before they would administer it, they removed the balloon and checked my progress. I was at 8 cm! No wonder the pain was so bad – I was in transition!

I thought I didn’t have much longer, maybe 15 minutes or a half hour, so I passed on the epidural. Wishful thinking on my part, thus started the most agonizing 3 hours I have ever experienced. The pitocin contractions never let up, even when it was time to push. I was surprised, but relieved to see my regular doctor come in during the pushing. Apparently he made it back into town and hearing the news that delivery was imminent, he came to the hospital. Yay!

They were having a hard time getting the baby’s heart rate on the external monitor, so we agreed to a variation of the internal monitor that sticks to the baby’s head rather than screws into it. His heart rate dropped extremely low (50 beats/min) at each push, and he was too far down for a c-section, so the doctor initiated an emergency vacuum extraction, which necessitated an episiotomy due to the swelling caused by the quick exit. The cord was wrapped once around SchmoopyBaby’s neck, but that wasn’t really the problem. SchmoopyBaby had the cord in his hand, squeezed in a little death grip.

In all I think the hospital staff tried as best they could to follow our birth plan, even with the complications.

Little SchmoopyBaby was fine, and has been doing very well ever since. He was 19 inches long and just 6 lbs, so he is a little guy. He is feeding like a champ though, so hopefully we’ll see him grow soon enough.

3 Year Old Need - Not Less, Just Different

My 3-year old just graduated from the parent-toddler swimming class to the just plain toddler swimming class. Not because he can swim safely independently now - he can't quite yet - but because he no longer needs the security of a parent with him in the water. This last Tuesday was his first day trying out the new class. He loved it. He mouthed through the glass behind which parents sit and wait, "I'm swimming by myself!" He didn't want to leave when the class was over. He wanted more fun swimming in the pool with his new teacher.

It is somewhat bittersweet for me. I love seeing him grow more independent. He is so proud that he can do things by himself now, and I delight in his new and growing repertoire of accomplishments. At the same time... my baby doesn't need me anymore! sniff.

But then when we finally left and he dashed along the sidewalk towards the car, he tripped and went sliding face down, scraping his knees and elbows, and giving himself a round red bump on his forehead. He spent the next 10 minutes curled up in my lap crying, his hand up my shirt holding the mole on my side (his go-to-comfort place on my body since he weaned) and drinking a sippy of milk.

So maybe he still does need me for something.

It's not just the physical hurts that require 'mama love'. Bad dreams, hurt feelings at playschool, his upset if he wakes up late after I have left for work in the morning - such experiences all expose his need for physical and emotional connection with me.

It is one of my unexpected observations of parenting - that my child's need for me does not, in fact, grow less as he grows older and more physically independent. I had assumed that it would, but SchmoopyBoy's need for me still appears so great. While it is not less per se, it is qualitatively different. Whereas he needed me to do more for him in the past, he now seems to need me to be emotionally available for him more than ever. I have spoken with other mothers of toddlers and older children who have confirmed this experience with their own children.

Learning to parent at each new stage of development continues to surprise and challenge me. My every expectation gets turned upside down on its head. My independently swimming, self-dressing big boy who demands privacy when using the bathroom is still in many ways my schmoopybaby.

Gratitude Post - 7/3/11

Inspired by Amanda at Lets Take the Metro, I am posting 5 things for which I am grateful each week. Here are this week's top 5:


1. SchmoopyBoy's strong will - Although it pains me to experience it as a toddler, his strong will and persistence will serve him well as he grows into adulthood. This is a person who knows what he wants, and these qualities will help him succeed at his goals.

2. Three-day holidays - In honor of the July 4th Independence Day holiday, I get an extra day to spend with my family this weekend! Hopefully I won't need a weekend to recover from my long weekend. ;)

3. Quaint restaurants near my office that serve breakfast all day - Usually I bring my lunch to work, but on Friday I was running late and didn't have time to throw together much other than a few snacks, like fruit and yogurt. So, I went to a charming restaurant in a local hotel that I didn't even know existed with some co-workers. Turns out they serve breakfast all day. Omelet and bagel for lunch? And I can get a side salad from the lunch menu to go with it? I just hit the lunch menu jackpot! nom nom nom

4. Phone calls from old friends - I don't have much of a social community in my adopted town, so it is particularly meaningful for me to keep in touch with my old friends. This week I got a surprise call from an old friend that I haven't spoken with for about a month. It was great to hear from her.

