It's an odd question with a fourteen-month-old toddler attached to my hip, but it's a question I actually asked a handful of fellow mamas a few weeks ago after this conversation with a friend:
Me - (responding to sexist comments a mutual friend was sharing) Well, only women can give birth.
Her - Not all women can give birth. Some women have to have a C-section.
Me - (confused) I had a C-section.
Her - Yeah so you don't know what it feels like to give birth.
Me - What? No. I gave birth to Max.
Her - No. You had to have someone cut you open and take him out of you.
Me - Because I wouldn't dilate.
Her - Exactly. You don't know what it feels like to give birth.
Me - (not knowing what to say) So what did I do?
Her - You carried him...
Me - We are never going to agree on this.
Before I continue, I feel it necessary to tell you that this fellow mama is a really good friend; we've known each other for nearly two decades. If I'd had the conversation with someone I didn't know or even an acquaintance, I would've dismissed it as a difference in opinion and not thought twice about it. Because of our history, I haven't been able to let the conversation go. I also want to clarify that had she said I didn't know what it felt like to have a vaginal birth, I would've agreed in a heartbeat. Because that is a fact.
When I asked a handful of fellow mamas if they thought I'd given birth to my son the following day, my question was met with confusion. After explaining why I'd asked, every single one of them validated my birthing experience. I wish I could say I didn't need them to but, if I'm being honest, at least a part of me did; having a C-section was a last resort for me and I was disappointed that I wouldn't be pushing Max out once I made the decision. Thankfully, I was reminded by my sister and a dear friend that my job was to go home with my new family and that having a C-section was my birthing experience before I had the surgery. I'm fairly certain, my friend knew this, which makes me wonder why she'd say it out loud. To me... or any woman but I digress.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am a to-each-her-own type of person. I like to think that we're all doing the best we can in life and believe that people are inherently good. Don't get me wrong. I understand that there are people who are not nice, who are greedy, who take advantage of other people, who do awful things, who are assholes for no reason. I don't like those people and don't invite them in my life but also wonder what happened in their lives for them to fear being nicer, being generous, treating others as their equal, doing good, choosing to be kind.
I don't understand it when people are rude, mean or feel entitled to judge other people's choices. That's really it. What's with the judgement? In general but especially among women. More specifically among mothers.
Honestly, I think it's great when moms go above and beyond with all organic, well-balanced meals, regular playdates, fun activities outside the house, no screen time, strict nap and bed times and a million other things I do not do. I admire these mothers for their diligence (and truly wish I could be more like them) but am equally in awe of and applaud mothers like me, who do organic when they can, are happy when their toddler eats more than five bites at mealtimes, get playdates in when they can, mostly stay home playing with their child, use screen time while cutting nails or to use the bathroom, have nap times that fluctuate and bed time that is generally at the same time and a million other things I do that aren't by the book.
I've read the books (and the blogs, forums and websites) and appreciate the studies and information so easily available to me, but at the end of the day, Max is my baby. Fraser and I know him better than any parenting expert or opinionated non-parent we know. It's really interesting that friends without children tend to have more opinions than those raising tiny humans... because other parents know. They know about the never-ending choices you have to make as soon as you find out you are with child. They've heard the unsolicited advise and listened to strangers' opinions, smiling and nodding all the while imagining how this person would be without a full night's sleep for over a calendar year.
What I'm trying to say is SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Unless I ask your opinion (and I won't because I reserve my questions about parenting for non-judging mamas who are also raising tiny humans), I don't need or want to hear what you think about Max's sleep schedule or whether or not he needs his diaper changed (he likes to poop in clean diapers and needs a few minutes to do his business). Stop wrapping your judgements in thinly-veiled shows of concern. There's no need for you to be concerned about my child's comfort, safety or well-being because, trust me, I spend every second of my waking hours telling my psyche to not worry about every little thing because I do. All the time.
Every mother does.
If you're so concerned about my child, then take him for a few minutes and play with him. Make him laugh. Tell him a story. Show him something new. Teach him a song... Have compassion for his sleep deprived mother, who is doing the best she can and is probably moments away from losing her shit. Again.
I am doing the best I can.
I've actually written that down numerous times to remind myself because I am my own worst critic. I regularly question my choices and my ability as a mother; I don't need anyone to join in. Being a parent is overwhelming enough.
The conversation that inspired this post still baffles me. While my friend is certainly entitled to her opinion, I don't know why she felt the need to tell me what she did. She's a sweet soul and wouldn't hurt me on purpose, so what was her intention? Why make the distinction?
Are women who need fertility treatments less than because they can't get pregnant naturally? No.
Are women who give birth prematurely less than because they didn't make it to full term? No way.
Are women who adopt less than because they didn't carry their child? Absolutely not.
The path to motherhood is as varied as it is beautiful. While painful and not at all easy, giving birth is nothing compared to the daily challenges and elations of raising a child. It is the ultimate marathon of unconditional love and constant care that is easier in some ways and harder in others at every turn. Being humbled by motherhood is universal. The self-doubt I wrestle with and difficulties I face as a mother is not unique. My experience as a mother is as valid as anyone's, including the amazing day I gave birth to Max.
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Sunday, May 14, 2017
Oh, Motherhood. How you humble me.
It's my first Mother's Day.
Max woke up before six, found his way into my shirt to nurse and wanted to play after. We finally got up when his diaper leaked and decided to have breakfast at home before going to the beach, which is my only request for the day. By the time we finished eating and I was getting ready to write in my journal while enjoying a mug of coffee, Max was ready for a nap.
I've been in blissful silence, drinking hot coffee and writing, while Max naps with Fraser.
Now that I'm a year into this gig (Max will be one in nine days!), I'm finally starting to have a grasp on this whole motherhood thing, which is easily the most humbling experience of my life. It is all consuming and full of challenges but also incredibly fulfilling and, at times, pure joy (whenever he laughs, gives me a hug, tries something new and loves whatever it is, smiles when he sees me, sleeps… Max being here is pure joy).
Bells and I were talking about motherhood a few weeks ago and agreed that we both have a modern take on the whole experience because, while we are deeply committed to the happiness and well-being of our children, we are also committed to our personal happiness and well-being. In short, we are women with goals and dreams beyond our children, which is tricky especially when your child is barely one.
Last month, I managed to spend fifty hours in an intermediate reformer course for Pilates in the midst of momming, putting a show together with the non-profit I run with fellow artists, a part time receptionist job and running our household because I wanted to do something that was just mine. Though just mine is relative because, eventually, teaching Pilates will mean making more money in less time at the studio. It was a long month and we had a lot of help (my mom came and stayed with us for two weeks; friends babysat Max for us; we had his nanny come on Saturdays), but we got through it... and it felt great. Once it was over, it felt great; going through it, I felt like I was hanging on by a thread.
To say that motherhood is about balancing it all at once is misleading. No woman can be totally present at home, in her career, for herself, and everything and everyone else in her life all the time, at the same time. Something has to give otherwise she will break... I've never had anything close to an anxiety attack before I became a mom; I described not being able to catch my breath, my heart racing, due to a sudden fear something I couldn't put into words to Fraser recently. He said it sounded like an anxiety attack; I can't be sure but, whatever it was, it sucked. Thankfully, I knew enough to quiet my mind and mindfully breathe. Phew!
During my very busy month, I only worked out a handful of times, went on one date with Fraser (our first in many months), and did not have a single audition, which all sucks but I don't feel bad about it... It can't feel bad about it because, well, I don't have time to; there's a diaper to change, food to prepare and nursing to be done... And I only have one baby!!!
I used to see twins, triplets and other multiples and think, How cute! It must be so much fun to have all those babies in matching outfits!! Now I see them in photos, news clips and social media and feel overwhelmed for their parents, who have multiple diapers to change at once, various taste palettes to appease... I don't even want to think about nursing multiples; it's a full time job with one.
