Until then, I have this picture to keep my spirits up :)
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
T-Minus 48 Hours Until Vacation!
The past several weeks have been so incredibly stressful... But 48 hours from now we will be on the road headed south for a week of vacation, just our little family. I am so excited. And I need this break so much. I just need to get through these next 48 hours...
Until then, I have this picture to keep my spirits up :)
Until then, I have this picture to keep my spirits up :)
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Happy Mother's Day
Two year's ago on Mother's Day, we announced to our parents that I was pregnant. It was not the carefully-planned, cleverly-executed, overly-joyful announcement I had once dreamed of doing. In fact, I was terrified and wanted nothing more than to keep it a secret. Unfortunately, all of our parents had been involved, in one way or another, with helping us through IVF, and all were anxiously awaiting the outcome of our fresh-cycle transfer. My first positive beta had been the Monday before. After results of my second beta confirmed that we were headed in the right direction, I waited one more day (and took an additional at-home pee-stick test) before putting the "Happy Mother's Day Nana" card in the mail to my mom. We told my in-laws at dinner that Sunday. I was 4 weeks along and scared out of my mind that it wouldn't last.
Last year I celebrated my first Mother's Day as an actual mom. It was a surreal experience, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling of guilt. Somehow it just didn't feel quite right to suddenly be "celebrating" a day that I'd spent so many years dreading. Not when I knew the truth about the pain of infertility.
This year was no different. I felt awkward and kind of silly. My husband was on shift and my own mom lives several states away. There was no big family dinner. There were no flowers (we've had such a stressful few weeks that I honestly think Paul forgot until it was too late), but I did find cards waiting for me by the coffee-maker this morning. Nathan was shooting green snot everywhere and headed for a massive mid-morning meltdown, so I opted to skip church (kind of a relief - I'm not a fan of Mother's Day sermons, in general) and I put away clean clothes and dishes while he napped. We went to a nearby children's museum/park with my MIL for the afternoon. She bought the Subway sandwiches that we took for our picnic and I paid for our tickets into the park. The ticket agent gave us each a pink carnation. We ate in the park and then spent a couple of hours chasing Nathan around. It was a nice day and there was lots for him to see and do (carousel and pony rides, a train, petting zoo, slides, etc). I enjoyed spending the day with my son, and I was happy to share it in part with my MIL. But it could have been any other day as far as I was concerned. I struggled to feel the "spirit" of Mother's Day.
This evening I was reflecting on why that was. I read back over a text conversation I had this morning with my good friend AJ, and I realized she had hit the nail on the head. Once you've experienced the pain of Mother's Day (for whatever reason), you can never forget. Mother's Day can be difficult for a variety of reasons, but having experienced your own difficulty with it, you become acutely aware of all the other reasons people may be struggling on that day. As I scrolled through my FB newsfeed, I mentally checked off the names of people I knew who might be struggling. Some I saw still posted something generic or even upbeat - but reading between the lines I could practically feel the pain. Others who are frequent post-ers were mysteriously absent from the FB world today. I wanted to write something, and I wondered how to say what I felt in my heart.
In the end, here is what I wrote as my Mother's Day FB message to the world:
Within seconds of my post, the little red notifications flag lit up. Some of the "likes" were from people I expected. What got to me were the ones from long-lost friends and vague acquaintances who I barely know in real life - people who don't normally respond to anything that I post, but who were clearly affected by what I wrote tonight. My cell phone chirped - a text from a co-worker who is struggling to raise her daughter in a city that is miles away from any family and who is barely on speaking terms with her own mom. She thanked me for my post, said it was a reminder she needed today. Several "likes" from people I either know or suspect have been through infertility struggles, many of whom suffered miscarriages. More "likes" from friends whose mothers are in heaven. Even a couple from friends whose children are now in heaven. A private message from someone I went to high school with who just wanted to thank me for thinking about the "other" mothers out there on a day that really sucks for them (I suspect she is in the throes of IF and may have even miscarried). Comments and more "likes" from people I know who have broken or even non-existent relationships with their mothers.
I honestly didn't expect such a response. I thought perhaps my post might reach a couple of people - close friends with whom I've had these conversations in real life. But as the tears rolled down my cheeks and the notifications rolled in, I realized just how many people may have needed this reassurance today. I don't know most of who reads my blog and I don't necessarily write to reach an audience, but if you're reading this and you are one of those for whom Mother's Day sucks, I hope this message helps you even a tiny bit.
Last year I celebrated my first Mother's Day as an actual mom. It was a surreal experience, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling of guilt. Somehow it just didn't feel quite right to suddenly be "celebrating" a day that I'd spent so many years dreading. Not when I knew the truth about the pain of infertility.