5. Trip to the hair salon - I am really bad about taking time for myself for things like getting a hair cut. It has literally been since January that I got a hair cut, and it really showed. I treated myself to a Groupon for a hair cut and style at a fancy salon, which I took advantage of yesterday. I spent 2 hours being primped like a movie star, and when I got home my husband and child hardly recognized me! SchmoopyBoy told me my hair looked so shiny, and after requesting that I put a flower clip in my hair, told me I looked "like a princess".


I am going out of town next week to visit family in California, so I will likely miss out on next week's gratitude post. See you when I get back!

Gratitude Post - 6/27/11

I discovered the weekly gratitude post by Amanda at Let’s Take the Metro through Zoie at TouchstoneZ, who also posted about five things she is grateful for. What great inspiration! How could I not participate?! So, without further delay, here is my list of 5 things for which I am grateful this week.

1. Communication with SchmoopyBoy – I’ve been struggling a bit with some of SchmoopyBoy’s behavior lately. He knows how to press my buttons to get my attention. I’ve been trying to work with him on this, explaining how, when he wants more attention from me, I want him to use words and tell me “Mommy, I want more attention now.” Sometimes, I have felt like talking with my 3 year old is like talking to a brick wall. This last Saturday morning we were playing amidst a sea of giant foam letters and numbers. He wanted to find some toy or another and I suggested that we put away the letters in case the toy was under them, it would be easier to find it. I started collecting the letters to put them in their proper bag, and soon got distracted with clean-up work. SchmoopyBoy was much more interested in continuing playtime than getting involved in clean-up, and lo and behold, he exclaimed “Mommy, I need attention now!” No throwing. No hitting. Just an exclamation of his needs at that moment. I felt so gratified, of course I immediately dropped what I was doing and tackled my schmoopyboy into a fit of giggling glee. The entire day did not go quite as smoothly as that morning went, but I made a point that night at bedtime to focus on the positive and told him how much I liked it when he communicated his need for attention to me that morning using words, because it makes it so much easier for me to meet his needs when I he tells me clearly what he wants.

2. Our local CSA Farm – I know I gush about it periodically, but really it is making a difference in how we eat. The diversity of fresh vegetables forces me to be more creative in the kitchen (I keep meaning to share some of my recipe experiment successes). The quality can’t be beat, and I love being more connected with my food – knowing who grows it and how it is grown. On a related note…

3. Home-grown tomatoes – So cliché, I almost couldn’t stand to write it, but Oh good heavens the difference in flavor! Seriously, I never want to eat another store-bought tomato again. Between the little tomato plant that we are raising at home and the tomatoes from the farm, I’m hoping I won’t need to subject myself to those flavorless store-tomatoes for quite some time. nom nom nom.

4. The blogging community! – I get so much inspiration from the blogosphere. As I mentioned in my opening, this very post is inspired by bloggers Amanda and Zoie! It is uncanny how frequently I discover a series of posts that is exactly what I need to read during a particular time. (Sneak preview, I have another post in progress that is inspired by the posts these ladies wrote for the Mindful Mama Carnival. I have been conscious that I’ve been struggling with mindfulness for quite some time. Several of the posts I read during the carnival have inspired me to be more proactive in my journey. I’m hoping to have my thoughts put into place by the end of this week!)

5. Parent-toddler swimming lessons – At 27 weeks pregnant, my lower back and hips are giving me all kinds of ouchie reminders that I’ll be birthing a baby soon. I take SchmoopyBoy to a parent-toddler swim class every Sunday morning. Classes are a half hour of fun time for SchmoopyBoy, in which he is learning critical life-saving water skills, and a half hour of water pressure induced physical relief for me. I SO need to get into a pool more often!