We are fortunate that my job allows me to be home with Max most of the time and only hire a nanny when I'm teaching 8-10 weeks in the spring and again in the fall. The owners at the studio a I work at part time, welcome him to go to work with me. It's a wonderful set up aside of the fact that it doesn't give me a break from momming.
Nursing is something I wasn't sure I could do because neither of my sisters produced much milk. Thankfully, I broke the mold and am still nursing Max. My goal was always a year and, as his birthday approaches, I am both sad and excited about weaning him. I had no idea how much nursing would mean to me as a mother; it really is a special bond beyond the womb. That said, while Max doesn't bite (he started getting teeth at four months and I trained him then that biting me meant no more milk for him), he now casually slides his hands down my shirt whenever I'm holding him, going as far as pulling my shirt down and sticking his face inside when he wants to nurse.
Even if he wasn't doing any of that, I'm just about ready to move on from nursing; it takes a lot of time and I'm ready to have my body back as my own. I've felt guilty just thinking that before, but I need my body back. I need to read books and articles other that baby/child development/parenting ones. I need to spend alone time with my husband. I need to breathe... I need time away from being mom to be a better, more effective mama to Max.
Using the bathroom alone is a luxury, especially now that Max is full on walking. I've held him while on the toilet many times but, a few weeks ago, took the experience up a notch and nursed him there. I sent texts to my mama tribe about it and the response was a unanimous, Been there. Not one them even batted an eye because motherhood is an equalizer of women. When Max is crying because he's hungry, my instinct is to pick him up and nurse him: in the middle of a coffee shop, behind the desk at the studio I work at, in the car (after I've pulled over safely), and, yes, while sitting on my toilet at home.
I've wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. I am delighted to finally be one. That said, I had no idea how much I would miss the freedom of randomly going out for dinner with Fraser, meeting friends for a hike or coffee at the last minute, taking a yoga class whenever I wanted to, reading a good book in one sitting or washing my hair more than once a week.
Max is a dream come true, one that's required a transition nothing else in life could've prepared me for and it's important for me to recognize that it's okay for me to say it's hard, ask for a break or go to another room for a minute. Because motherhood is fucking hard and I need breaks and silence... Among the moments of delicious laughter, fun games and absolute privilege of watching Max discover, learn and grow, are moments of utter frustration, boredom, loneliness and misunderstandings with Fraser, who is going through a transition of his own.
And they're up... Time for the beach.
It'll be Max's first time walking on sand and feeling the ocean at his feet. I'll have Fraser take photos of us and put them on social media with a link to this post because we have to keep it real, mamas. For the sake of our collective sanity, let's support each other and our individual choices in this beautiful journey called motherhood.
Gotta nurse the babe before we go.
Happy Mama Day, Beauties!!!
Max woke up before six, found his way into my shirt to nurse and wanted to play after. We finally got up when his diaper leaked and decided to have breakfast at home before going to the beach, which is my only request for the day. By the time we finished eating and I was getting ready to write in my journal while enjoying a mug of coffee, Max was ready for a nap.
I've been in blissful silence, drinking hot coffee and writing, while Max naps with Fraser.
Now that I'm a year into this gig (Max will be one in nine days!), I'm finally starting to have a grasp on this whole motherhood thing, which is easily the most humbling experience of my life. It is all consuming and full of challenges but also incredibly fulfilling and, at times, pure joy (whenever he laughs, gives me a hug, tries something new and loves whatever it is, smiles when he sees me, sleeps… Max being here is pure joy).
Bells and I were talking about motherhood a few weeks ago and agreed that we both have a modern take on the whole experience because, while we are deeply committed to the happiness and well-being of our children, we are also committed to our personal happiness and well-being. In short, we are women with goals and dreams beyond our children, which is tricky especially when your child is barely one.
Last month, I managed to spend fifty hours in an intermediate reformer course for Pilates in the midst of momming, putting a show together with the non-profit I run with fellow artists, a part time receptionist job and running our household because I wanted to do something that was just mine. Though just mine is relative because, eventually, teaching Pilates will mean making more money in less time at the studio. It was a long month and we had a lot of help (my mom came and stayed with us for two weeks; friends babysat Max for us; we had his nanny come on Saturdays), but we got through it... and it felt great. Once it was over, it felt great; going through it, I felt like I was hanging on by a thread.
To say that motherhood is about balancing it all at once is misleading. No woman can be totally present at home, in her career, for herself, and everything and everyone else in her life all the time, at the same time. Something has to give otherwise she will break... I've never had anything close to an anxiety attack before I became a mom; I described not being able to catch my breath, my heart racing, due to a sudden fear something I couldn't put into words to Fraser recently. He said it sounded like an anxiety attack; I can't be sure but, whatever it was, it sucked. Thankfully, I knew enough to quiet my mind and mindfully breathe. Phew!
During my very busy month, I only worked out a handful of times, went on one date with Fraser (our first in many months), and did not have a single audition, which all sucks but I don't feel bad about it... It can't feel bad about it because, well, I don't have time to; there's a diaper to change, food to prepare and nursing to be done... And I only have one baby!!!
I used to see twins, triplets and other multiples and think, How cute! It must be so much fun to have all those babies in matching outfits!! Now I see them in photos, news clips and social media and feel overwhelmed for their parents, who have multiple diapers to change at once, various taste palettes to appease... I don't even want to think about nursing multiples; it's a full time job with one.
We are fortunate that my job allows me to be home with Max most of the time and only hire a nanny when I'm teaching 8-10 weeks in the spring and again in the fall. The owners at the studio a I work at part time, welcome him to go to work with me. It's a wonderful set up aside of the fact that it doesn't give me a break from momming.
Nursing is something I wasn't sure I could do because neither of my sisters produced much milk. Thankfully, I broke the mold and am still nursing Max. My goal was always a year and, as his birthday approaches, I am both sad and excited about weaning him. I had no idea how much nursing would mean to me as a mother; it really is a special bond beyond the womb. That said, while Max doesn't bite (he started getting teeth at four months and I trained him then that biting me meant no more milk for him), he now casually slides his hands down my shirt whenever I'm holding him, going as far as pulling my shirt down and sticking his face inside when he wants to nurse.
Even if he wasn't doing any of that, I'm just about ready to move on from nursing; it takes a lot of time and I'm ready to have my body back as my own. I've felt guilty just thinking that before, but I need my body back. I need to read books and articles other that baby/child development/parenting ones. I need to spend alone time with my husband. I need to breathe... I need time away from being mom to be a better, more effective mama to Max.
Using the bathroom alone is a luxury, especially now that Max is full on walking. I've held him while on the toilet many times but, a few weeks ago, took the experience up a notch and nursed him there. I sent texts to my mama tribe about it and the response was a unanimous, Been there. Not one them even batted an eye because motherhood is an equalizer of women. When Max is crying because he's hungry, my instinct is to pick him up and nurse him: in the middle of a coffee shop, behind the desk at the studio I work at, in the car (after I've pulled over safely), and, yes, while sitting on my toilet at home.
I've wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. I am delighted to finally be one. That said, I had no idea how much I would miss the freedom of randomly going out for dinner with Fraser, meeting friends for a hike or coffee at the last minute, taking a yoga class whenever I wanted to, reading a good book in one sitting or washing my hair more than once a week.
Max is a dream come true, one that's required a transition nothing else in life could've prepared me for and it's important for me to recognize that it's okay for me to say it's hard, ask for a break or go to another room for a minute. Because motherhood is fucking hard and I need breaks and silence... Among the moments of delicious laughter, fun games and absolute privilege of watching Max discover, learn and grow, are moments of utter frustration, boredom, loneliness and misunderstandings with Fraser, who is going through a transition of his own.