This year was no different. I felt awkward and kind of silly. My husband was on shift and my own mom lives several states away. There was no big family dinner. There were no flowers (we've had such a stressful few weeks that I honestly think Paul forgot until it was too late), but I did find cards waiting for me by the coffee-maker this morning. Nathan was shooting green snot everywhere and headed for a massive mid-morning meltdown, so I opted to skip church (kind of a relief - I'm not a fan of Mother's Day sermons, in general) and I put away clean clothes and dishes while he napped. We went to a nearby children's museum/park with my MIL for the afternoon. She bought the Subway sandwiches that we took for our picnic and I paid for our tickets into the park. The ticket agent gave us each a pink carnation. We ate in the park and then spent a couple of hours chasing Nathan around. It was a nice day and there was lots for him to see and do (carousel and pony rides, a train, petting zoo, slides, etc). I enjoyed spending the day with my son, and I was happy to share it in part with my MIL. But it could have been any other day as far as I was concerned. I struggled to feel the "spirit" of Mother's Day.
This evening I was reflecting on why that was. I read back over a text conversation I had this morning with my good friend AJ, and I realized she had hit the nail on the head. Once you've experienced the pain of Mother's Day (for whatever reason), you can never forget. Mother's Day can be difficult for a variety of reasons, but having experienced your own difficulty with it, you become acutely aware of all the other reasons people may be struggling on that day. As I scrolled through my FB newsfeed, I mentally checked off the names of people I knew who might be struggling. Some I saw still posted something generic or even upbeat - but reading between the lines I could practically feel the pain. Others who are frequent post-ers were mysteriously absent from the FB world today. I wanted to write something, and I wondered how to say what I felt in my heart.
In the end, here is what I wrote as my Mother's Day FB message to the world:
"Mother's
Day will always be a bit of a mixed bag for me. While I've been blessed
to know several amazing mothers in my life (including my own!), there
was a time when I dreaded this day and the reminder it brought that I
wasn't part of the "club" that I so badly wanted to join. As a good
friend recently articulated, it's hard not to think about those who
aren't moms (and want to be), those who have lost children, those whose
moms are gone or are not well, and those who are estranged from their
moms. To anyone for whom today was painful, I'm sorry. Please know that
you aren't alone, and I hope and pray that time and/or circumstances
bring you peace."
Within seconds of my post, the little red notifications flag lit up. Some of the "likes" were from people I expected. What got to me were the ones from long-lost friends and vague acquaintances who I barely know in real life - people who don't normally respond to anything that I post, but who were clearly affected by what I wrote tonight. My cell phone chirped - a text from a co-worker who is struggling to raise her daughter in a city that is miles away from any family and who is barely on speaking terms with her own mom. She thanked me for my post, said it was a reminder she needed today. Several "likes" from people I either know or suspect have been through infertility struggles, many of whom suffered miscarriages. More "likes" from friends whose mothers are in heaven. Even a couple from friends whose children are now in heaven. A private message from someone I went to high school with who just wanted to thank me for thinking about the "other" mothers out there on a day that really sucks for them (I suspect she is in the throes of IF and may have even miscarried). Comments and more "likes" from people I know who have broken or even non-existent relationships with their mothers.
I honestly didn't expect such a response. I thought perhaps my post might reach a couple of people - close friends with whom I've had these conversations in real life. But as the tears rolled down my cheeks and the notifications rolled in, I realized just how many people may have needed this reassurance today. I don't know most of who reads my blog and I don't necessarily write to reach an audience, but if you're reading this and you are one of those for whom Mother's Day sucks, I hope this message helps you even a tiny bit.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Overwhelmed
In the past couple of months I have:
I know this too shall pass. I know this is not a permanent state of affairs. I know I really don't have any right to complain when there are so many people dealing with so much more.
But right now, I just needed to vent. And acknowledge all that is going on. And understand why it is that I'm tossing and turning at night, unable to sleep, my mind racing in a thousand directions.
That is all. For now.
- Dealt with family drama in the face of the very real possibility that my Grandma might not be around much longer.
- Transitioned into a new exciting-but-stressful job (same office, same boss, new salary, and a whole new set of expectations and responsibilities).
- Begun the early stages of some major house renovations that we hope to complete over the summer (and run into several hurdles already).
- Barely seen my husband who is in the midst of back-to-back-to-back continuing education classes on top of his full-time job.
- Struggled to keep up with chores and routine stuff around the house.
- Struggled to feel like a good mom when I'm stressed and running around like a chicken with my head cut off.
- Become increasingly frustrated with my MIL and her behavior (this deserves an entirely separate post).
I know this too shall pass. I know this is not a permanent state of affairs. I know I really don't have any right to complain when there are so many people dealing with so much more.
But right now, I just needed to vent. And acknowledge all that is going on. And understand why it is that I'm tossing and turning at night, unable to sleep, my mind racing in a thousand directions.
That is all. For now.
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