Here we go again

I haven't been posting much besides fluff for the past several weeks because, truth be told, I haven't been in a very good head space lately and I haven't been wanting to write about it. Between pregnancy hormones making me increasingly.... shall I say, emotionally unstable, being chronically tired and sleep deprived, and the intolerable three-ness of SchmoopyBoy's behavior lately, I've been having a lot of not so great days. (Don't know what I'm talking about by intolerable three-ness? Check out the warnings left by Liz of Mom-101, then again by Annie of PhD in Parenting, and then again fairly recently by Dionna of Code Name: Mama. Intolerable three-ness, yes we are there. There's a whole post coming just on that alone, I'm sure.)

But again, I digress. What I am getting around to writing about in a very meandering and procrastinating way is the risk status of my current pregnancy and why this is turning out to be yet another not-so-great day, in which I indulge in all kinds of whining, venting and self indulgent miserating.

So yesterday we went to interview a prospective doula. My previous doula team was completely awesome and fantastic and I would totally be all over hiring either one of them again. One is now a practicing midwife, and the other is pursuing her D.O. in plans of opening a birthing center in this city. Fantastic for them, unfortunate for me. But, there are other talented doulas in the sea and I'm in the process of finding the right person for this time around. Anyway, we were talking to this doula yesterday, who is also currently in training to be a midwife. I told her about my history with PIH and pre-eclampsia and how SchmoopyBoy's birth was induced at 39 weeks because my liver started malfunctioning. She asked me how this pregnancy was going and asked if I was interested in having her check my blood pressure. I agreed, expecting it to be fine, the way its been throughout this pregnancy so far. Well, wouldn't you know it, lo and behold it was high. Like, not good high. I thought maybe I'm just a little anxious, meeting a new prospective doula, being in a overall general funk, a little stressed about this, that and another thing.

This morning I had my appointment with my OB. My blood pressure was high again. The nurse took it once, and the doctor took it himself two more times just to make sure. It was high. So now I'm back on blood pressure medication and I've been instructed to monitor my blood pressure 3 times a day and keep a log. I'm also to go back to the doctor's office in a week to see if the medication is helping, and, I'm to go directly to the Labor and Delivery section of the hospital for treatment instead of the ER if I get any severe headaches, see black spots, or start to feel really bad. (Not for delivery at 24 weeks, thank goodness, but for treatment because I'll get it immediately instead of waiting in an ER waiting room for hours and they'll know exactly what treatment to administer and be able to contact my OB immediately.)

Needless to say, I'm not happy about this development.

Sheesh, what the heck do I have to do to have one healthy, normal pregnancy that concludes with a natural labor birthing a healthy baby?!

I was really, really hoping for a natural labor this time around. I so want to experience a completely non-medicated birth. Getting induced really sucked. I got through it without any pain medication, and good heavens, it sucked so hard I won't even get into it here. Maybe another time, but not now. I still am hoping for a natural labor, but given this new development, I feel deflated and defeated. This is my fifth and last pregnancy, hopefully to conclude with my second and last child. I am done after this and I just wanted so much to have a single "normal, healthy" pregnancy. How disappointing. I am incredibly grateful to have one fabulous healthy child, and will be even more grateful if this pregnancy ends with another healthy child. I'm just disappointed I can't seem to be able to enjoy the process more.

The Julie Project - musings on infertility, humanity, love and perfection

I discovered the Julie Project early this week from Blue Milk, and it's been haunting me ever since, so I thought I should take some time to put some of my thoughts onto paper, if nothing else then to at least help purge my mind from all the levels of disturbing that have been tossing around.

The Julie Project is a documentary photo essay created by Darcy Padilla, winner of the W. Eugene Smith Grant for Humanistic Photography, which tracks the life of Julie Baird over almost two decades. It is the story of brutal, inescapable poverty, surviving childhood sexual abuse, drug addiction, AIDS, motherhood, and loss. Blue Milk's description of the series as "utterly compelling but completely devastating" is right on target.

There have been a couple of persistent themes running my head. On one hand, I was interested in perspectives of the story through the eyes of women in the ALi (adoption, loss, infertility) community, and how socio-economic privilege might frame one's perceptive of the story. I was also interested in examining what this story can teach us about humanity, perfection (or lack thereof), and love.