And they're up... Time for the beach.
It'll be Max's first time walking on sand and feeling the ocean at his feet. I'll have Fraser take photos of us and put them on social media with a link to this post because we have to keep it real, mamas. For the sake of our collective sanity, let's support each other and our individual choices in this beautiful journey called motherhood.
Gotta nurse the babe before we go.
Happy Mama Day, Beauties!!!
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
So... I'm a mom now
Max is six months today and I finally feel coherent enough to write again (yey!). So much has happened since my last post. I've wanted to write about everything but simply lacked the time, sleep and sanity to do so. Being a new mom is, without question, the most challenging and rewarding experience I've ever had, and I am constantly surprised by it. With all the amazing mamas in my life, I've found myself wondering why no one told me this, that or the other until it dawned on me that they must have; I just didn't understand what they were saying because, until I became a mother, there was no way for me to fully comprehend the intricacies of being one. As someone who loves to share, I can think of no better topic to open my motherhood posts than to discuss the things that have surprised me so far.
Getting a C-Section: My pregnancy was relatively easy and I naively thought it would translate to my delivery even though I had to be induced (because I was thirty-eight at the time, my OB would not let me go past a few days after my due date). After spending an uncomfortable night at the hospital with something inside me to ripen my cervix, I was put on Pitocin for twelve hours. On average, you're supposed to dilate a centimeter every hour or two. At the end of my twelve hours on Pitocin, I'd dilated one centimeter bringing me up to three centimeter total. The goal is ten.
I wanted to wait but both Fraser and my mom asked me to reconsider. They didn't think I would dilate any quicker and I already had Epidural dripping into my system. I'm a take-Tylenol-only-if-it's-unbearable girl after all and my body was not happy being pumped full of drugs, so I agreed to have a C-section. My goal was always to go home with Fraser with peanut in tow.
If I have to have a C-section, I won't feel bad about it, I said proudly to anyone who would listen. I've done the best I can in my pregnancy and refuse to feel guilty for taking drugs to help with labor or having a C-section, I'd continue.
But I did feel guilty.
Like I'd failed somehow because I wouldn't be pushing my baby out. The guilt surprised me even more than getting a C-section. Thankfully, my sister and a dear friend both reminded me of my no-guilt mantra and the fact that a C-section was actually part of my birth plan (as a last resort but still part of it).
Exhaustion: Nevermind the four days that I stayed at the hospital after Max was born. I didn't sleep lying down for longer an hour or two at a time for a solid three months. I started getting 3-4 hours at a time around three and a half months only to have Max hit a growth spurt, which meant cluster feeding. It happened again as he approached six months.
There is no way to describe the not-sleeping-because-I'm-a-new-mom kind of tired. It's like staying up all night for finals every night for weeks at a time and taking day long exams in between all the cramming. It doesn't stop. People always say to nap when Max does, which is great in theory but not in practice. I may not clean much but someone (me) has to wash dishes (half the time), do and fold laundry, sanitize bottles and breast pump parts, pump for milk... Then he's up and needs to nurse, play, get his diaper changed, take a nap, repeat.
I remind myself several times a day that I will not always be this tired. That my exhaustion is part of the deal. That being a new mother is a gift I asked for. But, let me tell you, it is rough. There were times those first few weeks that Fraser found me inconsolably crying in bed as I held Max; I was so tired my body couldn't process anything other than my need to sleep. Fraser would take our bundle of joy, close the door and let me fall into a deep slumber. Hours would pass and I'd feel like I'd just closed my eyes for a few minutes.
Breastfeeding: Neither of my sisters produced much milk after they had babies, so I wasn't sure I would. I walked around with milk soaked shirts for a couple of weeks until I finally ordered breast pads, which are staples for nursing mothers. Needless to say, I am one and there are two things that's been surprising about it: how much I enjoy nursing Max and the fact that I'm not crazy about my augmented boobs.
Breastfeeding hurt a lot at first. For several weeks, nursing was really painful then, like magic, it wasn't anymore. I love nursing Max, who is the size of an average one year old at six months (so much for calling him peanut). There are countless benefits for him to have breast milk and there is nothing like the connection of breastfeeding your child. I am grateful my body has been able to keep up with Max thus far and will reassess nursing him within the next couple of weeks mainly because he now has two bottom teeth (with a third newly broken in) and bites. The idea of not nursing him anymore saddens me, but I also do not want to resent him. If I have to pump for him to continue to get breast milk so be it.
Of course that means continuing to have my boobs fill up with milk every few hours. My boobs are solid Cs these days and, oddly enough, I am not a fan. My clothes don't fit right and I look funny with such big boobs. That said, the fact that they are able to produce enough milk to nourish my son makes me appreciate my breasts and the rest of my body.
I'll breatfeed Max anywhere, which surprised me when I first started doing it. Middle of a coffee shop? A table at Chipotle? Behind the desk at work? Without a second thought, yes. I feed him when he's hungry and do not apologize for it.
So Much Poop: Now that Max is eating solids, he's become more regular. Fraser once said that we should stick to breastmilk because he only pooped every 3-4 days before he started on solids. We didn't, of course, because he loves to eat like his parents. Fraser and I tag-teammed a couple of his blowouts pre-solids and they were nothing compared to now; I imagine it only gets worse, unfortunately. I've given Max a number of emergency baths because he's pooped so much but there are two I had to take photos of for Fraser: the time he projectile pooped (grateful I was not in the line of fire and it landed on the door and floor), and the time he shit so much he had poop up to his shoulders on his back. Up to his shoulders (damn prunes). Where does it come from?
Losing Hair: Pregnant women have thick, shiny hair. Mine was long and full and, frankly, beautiful. Even though I'd read about women losing hair post pregnancy, I was surprised when a couple of weeks after Max was born, my hair started to shed worse than it ever has. I am no stranger to losing my hair in the shower, when I comb it or run my fingers through it. This was something else: clumps of hair in the drain and on the bathroom floor enough to donate to Locks of Love. I sent texts to my mama friends about it because I was convinced I'd be bald by now. They all told me it's the change in my hormones and told me not to worry. I'm pleased to report the shedding has returned to normal.
Stress: Having Max has made life more stressful and less stressful at the same time. More because Fraser and I are responsible for a new human, which is overwhelming enough. Add lack of sleep to the equation along with the fact that we don't have family close by, and it's a recipe for disaster. Or at the very least, a lot of added stress. It all boils down to the fact that Fraser and I are both doing everything we were doing before and now tag-teaming Max, who needs constant love, care and attention. It's easy to feel unappreciated when you don't have time to just be together.
No one talks about the toll having a child has on a marriage. Let me tell you, it's a lot . Fraser and I look at each other at least once a day and ask how we're doing. Most days, we're okay, but there are days, those Max-is-cluster-feeding-and-woke-up-every-hour-to-nurse-last-night, when neither of us feels appreciated by the other. It's not easy to admit and it sucks, but it's the truth. I would be a lying asshole if I didn't say that.
Being new parents is no joke.
It is fucking hard.
It's easily the hardest thing I've done in my life.
It is also the most rewarding.
Life is less stressful when you wake up to a sweet, smiling face that is somehow the perfect combination of your own and your husband's. Our stress diminishes when Max laughs or discovers something new, which is always. He sees the world the way all children should see it: fun, carefree, safe and warm.
There is nothing more heartwarming than watching Fraser interact with Max. They have so much fun together, my boys. Everything is an adventure between them; there's an undeniable bond in whatever they do. Beyond that, Max has a sweet, gentle soul like his daddy.
Even with little to no sleep, I can power through because one look into my son's eyes makes the world instantly better. His laughter invites joy into our lives. His smile brightens the room and warms my heart. Max is all love.