First I want to think about some (but certainly not all) perspectives that might be considered in the context of the ALi community. The pain of a woman struggling with infertility can be overwhelming. The anguish can lead to some women questioning the universe. I once read on a woman's blog - such and such woman doesn't even intend to try breastfeeding and is already talking about the daycare she is going to put her child in, why is she pregnant and I am not (implying that she clearly thinks she would be a superior - breastfeeding, stay-at-home - mother and is therefore more deserving of getting pregnant). I have read numerous accounts of people crying about the unfairness that women who lack one (perceivably desirable) quality or possess another (perceivably undesirable) quality have children so easily, when they, who do not possess said undesirable quality or do possess said desirable quality cannot easily bear a biological child. What, I wonder, would these women say about a sometimes homeless drug addict birthing six children, five of which were taken by the state and given for adoption.

But it is so easy to reduce someone to "a sometimes homeless drug addict". By reducing Julie as such, she is dehumanized, and if the Julie Project does nothing else, it forces us to see her humanity. And let us discuss for a moment, this concept of fairness. Is it fair that Julie was born to an alcoholic mother? Is it fair that she was raped repeatedly as a child by her stepfather? Is it fair that by the age of 14, a life as a runaway on the streets was preferable to life at home? When one has the privilege of being what society generally considers to be the "right" kind of woman to be a mother, it is so easy to point fingers at the "wrong" type of woman. These types of judgements are by no means limited to women struggling with fertility. Certainly these types of judgements are used constantly by policy makers, with the implicit approval of their constituencies, to justify such actions as the elimination of a variety of social programs that target marginalized groups for being the "wrong" type of woman.

Back to an ALi perspective, I now want to consider those who have been on the opposite end of the same line as Julie. I am speaking of those who have become mothers via adoption through a foster-to-adopt program. Many of these women are all too aware that they have gained their parenthood only though someone else's loss. Their children may or may not still bear the physical or emotional scars of the circumstances of their births.

It is interesting to consider Julie's children and their adoptive parents. The mother of Julie's fifth child, Jason Jr./Zach, contacted Julie and openly and explicitly tried to include her in her son's life. This child had been taken away from Julie at birth - she had never seen him. Nonetheless, Zach's mother taught him that his birth mother was special. Julie had given him life and for that he should feel love and gratitude towards her, despite her inability to care for him.

I found it fascinating that, upon receiving the initial letter of contact, Julie's response was "I didn't expect this, I expected it was Rachael," Julie's firstborn, who had been with her the longest of any of her children. Rachael had spent the first several years of her life with her birth mother in excruciating poverty, moving from home to flea-infested home, surrounded by drug abuse. She was present, although sleeping, when her 15 month old brother was beaten so badly by Julie's current partner (Julie was at the hospital at the time) both children were taken by the police, placed into foster care and later adopted. Julie thought Rachael would want to contact her. I wonder if Rachael would have any interest. What might Rachael feel towards Julie? Resentment and hatred? Love and longing? Who knows if she would ever want to revisit her difficult beginnings? Would she ever want to look backwards to where she came from, or would she be happy to leave any dark memories of deprivation and loss behind and look only to the future, more bright than any Julie could provide?

This thought, in my mind, brings me back in full circle to Julie's essential humanity. I am reminded of a particularly powerful sermon I once heard. The theme - perfection and love. You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to be perfect in order to love others. You don't have to be perfect in order to be loved by others. I think of the people who loved Julie. The biological father in Alaska - who never forgot her - who tattooed her name on his arm when Julie's 17-year old mother took her and ran off to San Francisco - who spent the next 31 years searching for her. Jack, the man who gave her AIDS and fathered her first child - who gladly took her back after she first left him when their child was a few months old to get away from his drug use - who embraced her second child as he did his own biological child - who, after she left him again for the man who beat her child and caused both children to be taken into custody, when dying of AIDS in a public hospice, had a last wish only that Julie, the love of his life, be by his side. Jason, the father of her last four children - who stood by her side when three of those children were taken away at birth - who stood by her side all the way up to Alaska so that Julie could be reunited with her father - who nursed her day and night when she lay dying of AIDS. Julie may not have been perfect. But she was undeniably human. And you don't need to be perfect to be loved.

One last thing I want to talk about is Julie's motherhood - the transformative potential motherhood had on her. When Darcy first met and started photographing Julie, she and Jack both said "Rachael has given us a reason to live". In fact, this is why Julie first left Jack within a year of Rachael's birth. He was abusive and did not want to stop using drugs. She was trying to stay clean because she did not want to lose this baby. The story starts with hope and optimism. Would this 19 year old young woman be able to transform her life? Could she overcome her own past, filled with addiction and abuse in her own upbringing to become the mother she wanted to be? Could she escape her own drug abuse, homelessness, and poverty? On her own with no education, no family, no resources, neither boots nor bootstraps, the poverty proved to be unrelenting and inescapable.

This is one of the tragedies of Julie's story, and a tragedy of our society.

Darcy Padilla said, when asked why she took on this project:

"I guess what motivated me was this question that I kept thinking about all those years: How does a child born into this world like every other child, get to be Julie Baird?... Julie was witty and smart, and she might have grown up to be a teacher. But her mother was an alcoholic and her stepfather abused her, and she ended up on the streets at age 14."

So when I hear about how House Republicans are trying to cut down on violence prevention by defunding programs such as the Violence Against Women Health Initiative (which funds ongoing work to improve health care providers' response to domestic and sexual violence), the Family Violence Prevention and Services Act (which funds domestic violence shelters and the National Hotline), and the Engaging Men and Youth in Prevention Program (which works to tap into the critical role men can play in helping youth develop respectful attitudes and behaviors towards women and girls), I have to agree with Blue Milk's final statement that every policy maker should view the Julie Project.

House GOP Supports Child Abuse World-wide

I think I tasted vomit in the back of my throat when I read this story earlier this week. Which, combined with my lingering sore throat and cough from two weeks of flu, made me a little bit grumpy.

Here’s the story in a nutshell. On December 1, a bill passed the Senate with zero objections. Bipartisan support for a no-brainer bill that “directs the president to make preventing child marriage a priority, especially in countries where more than 40 percent of girls under the age of 18 are married. The ways to do that, according to the bill: support educating communities on the dangers and health effects of child marriage, keep young girls in school, support female mentoring programs and make sure girls have access to health care services.” Just before the vote in the House, Republican leadership sent out a “whip alert” telling House Republicans to vote no because the health care services provision might lead to funding NGOs that provide abortion services. So, the bill was killed. Even some congressmen who sponsored the bill voted no.

It truly makes my head want to explode. Are GOP lawmakers in a contest to see which house of Congress has the biggest douchebags? Hmm, last week Republican Senators filibustered a bill that would provide compensation for first responders to 9/11. Wow, that’s amazingly douchebaggy, how can we beat that? I know! Let’s kill a bill that promotes basic human rights and opposes legalized child rape! You just can’t beat that level of douchbaggery!

How is it that every Senate Republican supported the bill? Have pro-life Republican lawmakers abandoned their base constituency? NO! Want to know the reason why? This bill has absolutely nothing to do with abortion and does not even mention abortion, contraception, or family planning in any way whatsoever.

Consider the following. A commenter said it so succinctly, I cannot improve upon it, so I’ll just quote here:

The part that gets me is this: "Even some congressmen who sponsored the bill voted no." They voted no. Which means that legislation they found worthy enough to put their name on didn't get their vote because a party member with higher rank told them to vote no. If this isn't partisan politics at its worst, then what is? Forget the horrendous subject matter of the bill (tough to do, I know, when they basically voted to keep little girls up front in the meat market), consider this: if we are electing individuals whose votes are determined not by our wishes but by the direction of their party leaders, then whose side are our representatives on?

Also consider this, the United States is a member of the United Nations, which has taken the position that child marriage is a violation of human rights. As a member nation of the United Nations, we are obligated to support human rights.

Yes, even human rights of children.

Yes, even human rights of girl children.

Yes, even human rights of girl children in developing countries.