Perspective: My world has pretty much been Max over the past six months. As it should be. We're super lucky that my schedule has allowed me to stay home with Max for most of his life so far. I once remarked that I'm pretty much a stay-at-home mom while at my part-time job. You work. You're not a stay-at home mom, my female boss, who welcomes Max to come to work with me (awesome, I know), replied.
Beyond that, I run a non-profit working with inner city high schools and am an actor so, yes, technically, I am a working mom. The thing is, stay-at home moms are working moms with one of the hardest jobs there is, and working moms are stay-at home moms when they are home. The distinction is moot.
I'm thankful I can be home with him and work because I know that's usually not the case. We only have a nanny for the 8-10 weeks I teach each semester with the non-profit I run otherwise Fraser and I juggle Max. Because my schedule is much more open than Fraser's, I have Max more often. At home and anywhere I need/want to go, which is awesome but not always ideal. There are days I have to put him in his crib and walk away for a minute to center myself and shift my perspective. It can be overwhelming to have a helpless human depend on you for everything. I've cried out of frustration more times than I care to admit but, at the end of the day, I love being a mom. I know not everyone who wants to be gets be one so I always find my way back to gratitude. How can I not? I have my very own baby.
As much as I loved Max in utero, I did not think it was possible for me to love someone more unconditionally than I love my nieces and nephews until I met him in person. He is even better than I imagined. Not perfect. Better. He is my heart in human form and I am so grateful to Fraser (and the powers that be) for giving me a child.
Getting a C-Section: My pregnancy was relatively easy and I naively thought it would translate to my delivery even though I had to be induced (because I was thirty-eight at the time, my OB would not let me go past a few days after my due date). After spending an uncomfortable night at the hospital with something inside me to ripen my cervix, I was put on Pitocin for twelve hours. On average, you're supposed to dilate a centimeter every hour or two. At the end of my twelve hours on Pitocin, I'd dilated one centimeter bringing me up to three centimeter total. The goal is ten.
I wanted to wait but both Fraser and my mom asked me to reconsider. They didn't think I would dilate any quicker and I already had Epidural dripping into my system. I'm a take-Tylenol-only-if-it's-unbearable girl after all and my body was not happy being pumped full of drugs, so I agreed to have a C-section. My goal was always to go home with Fraser with peanut in tow.
If I have to have a C-section, I won't feel bad about it, I said proudly to anyone who would listen. I've done the best I can in my pregnancy and refuse to feel guilty for taking drugs to help with labor or having a C-section, I'd continue.
But I did feel guilty.
Like I'd failed somehow because I wouldn't be pushing my baby out. The guilt surprised me even more than getting a C-section. Thankfully, my sister and a dear friend both reminded me of my no-guilt mantra and the fact that a C-section was actually part of my birth plan (as a last resort but still part of it).
Exhaustion: Nevermind the four days that I stayed at the hospital after Max was born. I didn't sleep lying down for longer an hour or two at a time for a solid three months. I started getting 3-4 hours at a time around three and a half months only to have Max hit a growth spurt, which meant cluster feeding. It happened again as he approached six months.
There is no way to describe the not-sleeping-because-I'm-a-new-mom kind of tired. It's like staying up all night for finals every night for weeks at a time and taking day long exams in between all the cramming. It doesn't stop. People always say to nap when Max does, which is great in theory but not in practice. I may not clean much but someone (me) has to wash dishes (half the time), do and fold laundry, sanitize bottles and breast pump parts, pump for milk... Then he's up and needs to nurse, play, get his diaper changed, take a nap, repeat.
I remind myself several times a day that I will not always be this tired. That my exhaustion is part of the deal. That being a new mother is a gift I asked for. But, let me tell you, it is rough. There were times those first few weeks that Fraser found me inconsolably crying in bed as I held Max; I was so tired my body couldn't process anything other than my need to sleep. Fraser would take our bundle of joy, close the door and let me fall into a deep slumber. Hours would pass and I'd feel like I'd just closed my eyes for a few minutes.
Breastfeeding: Neither of my sisters produced much milk after they had babies, so I wasn't sure I would. I walked around with milk soaked shirts for a couple of weeks until I finally ordered breast pads, which are staples for nursing mothers. Needless to say, I am one and there are two things that's been surprising about it: how much I enjoy nursing Max and the fact that I'm not crazy about my augmented boobs.
Breastfeeding hurt a lot at first. For several weeks, nursing was really painful then, like magic, it wasn't anymore. I love nursing Max, who is the size of an average one year old at six months (so much for calling him peanut). There are countless benefits for him to have breast milk and there is nothing like the connection of breastfeeding your child. I am grateful my body has been able to keep up with Max thus far and will reassess nursing him within the next couple of weeks mainly because he now has two bottom teeth (with a third newly broken in) and bites. The idea of not nursing him anymore saddens me, but I also do not want to resent him. If I have to pump for him to continue to get breast milk so be it.
Of course that means continuing to have my boobs fill up with milk every few hours. My boobs are solid Cs these days and, oddly enough, I am not a fan. My clothes don't fit right and I look funny with such big boobs. That said, the fact that they are able to produce enough milk to nourish my son makes me appreciate my breasts and the rest of my body.
I'll breatfeed Max anywhere, which surprised me when I first started doing it. Middle of a coffee shop? A table at Chipotle? Behind the desk at work? Without a second thought, yes. I feed him when he's hungry and do not apologize for it.
So Much Poop: Now that Max is eating solids, he's become more regular. Fraser once said that we should stick to breastmilk because he only pooped every 3-4 days before he started on solids. We didn't, of course, because he loves to eat like his parents. Fraser and I tag-teammed a couple of his blowouts pre-solids and they were nothing compared to now; I imagine it only gets worse, unfortunately. I've given Max a number of emergency baths because he's pooped so much but there are two I had to take photos of for Fraser: the time he projectile pooped (grateful I was not in the line of fire and it landed on the door and floor), and the time he shit so much he had poop up to his shoulders on his back. Up to his shoulders (damn prunes). Where does it come from?
Losing Hair: Pregnant women have thick, shiny hair. Mine was long and full and, frankly, beautiful. Even though I'd read about women losing hair post pregnancy, I was surprised when a couple of weeks after Max was born, my hair started to shed worse than it ever has. I am no stranger to losing my hair in the shower, when I comb it or run my fingers through it. This was something else: clumps of hair in the drain and on the bathroom floor enough to donate to Locks of Love. I sent texts to my mama friends about it because I was convinced I'd be bald by now. They all told me it's the change in my hormones and told me not to worry. I'm pleased to report the shedding has returned to normal.
Stress: Having Max has made life more stressful and less stressful at the same time. More because Fraser and I are responsible for a new human, which is overwhelming enough. Add lack of sleep to the equation along with the fact that we don't have family close by, and it's a recipe for disaster. Or at the very least, a lot of added stress. It all boils down to the fact that Fraser and I are both doing everything we were doing before and now tag-teaming Max, who needs constant love, care and attention. It's easy to feel unappreciated when you don't have time to just be together.
No one talks about the toll having a child has on a marriage. Let me tell you, it's a lot . Fraser and I look at each other at least once a day and ask how we're doing. Most days, we're okay, but there are days, those Max-is-cluster-feeding-and-woke-up-every-hour-to-nurse-last-night, when neither of us feels appreciated by the other. It's not easy to admit and it sucks, but it's the truth. I would be a lying asshole if I didn't say that.
Being new parents is no joke.
It is fucking hard.
It's easily the hardest thing I've done in my life.
It is also the most rewarding.
Life is less stressful when you wake up to a sweet, smiling face that is somehow the perfect combination of your own and your husband's. Our stress diminishes when Max laughs or discovers something new, which is always. He sees the world the way all children should see it: fun, carefree, safe and warm.