The United Nations Report on Child Marriage states that child marriage:

represents perhaps the most prevalent form of sexual abuse and exploitation of girls. The harmful consequences include separation from family and friends, lack of freedom to interact with peers and participate in community activities, and decreased opportunities for education. Child marriage can also result in bonded labor or enslavement, commercial sexual exploitation and violence against the victims. Because they cannot abstain from sex or insist on condom use, child brides are often exposed to such serious health risks as premature pregnancy, sexually transmitted infections and, increasingly, HIV/AIDS.

And just in case you are wondering what’s the harm in adolescent pregnancy, adolescent girls (defined as ages 10-19) are two to five times more likely to die during pregnancy or childbirth as women in their twenties (source). In other words, it’s a major health risk that perhaps might be mitigated somewhat by proper prenatal healthcare that could have been funded by the bill House Republicans killed for no valid reason.

You can see the list of Representatives that voted against the bill at this link. If your Representative voted No, I encourage you to write a letter or email, or make a phone call to let him/her know how disgusted you are.

You know what I need?

I need a way to cope that doesn’t involve poisoning my body with junk food (seriously not productive – this is the only body I’ve got, and I need it to be in good condition if I want it to be a place where a developing baby can thrive)

or lying in bed when I should be sleeping, imagining myself screaming angry obscenities at insensitive jackasses.

Happiness and Parenting

When I read the New York Magazine article All Joy and No Fun – Why Parents Hate Parenting, I really meant to write something about it. The article sites research that concludes that, although most people assume that having children will make them happier, in fact parents are not happier than their childless peers, and in many cases are less so.

I noted with little irony that, on the day I read the article, later that evening John and I got into a long draining argument on… parenting, and how to address an issue that has arisen with SchmoopyBoy’s behavior. This was the exact kind of episode that was cited as one factor contributing to parental unhappiness (see page 4 of the online article).

Anyway, as usual, I never found time to write anything coherent about the article. (Too busy with work and parenting, not having enough time to myself - more cited factors contributing to parental unhappiness. No irony there.)

Fortunately, Annie at PhD in Parenting has once again hit the nail on the head with her article Grin and bear it? Parenting, happiness, and the pressure cooker. So, I can just refer you to her article, which I definitely recommend you read in full. She writes:

Before I had children, I was happy. I was in a great relationship. I had great friends. I was involved in enjoyable activities. I went on great vacations. I had a rewarding (but sometimes stressful) job. When we decided to have children, it was because we wanted to and it felt like the time was right. We did it because we had a desire to be parents, not because we were unhappy or trying to fill a void in our lives. I think that people who have children as a “solution” to their own unhappiness are likely to be sorely disappointed.

Ah, yes, children as void fillers. Parenthood as a solution to unhappiness. Who doesn’t know someone who has expressed the idea that “If I only could get X, then I would be happy”, “If I only achieved Y then I would be happy”. If I lost 20 pounds... if I had a boyfriend… if I had a new car… if I won the lottery… if I had a child… then I would be happy.

I myself am guilty. Not with parenting per se, but certainly with other things. I insisted we get a dog because I was unsatisfied with my social community and thought it would be an outlet that would contribute to my happiness – I may not have had the human companionship I craved, but canine companionship I thought would fill the void. Of course I was wrong.

Like Annie, before I had children I was reasonably happy. I was in a great relationship. I had a rewarding job. I had financial security. I had dear friends that I love, even if they did live in another state. When we decided to have children, we also did so because we wanted to and felt the time was right. I will fully admit that I went into parenthood with an unbelievable amount of naivety, and with totally unrealistic expectations of what new motherhood would be like, and for that I suffered. Nonetheless, I don’t believe I ever went into motherhood thinking that I would necessarily be more happy. I knew I would be making sacrifices on my personal freedom, but I was ready to make those sacrifices. I was ready to be less self-centered and live for someone other than myself. I knew there would be a loss of day-to-day pleasure, and I was ok with that.

Annie continues:

I am a complex person. There isn’t one person or a group of people that are responsible for my happiness (or my unhappiness). I think that is a lot of responsibility and also pressure to place on the shoulders of someone else. I am responsible for my happiness and I am responsible for telling others that impact my happiness what I need. I don’t think that having children makes you happy and I don’t think that not having children makes you happy. Children, certainly, can contribute to or take away from the things that make you happy. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that most children will do both, regularly…

to which I say AMEN and HALLELUJAH. Yes, I am responsible for my own happiness. I tend to believe that happiness is a quality that we generate within ourselves, rather than something created by "things" external to ourselves. I tend to think it comes first and foremost from (1) self acceptance and liking who we are despite our imperfections, and (2) meeting our basic needs.

I think that a lot of people confuse pleasure with happiness. However, I can think of plenty of things that I have found pleasurable but did not contribute to my happiness, rather quite the contrary (sex and drugs and rock and roll, anyone?). I can also think of a number of things that I do not necessarily find pleasurable that do contribute to my overall sense of happiness (I would not always describe my job as pleasurable per se, but I enjoy it because it is challenging and rewarding and being good at something I care about contributes to my sense of self esteem and self worth).

In my experience, parenting has been both pleasurable and not so pleasurable. I have only been a parent for 2 years, but my limited experience so far has been rewarding and I do not regret becoming a parent in any way whatsoever. I will say that I am glad I waited until my mid-thirties to become a mother, because I don’t know that my previous statement would hold if I had jumped into motherhood before I was mentally and emotionally ready. I will also say that being a WOHM (work outside of the house mom) has been critical for my happiness. I believe I am a better mother because I work outside of the home, but getting into why that is the case is an extensive topic for another post.

So in conclusion, I think it is important that we take responsibility for our own happiness. If there is a lack of happiness, we should look inward to figure out why – what is the NEED that is lacking? Is it social community and support? Is it physical and financial security? Is it dealing with a long past hurt that has never been properly addressed, perhaps due to an injustice, betrayal, or act of violence? If we can realize what our needs are that are being unmet, and take steps to meet them, I think we can improve our happiness and overall quality of life, whether with or without children.

Early Intervention

Earlier this week SchmoopyBaby had his evaluation with Nevada Early Intervention. He had been referred by his pediatrician back in March because he wasn't talking yet. Since then he has gone through a bit of a verbal spurt of sorts - something like 3 new words a day over the past week alone. Nonetheless we wanted to follow through to see if he qualified for services. In order to qualify for NEI services, the child needs to be 50% delayed in one area or 25% delayed in two or more areas.

He was rated at having a 25% delay in language. No surprise there. In all other areas he is on track. No surprise there either.

So here's the good news - with only a 25% delay in language, he does not qualify for services.

So here's the bad news - my son has a 25% delay in language and does not qualify for services.

Why that's not really so bad - the specialists we spoke with told us that frequently young children focus on one major developmental area, and once they master that area, then they move on the next area. SchmoopyBoy has really been focusing on motor skills, and is actually quite advanced in that area. Now that he has mastered his motor skills, he seems to be transitioning on to language skills - as evidenced by the current word explosion. They gave us a few tips, and we will be receiving a full report with suggestions and next steps sometime soon.

In summary, I am completely confident that he will catch up in language skills soon enough. (And probably too soon, I'll long for the days that he didn't talk so much! ;)

Oh where, oh where has my confidence gone? Oh where, oh where can it be?

I went to a meeting with some very big wigs yesterday. Very Big Wigs. And I spoke. Out loud. Once. To clarify some background information that was important for the Very Big Wig to understand. And as I was speaking, I know my face went red because I could feel myself getting hotter and hotter, like my face was about to burst into flames.

Why?!?!

Why should I be so intimidated by a bunch of Fancy Titles? I am a technical expert in my field. That's why I was invited to this meeting to begin with. I should be able to confidently speak to my expertise, regardless of my audience.

Is it just my social anxiety? My general discomfort with public speaking? Do I genuinely lack confidence? Am I so easily intimidated by rank and title?

I don't really have time to explore in depth the inner workings of my brain right now. But I need to make a mental note to revisit this incident and figure out what's going on inside my noggin so I can get over whatever causes me to turn into a bumbling tomato whenever I open my mouth at an important meeting.