There is nothing more heartwarming than watching Fraser interact with Max. They have so much fun together, my boys. Everything is an adventure between them; there's an undeniable bond in whatever they do. Beyond that, Max has a sweet, gentle soul like his daddy.
Even with little to no sleep, I can power through because one look into my son's eyes makes the world instantly better. His laughter invites joy into our lives. His smile brightens the room and warms my heart. Max is all love.
Perspective: My world has pretty much been Max over the past six months. As it should be. We're super lucky that my schedule has allowed me to stay home with Max for most of his life so far. I once remarked that I'm pretty much a stay-at-home mom while at my part-time job. You work. You're not a stay-at home mom, my female boss, who welcomes Max to come to work with me (awesome, I know), replied.
Beyond that, I run a non-profit working with inner city high schools and am an actor so, yes, technically, I am a working mom. The thing is, stay-at home moms are working moms with one of the hardest jobs there is, and working moms are stay-at home moms when they are home. The distinction is moot.
I'm thankful I can be home with him and work because I know that's usually not the case. We only have a nanny for the 8-10 weeks I teach each semester with the non-profit I run otherwise Fraser and I juggle Max. Because my schedule is much more open than Fraser's, I have Max more often. At home and anywhere I need/want to go, which is awesome but not always ideal. There are days I have to put him in his crib and walk away for a minute to center myself and shift my perspective. It can be overwhelming to have a helpless human depend on you for everything. I've cried out of frustration more times than I care to admit but, at the end of the day, I love being a mom. I know not everyone who wants to be gets be one so I always find my way back to gratitude. How can I not? I have my very own baby.
As much as I loved Max in utero, I did not think it was possible for me to love someone more unconditionally than I love my nieces and nephews until I met him in person. He is even better than I imagined. Not perfect. Better. He is my heart in human form and I am so grateful to Fraser (and the powers that be) for giving me a child.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
homestretch
i didn't get much sleep last night. one of the books i'm reading said something about not being able to sleep towards the end of your pregnancy in preparation for the lack of sleep you'll experience once your baby is born. i call bullshit... if anything, women in the last few weeks of their pregnancy should be banking hours of extra sleep. but no!!! because sleeping is uncomfortable with a baby kicking and jabbing at your ribs or pushing their butt up to your lungs making it hard to breathe.
peanut will be here in six weeks, which is simultaneously exciting and overwhelming. i cannot wait to meet the human who is half fraser and half me but am not looking forward to all the things that must be done before he's finally in our arms. aside for all the stuff i have to go through and get rid of to make room for baby gear, there's, you know, labor.
i've read and heard firsthand from my closest girlfriends (and total strangers) about the ultimate female experience: delivering a baby. texts and conversations with my girlfriends, and women in general, are much different from what they were just a year ago. something about being pregnant invites other women to talk to you openly about their own pregnancies and give you unsolicited advice, which i'll gladly listen to. i want to know what they know but there are lines that shouldn't be crossed, and it's not what you may think. being told there may be pooping and tearing and lots of blood during delivery is very helpful, but telling me things like don't get the epidural or keep him whole comes across judgmental and is not okay. those are personal choices and it bums me out that some women feel like their personal choices are somehow better than other women's decisions.
my birthing plan (if you can call it that) is this: go to hospital. feel a cycle (or two) of contractions. ask for epidural if the pain is unbearable. get a c-section as a last resort. rest and recover. (hopefully) learn how to properly breastfeed and pump. go home with peanut.
the first three months of my pregnancy was awful physically; i was nauseous for six weeks straight and pretty much hibernated. there were the weeks of nosebleeds, headaches and constant runny nose during the second trimester. then throwing up in my mouth every day for a few weeks, an introduction to hemorrhoids and now not being able to sleep. i also drank 50 grams of sugar on an empty stomach for a glucose test four weeks ago and had to drink the 100 gram concoction this week because the results from peanut's first sugar high was a bit high.
i'm not complaining. in fact, i'll happily do it all again if fraser and i are lucky enough to get pregnant again in a couple years... that said, i will not feel bad asking for pain relief or possibly getting a c-section if it comes down to it as long as both peanut and i get to go home safe and sound with fraser. period.
i'm not complaining. in fact, i'll happily do it all again if fraser and i are lucky enough to get pregnant again in a couple years... that said, i will not feel bad asking for pain relief or possibly getting a c-section if it comes down to it as long as both peanut and i get to go home safe and sound with fraser. period.
oh. and i'm leaving the whole circumcision decision to fraser because, well, i'm not the one with a penis.
honestly, peanut has been relatively easy on me so far and i'm incredibly grateful for the opportunity to be his mother. all that physical stuff sucks. yes. but i'm still doing pilates on my own 3-4 times a week and started walking a mile a day last week in preparation for the day he decides to come out. i'm 34 weeks now so he's in good shape, but i've been encouraging him to hang in there until may. (because i'm 38, peanut will be evicted by my ob in six weeks; he won't let me go past week forty. i'm hoping peanut comes on his own before that happens.) i feel really good and having him move around in there is really comforting in a there's-an-alien-i'm-in-love-with-growing-inside-me way.
musician and sassy have lovingly taken on my baby shower; bells insisted on sending proper invitations in the mail and have worked out the details with them. packages for peanut started arriving this week; fraser and i have been given all the big ticket baby items by friends and family already. we're requesting gift cards because we'll likely end up needing diapers, wipes and maybe formula the most, but we really just want to celebrate our growing family with the people we love.
my parents are coming from wi the week after my baby shower and throwing me another shower for my dad's family and friends in the area. more celebration. more love... we are so lucky.
just don't ask us if we're ready.
just don't ask us if we're ready.
Friday, January 22, 2016
blood tests and ultrasounds
during my 16week checkup with my ob, fraser and i were surprised to learn that peanut has a penis. i sat up when my ob pointed to the ultrasound screen and told us we were having a boy. because i'm 38, we also met with a specialist for a more thorough ultrasound after a lesson on amnios (when they stick a needle through your belly button to get some amniotic fluid to test for genetic abnormalities) the following day. everything looked good. no amnio for us... our biggest concern was getting used to the idea that we were having a boy (not the little girl fraser had had his heart set on calling princess) and coming up with a boy name we both liked.
two and a half weeks later, three days before fraser and i left la to spend the holidays with our families, the receptionist at my ob's office called and left a message. i immediately knew something wasn't right; my heart pounded as returned her call and waited for an answer.
her - hello?
me - hi. i'm returning your call.
her - oh yes. the result of your 12th and 16th week blood test came back positive for down syndrome...
me - (WHAT THE FUCK?!?!)
her - it doesn't mean that your baby has down syndrome but you need to see another specialist.
that last part didn't register because once you hear your blood test came back positive for anything, your brain panics and automatically focuses on breathing so you don't pass out. i should say that i've never been a fan of this particular receptionist because she's impatient and not very nice, which i mindfully overlooked. my ob's office is busy and i understand her job is not to hold my hand and be my friend. i didn't expect, need or want any of that… that said, her blurting out my test results as callously as she did felt like a slap in the face.
i called fraser to tell him, went to work and sent texts to my closest girlfriends. three of them called me. i cried through my conversation with cheerleader, who i've known since middle school; one my hula girls actually made me laugh, which i desperately needed to do; and blondie, who is also pregnant with her first child, listened to me try and epically fail to articulate the dichotomy of my emotions.