Of Depression and Appreciation

Yesterday I felt it creeping up on me. The desire to sit and stare at my computer, immobile and nonfunctioning… for hours. The spontaneous episodes of tears coming out of my eyes. Depression. I don’t want to indulge it. But I lack energy or motivation to fight it either. This is not the first episode in my life, and no doubt it will not be the last. I know it is situational. I know it will pass. I know there are perfectly good reasons for it this time around.

Nonetheless, I really don’t have time to succumb to it right now. I don’t have the time to be unmotivated. I have to move in a few weeks. I still don’t know exactly where I’m moving , but I do know that I am moving. Preparations need to be made. Boxes assembled. Six years of accumulated crap packed away. My child needs security, consistency, comfort. His world is about to be turned upside down. His parents are stressed out. He knows this but doesn’t know why, and it is affecting him – his body and his behavior all show that our stress is affecting him.

This is not ok.

I need to snap out of it.

So, number one – I started out with a list of things I appreciate. All the good, the blessings, the joys. Things I have that I can feel grateful for, to remind myself how full my life is and how fortunate I am. This worked. Between writing out all the things I appreciate, plus a bit of a good talk and cry last night with John, I am feeling much more functional today. So here’s my “happy” list:

1. John – He loves me and wants to make me happy. He didn’t want to sell the house. He was perfectly happy to stay here forever, but he knows I wanted to move so he agreed because he wanted to make me happy, despite the stressful mess I feel like I’ve plunged us into.

2. Schmoopybaby –He is such a delight. He is talking now, it seems like every day he tries out at least one new word. Every time he says “Bye bye Mama” and blows me a kiss as I leave for work I have a smile on my face for a long time. He is so cute and affectionate, my heart could just explode.

3. My job – I really like my job. The work is really interesting and rewarding, and I work with a great group of guys (the only other woman is on detail in another department until her retirement in 2 months). I love the security and stability of my job, and the flexibility and family-friendly culture.

4. Health – At this time, I have no health complaints to speak of. My vitamin D deficiency is taken care of by supplementing with a daily vitamin. I am currently off all pharmaceuticals and have been since I gave birth (I was almost going to say since before I was pregnant, but I forgot about that little stint with PIH necessitating blood pressure medication throughout my pregnancy. whoops, how could I have almost forgotten that!?)

5. Family – My family is a little bit smaller than it was less than a month ago, but what we lack in quantity, we more than make up for in quality. I don’t always see eye to eye with my mother and sister (ok, almost never) but they are mine and I love them. They love me and have always been there for me and would do anything they could to help me if I needed it.

6. Financial Stability – As I mentioned above, my job is very stable and secure. We have a good quality of life, always enough to cover our bills plus eating out or getting takeout about twice a week. We are thrifty and are able to save, so we can afford to splurge on a ‘big’ purchase every now and then (typically electronics equipment, which John is a junkie for). We are moving by our own choice, we are not being forced out of our home like so many other less fortunate people in my city.

7. Opportunity – It is easy to fall into the trap of feeling like I am going from a stable, secure environment of owning a house to an unstable, insecure environment. House prices may go up, interest rates could go up - we may not be able to afford the house we want in 6 months. But this is also an opportunity. Now that we will not be encumbered by a mortgage, we could go anywhere! We could look for jobs in California and go back there, near my family and most of my close friends. We could go to the mountains of Colorado, to the east coast, to Canada, anywhere. Rather than getting overwhelmed with stress, why not choose to be overwhelmed with excitement?

That last point is particularly challenging for me, given my natural temperament. I crave stability, security, consistency, predictability. I live a boring 9-5 style life and that’s the way I like it. I don’t do drama. I don’t take big risks. I don’t like roller coasters or horror movies. I may live in the gambling capital of the country but I don’t gamble. I may very well be the most boring person on the planet and you know what? I’m ok with that.

But there I go digressing again. My point was to share something that helped get me out of a depressive funk. The next time one of you, my dear readers, get in a funk, perhaps you can remember this exercise. Hopefully it will help you too. Make a list of all the things you appreciate in life – choose to focus on the positive, what you have rather than what you have not. It actually works sometimes.