at home, fraser and i sat on the couch and discussed our predicament. he wanted facts. i was drowning in feelings, emotions and hormones… with a slew of girlfriends researching and sending me links, we determined that the chances of peanut having down syndrome was anywhere from 4-12% and agreed that we would try not to panic until we knew more. because we were leaving town for a couple of weeks in a matter of days, it meant not being able to see a specialist and having to table our discussion until after the holidays. essentially, fraser and i decided to put on our big boy/girl pants, enjoy time with our families and figure things out when we got back. except for one thing.
fraser - nothing is off the table for me.
me - nothing? so termination is an option for you?
fraser - it depends… but that's a decision we would come up with together.
me - (losing it) i can't do it, love. i've felt him moving for weeks now.
fraser - okay.
let me be clear about something here. not terminating my pregnancy whether peanut has down syndrome or not is a deeply personal choice. i would not fault anyone/a couple for deciding otherwise. as bells put it, it's a lifetime commitment; she went on to say she would support whatever decision we made because fraser and i are the ones who will live with it for the rest of our lives… that's true for all couples and possible single mothers faced with pregnancy. neither choice is easy or better than the other.
the days that followed were a complete mind fuck as i tried to wrap my mind around the idea of peanut not getting the same start in life as his cousins and never being able to catch up. fraser and i often wondered what peanut would be like knowing that he's already who he is and our only job is to love, support and nurture him. i'd dreamed about being a mother my whole life. peanut is the realization of that dream and i would rather die than give him up… i was an emotional mess.
after fraser left for work that first morning, i found myself in fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably. when sassy called to check in on me, hearing me say hello was enough for her to tell me she was putting on a pair of jeans and heading over. she sat with me that day and made me feel less alone.
the day after that, i reluctantly told my parents. my mom started to cry when she realized what i was saying as my dad looked at me through the screen of his phone (technology!) and steadfastly reassured me that peanut would be loved just as he is because he is one of us, which i knew but also needed to hear. when he turned to my mom and told her to stop crying, i asked him not tell her that and, through tears of my own, reassured them both that it is okay for them to be sad and upset and to cry about it if they needed to.
as cheerleader so wisely (and lovingly) said to me that first night, the cocktail of emotions i felt were all valid and were in no way indicative of my love for the child inside of me. we were both gasping for air in an attempt not to lose it anymore than we already had at the time and i held on to those words along with these: do not feel bad or guilty for feeling whatever you are feeling. you love him more than anything… and blondie's equally wise and loving words when i tried to explain how i was feeling: you don't have to explain anything. no one doubts your love for peanut. they gave me permission to accept whatever emotion came up and to not judge myself for any of it.
the holidays were a bit of a blur. fraser and i celebrated christmas in dc with his family and new year's with mine. we ate home cooked meals, shared stories with our siblings, played games with our nieces and nephews, laughed… i fell in love with my brother's three-month old son and barely put him down while we were in wi; his normalness simultaneously elated and broke my heart… two days before our flight back to la, i told fraser i was nervous. he admitted feeling the same. we may not have been openly discussing those damn test results but we were both keenly aware of my growing belly, which was a source of fascination and excitement for everyone, especially our little loves.
fraser felt peanut move for the first time during our trip.
we had an appointment with my ob hours after we landed back in la. he told us that the chances of peanut having down syndrome was 6% (automatically higher because of my age) and that the specialist we had an appointment with later in the week would be looking for soft markers in peanut's ultrasound. when we told him termination was not an option for us, he told us about another blood test the specialist could do if we didn't want to do an amnio... without guaranteeing anything, he mercifully told us he didn't see any anomalies in peanut's ultrasound that day.
three days later, i was alone at a specialist's office downtown to talk to a genealogist and get blood drawn for the other test. fraser had to work but we wanted the earliest appointment we could get; we'd decided against the amnio, which could cause miscarriage (the chances are small but we didn't want to take the chance. another personal choice), and hoped peanut's thorough ultrasound along with the blood test would put our minds at ease… and the prognosis was good.
specialist - okay. that's a great start. head looks good… spine is perfect… kidneys good… legs are normal… heart is great.
me - really? everything looks normal?
specialist - this is what i do every day. i have no reason to tell you anything other than what i see… your baby looks great. your ob will be very happy. i'll be surprise if the result of your blood test is anything but negative. you're my easiest appointment today... do you want to know the sex?
me - a boy, right?
after thanking him and the nurses in the room, i made a beeline for the private bathroom and cried for a few minutes. it was such a relief to hear the specialist say everything he did. my shoulders felt lighter with every tear of joy i released. i felt happy without worrying about peanut for the first time in weeks. it was incredible... i called fraser and my sisters to share the news before sending texts to my closest friends.
it's been two weeks, so i called the specialist's office today to inquire about the blood test from that day and am thrilled to report that peanut is officially "normal"; i absolutely cried after i hung up the phone with the lovely woman who took my call. fraser and i are forgoing further testing mostly because the results will not make any difference in our decisions regarding our son. we also don't have a history of devastating genetic diseases on either side, which is nice.
peanut will be here in four months. the love and support fraser and i received from our family and friends these past few weeks have been nothing short of a blessing... i'm not exactly religious but i do believe in the power of prayer and collective energy. we are so grateful to everyone who have said a prayer and/or sent love and positive energy our way. thank you.
i must also thank my husband, who never looked away from me as i cried or failed to hold my hand and kept me from completely falling apart simply by being by my side. i could not think of a better father for our son than fraser.
two and a half weeks later, three days before fraser and i left la to spend the holidays with our families, the receptionist at my ob's office called and left a message. i immediately knew something wasn't right; my heart pounded as returned her call and waited for an answer.
her - hello?
me - hi. i'm returning your call.
her - oh yes. the result of your 12th and 16th week blood test came back positive for down syndrome...
me - (WHAT THE FUCK?!?!)
her - it doesn't mean that your baby has down syndrome but you need to see another specialist.
that last part didn't register because once you hear your blood test came back positive for anything, your brain panics and automatically focuses on breathing so you don't pass out. i should say that i've never been a fan of this particular receptionist because she's impatient and not very nice, which i mindfully overlooked. my ob's office is busy and i understand her job is not to hold my hand and be my friend. i didn't expect, need or want any of that… that said, her blurting out my test results as callously as she did felt like a slap in the face.
i called fraser to tell him, went to work and sent texts to my closest girlfriends. three of them called me. i cried through my conversation with cheerleader, who i've known since middle school; one my hula girls actually made me laugh, which i desperately needed to do; and blondie, who is also pregnant with her first child, listened to me try and epically fail to articulate the dichotomy of my emotions.
at home, fraser and i sat on the couch and discussed our predicament. he wanted facts. i was drowning in feelings, emotions and hormones… with a slew of girlfriends researching and sending me links, we determined that the chances of peanut having down syndrome was anywhere from 4-12% and agreed that we would try not to panic until we knew more. because we were leaving town for a couple of weeks in a matter of days, it meant not being able to see a specialist and having to table our discussion until after the holidays. essentially, fraser and i decided to put on our big boy/girl pants, enjoy time with our families and figure things out when we got back. except for one thing.
fraser - nothing is off the table for me.
me - nothing? so termination is an option for you?
fraser - it depends… but that's a decision we would come up with together.
me - (losing it) i can't do it, love. i've felt him moving for weeks now.
fraser - okay.
let me be clear about something here. not terminating my pregnancy whether peanut has down syndrome or not is a deeply personal choice. i would not fault anyone/a couple for deciding otherwise. as bells put it, it's a lifetime commitment; she went on to say she would support whatever decision we made because fraser and i are the ones who will live with it for the rest of our lives… that's true for all couples and possible single mothers faced with pregnancy. neither choice is easy or better than the other.
the days that followed were a complete mind fuck as i tried to wrap my mind around the idea of peanut not getting the same start in life as his cousins and never being able to catch up. fraser and i often wondered what peanut would be like knowing that he's already who he is and our only job is to love, support and nurture him. i'd dreamed about being a mother my whole life. peanut is the realization of that dream and i would rather die than give him up… i was an emotional mess.
after fraser left for work that first morning, i found myself in fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably. when sassy called to check in on me, hearing me say hello was enough for her to tell me she was putting on a pair of jeans and heading over. she sat with me that day and made me feel less alone.
the day after that, i reluctantly told my parents. my mom started to cry when she realized what i was saying as my dad looked at me through the screen of his phone (technology!) and steadfastly reassured me that peanut would be loved just as he is because he is one of us, which i knew but also needed to hear. when he turned to my mom and told her to stop crying, i asked him not tell her that and, through tears of my own, reassured them both that it is okay for them to be sad and upset and to cry about it if they needed to.
as cheerleader so wisely (and lovingly) said to me that first night, the cocktail of emotions i felt were all valid and were in no way indicative of my love for the child inside of me. we were both gasping for air in an attempt not to lose it anymore than we already had at the time and i held on to those words along with these: do not feel bad or guilty for feeling whatever you are feeling. you love him more than anything… and blondie's equally wise and loving words when i tried to explain how i was feeling: you don't have to explain anything. no one doubts your love for peanut. they gave me permission to accept whatever emotion came up and to not judge myself for any of it.
the holidays were a bit of a blur. fraser and i celebrated christmas in dc with his family and new year's with mine. we ate home cooked meals, shared stories with our siblings, played games with our nieces and nephews, laughed… i fell in love with my brother's three-month old son and barely put him down while we were in wi; his normalness simultaneously elated and broke my heart… two days before our flight back to la, i told fraser i was nervous. he admitted feeling the same. we may not have been openly discussing those damn test results but we were both keenly aware of my growing belly, which was a source of fascination and excitement for everyone, especially our little loves.
fraser felt peanut move for the first time during our trip.
we had an appointment with my ob hours after we landed back in la. he told us that the chances of peanut having down syndrome was 6% (automatically higher because of my age) and that the specialist we had an appointment with later in the week would be looking for soft markers in peanut's ultrasound. when we told him termination was not an option for us, he told us about another blood test the specialist could do if we didn't want to do an amnio... without guaranteeing anything, he mercifully told us he didn't see any anomalies in peanut's ultrasound that day.
three days later, i was alone at a specialist's office downtown to talk to a genealogist and get blood drawn for the other test. fraser had to work but we wanted the earliest appointment we could get; we'd decided against the amnio, which could cause miscarriage (the chances are small but we didn't want to take the chance. another personal choice), and hoped peanut's thorough ultrasound along with the blood test would put our minds at ease… and the prognosis was good.
specialist - okay. that's a great start. head looks good… spine is perfect… kidneys good… legs are normal… heart is great.
me - really? everything looks normal?
specialist - this is what i do every day. i have no reason to tell you anything other than what i see… your baby looks great. your ob will be very happy. i'll be surprise if the result of your blood test is anything but negative. you're my easiest appointment today... do you want to know the sex?
me - a boy, right?
after thanking him and the nurses in the room, i made a beeline for the private bathroom and cried for a few minutes. it was such a relief to hear the specialist say everything he did. my shoulders felt lighter with every tear of joy i released. i felt happy without worrying about peanut for the first time in weeks. it was incredible... i called fraser and my sisters to share the news before sending texts to my closest friends.
it's been two weeks, so i called the specialist's office today to inquire about the blood test from that day and am thrilled to report that peanut is officially "normal"; i absolutely cried after i hung up the phone with the lovely woman who took my call. fraser and i are forgoing further testing mostly because the results will not make any difference in our decisions regarding our son. we also don't have a history of devastating genetic diseases on either side, which is nice.
peanut will be here in four months. the love and support fraser and i received from our family and friends these past few weeks have been nothing short of a blessing... i'm not exactly religious but i do believe in the power of prayer and collective energy. we are so grateful to everyone who have said a prayer and/or sent love and positive energy our way. thank you.
i must also thank my husband, who never looked away from me as i cried or failed to hold my hand and kept me from completely falling apart simply by being by my side. i could not think of a better father for our son than fraser.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
war against christmas?
i am a terrible gift giver.
i've never been good at it and especially don't enjoy it during this time of year.
please let me explain.
growing up in the philippines, i didn't get gifts for christmas (or my bday for that matter). the holidays were all about going to church, singing carols, eating late at night and visiting people we loved, who gave you a bit of cash on christmas day. the focus was on being together and when our family migrated to wisconsin when i was ten, the holidays continued to be about spending time with people we love. instead of getting up early on christmas morning to open presents under the tree, my parents packed us up in our van and drove four hours south to chicago, where we spent christmas eve and day going from home to home visiting family and friends. we would laugh and eat and laugh some more. gifts were rarely exchanged.
that's not to say we didn't get gifts. following american tradition (like having turkey for thanksgiving), my parents bought us new stuff around the holidays, which we often picked out and wrapped for ourselves to be opened for pictures on new year's day when we were actually home as a family. through the years, our family tradition stuck: travel to visit people we love for christmas and be together for new year's, which has made the holidays super easy now that we're all married. our parents don't expect us home for christmas but we better be there as one year ends and a new one begins.
as our family grew with spouses and children, gifting became even less significant. we've been picking names for secret santa for so many years i don't even know when we started. i love this so much because i'm literally responsible for one gift... and we all write wish lists, which fyi get shared later and later every year because everyone's super busy. also, we're adults and buy ourselves what we want/need when we want/need them.
my nieces and nephews all get gifts from everyone.
well, everyone except me.
more explaining.
because i'm the only one no longer living in the midwest, i'm the only one who travels home for the holidays. i take at least a week off from my life during this time to be with the people i love and, instead of gifts, i like to take the kids out for a movie and/or a meal. while i'm there, my focus is on spending time with my little loves and happily babysit them all for the week... i have a sister who gets it and one who pointed out that i only have four nieces and nephews last year. why are you so bad at giving gifts? she asked.
oh, i don't know. maybe because it costs fraser and me $1200 in plane tickets (plus two weeks' worth of time off from work) to spend the holidays with both sets of families? i've spent some serious dough on flights to visit my family over the years and consider it money well spent.
i do get it though and gifts have been ordered for our nieces and nephews this year… and fraser's family. and the our two secret santas for my family.
which brings up another thing: every single boyfriend i've had came from families who really do it up on christmas and fraser's family is no exception. the moms of these families will always say it doesn't matter if i bring gifts but i know better. i've been condescendingly spoken to more than once and asked when do we ever not do gifts? even after a boyfriend's reassurance that it was fine for us to show up with one gift for each person instead of two dozen (not kidding. i swear that woman goes to the toy aisle at any given store and buys everything in the girls' section for her granddaughter). it's uncomfortable and wasteful and i'm happy to report, fraser's mom is not like that... now that i think about it, only one mom really was. phew! dodged that bullet.
listen. i love the holidays. i love how festive people and places are during this time and appreciate those who go all out to celebrate the ones they love. that said, the holidays are not all love, laughter and joy for everyone. not everyone has the means to buy their loved ones the latest toys, gadgets and fashions. even worse, not everyone has loved ones to share the holidays with; people lose loved ones to death, divorce and tough luck throughout the year and this time of year is no exception. and must be especially hard for them.
i'm no angel but i do pride myself in being a good, loving person. i smile at people when i pass them on the street and treat people with respect. and while i may not buy gifts, i make sure my friends and family know how much i love, support and appreciate them as often as possible. every day when i can. i meet friends for coffee and give long hugs. i remind anyone who will listen that they have a story to tell and that their story is important. i teach my students (and my nieces and nephews) the value of kindness and compassion. i show them love through my words and my actions.
for the record, i have nothing against gifts as long as they're given out of love and joy (so nice!) and doesn't feel like an obligation (don't do it!).
i am not good at gift giving but love, laughter and joy? those are my jam.
i am never shy about showing love, laughing loudly or spreading joy.
i've never been good at it and especially don't enjoy it during this time of year.
please let me explain.
growing up in the philippines, i didn't get gifts for christmas (or my bday for that matter). the holidays were all about going to church, singing carols, eating late at night and visiting people we loved, who gave you a bit of cash on christmas day. the focus was on being together and when our family migrated to wisconsin when i was ten, the holidays continued to be about spending time with people we love. instead of getting up early on christmas morning to open presents under the tree, my parents packed us up in our van and drove four hours south to chicago, where we spent christmas eve and day going from home to home visiting family and friends. we would laugh and eat and laugh some more. gifts were rarely exchanged.
that's not to say we didn't get gifts. following american tradition (like having turkey for thanksgiving), my parents bought us new stuff around the holidays, which we often picked out and wrapped for ourselves to be opened for pictures on new year's day when we were actually home as a family. through the years, our family tradition stuck: travel to visit people we love for christmas and be together for new year's, which has made the holidays super easy now that we're all married. our parents don't expect us home for christmas but we better be there as one year ends and a new one begins.
as our family grew with spouses and children, gifting became even less significant. we've been picking names for secret santa for so many years i don't even know when we started. i love this so much because i'm literally responsible for one gift... and we all write wish lists, which fyi get shared later and later every year because everyone's super busy. also, we're adults and buy ourselves what we want/need when we want/need them.
my nieces and nephews all get gifts from everyone.
well, everyone except me.
more explaining.
because i'm the only one no longer living in the midwest, i'm the only one who travels home for the holidays. i take at least a week off from my life during this time to be with the people i love and, instead of gifts, i like to take the kids out for a movie and/or a meal. while i'm there, my focus is on spending time with my little loves and happily babysit them all for the week... i have a sister who gets it and one who pointed out that i only have four nieces and nephews last year. why are you so bad at giving gifts? she asked.
oh, i don't know. maybe because it costs fraser and me $1200 in plane tickets (plus two weeks' worth of time off from work) to spend the holidays with both sets of families? i've spent some serious dough on flights to visit my family over the years and consider it money well spent.
i do get it though and gifts have been ordered for our nieces and nephews this year… and fraser's family. and the our two secret santas for my family.
which brings up another thing: every single boyfriend i've had came from families who really do it up on christmas and fraser's family is no exception. the moms of these families will always say it doesn't matter if i bring gifts but i know better. i've been condescendingly spoken to more than once and asked when do we ever not do gifts? even after a boyfriend's reassurance that it was fine for us to show up with one gift for each person instead of two dozen (not kidding. i swear that woman goes to the toy aisle at any given store and buys everything in the girls' section for her granddaughter). it's uncomfortable and wasteful and i'm happy to report, fraser's mom is not like that... now that i think about it, only one mom really was. phew! dodged that bullet.
listen. i love the holidays. i love how festive people and places are during this time and appreciate those who go all out to celebrate the ones they love. that said, the holidays are not all love, laughter and joy for everyone. not everyone has the means to buy their loved ones the latest toys, gadgets and fashions. even worse, not everyone has loved ones to share the holidays with; people lose loved ones to death, divorce and tough luck throughout the year and this time of year is no exception. and must be especially hard for them.
i'm no angel but i do pride myself in being a good, loving person. i smile at people when i pass them on the street and treat people with respect. and while i may not buy gifts, i make sure my friends and family know how much i love, support and appreciate them as often as possible. every day when i can. i meet friends for coffee and give long hugs. i remind anyone who will listen that they have a story to tell and that their story is important. i teach my students (and my nieces and nephews) the value of kindness and compassion. i show them love through my words and my actions.
for the record, i have nothing against gifts as long as they're given out of love and joy (so nice!) and doesn't feel like an obligation (don't do it!).
i am not good at gift giving but love, laughter and joy? those are my jam.
i am never shy about showing love, laughing loudly or spreading joy.
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
six months to go
two and a half years ago, i started this blog to wrap my mind around dating again in my mid 30s after a ten year hiatus. six months in, it evolved into a falling in love blog and, another six months after that, a wedding blog. just shy of a year from our first wedding anniversary, fraser and i found out that i am pregnant (yey!) turning my focus to motherhood.
but first things first. pregnancy.
real talk. getting pregnant was not easy, especially in a society that tells women in their early 30s to start thinking about it before it's too late. women who are lucky enough to get pregnant after 35 are automatically considered high risk regardless of their health. that would be me. we found out about my pregnancy a month before my 38th bday. we'd been trying for over a year.
the truth is, i didn't think it would take us so long. in spite of close friends and acquaintances who've had difficulty getting pregnant, i blindly believed i would be an exception rather than the rule. i have a sister who had multiple miscarriages before having her children and one who naturally had twins without complications. still, i naively thought it would be relatively easy. after all, i'd taken good care of myself and am totally in love with my husband. of course, it would happen.
just months before i took my very first pregnancy test, fraser and i realized we'd been trying for almost a year and getting my period began to take its toll. my initial excitement, which had turned to nonchalance (in an attempt to cover how hard it was hitting me emotionally) became impatience. frustration. anger. there were times i actually cried when i got my period. it didn't make sense and i gradually became sadder and sadder about it. at some point, i asked my closest friends not to bring it up unless i initiated the conversation because it hurt to talk about it.
the fact that i am pregnant is an incredible gift. fraser and i know many other couples who deserve the same and haven't been yet. to say that i'm grateful for the life growing inside of me is an understatement. i have to admit, however, that i had no idea what i was in for as i hoped, prayed and dreamed about being pregnant.
pregnancy is no joke.
i am in awe of every woman who's survived pregnancy. every single one. to be fair, i recently worked in an environment where pregnant women took indoor cycling and/or yoga classes like it was the most natural thing to do. a few of the instructors taught these same classes throughout their pregnancy, inspiring roomfuls of people to sweat it out and/or keep their zen. i admired these women for keeping up with their normal workout routines as i took their classes or worked out alongside them. today, i would give them all gold medals.
i have to be very careful here because i don't, in any way, mean to complain. that said, fifteen weeks into my pregnancy, i'm finally beginning to feel like myself again. working out exhausts me. i take pilates twice a week and have to nap after. i need more sleep than i've ever needed before. there were days when i'd sleep for ten or twelve hours a night and take a two hour nap in the afternoon. luckily, my schedule allowed for such luxuries; i cannot imagine holding a full time job and going through the first trimester.
with all that sleep, you'd think i'd feel refreshed and ready to take on the day. not so. i was nauseous for about six weeks straight. i never actually threw up but always felt like i was on the verge. having nausea 24/7 was numbing. everything smelled really bad. eating became i chore, which is disappointing because eating is one of my favorite things in the world. i assumed i'd have cravings for weird food combinations and enjoy consuming them. sadly, the opposite happened. i craved nothing. in fact, i lost my appetite but was constantly having to eat in an attempt to avoid full-blown nausea… the nausea eventually subsided and i only got nauseous when i waited too long to eat (thus the non-stop eating).
headaches are my new thing. for awhile, avoiding salty foods later in the day and drinking water helped. unfortunately, that's no longer true. i wake up with a headache every morning these days no matter how much water i drink. even though i'm not sick, i also have a runny nose and occasionally get nosebleeds. my appetite is still not the same but at least i can eat meat again. the only thing i've really craved is sushi, which i can't have. (yes. i know i can have california and tempura rolls, but i want the real thing. raw salmon. raw albacore. raw yellowtail.) oh. and i feel like i'm gonna throw up whenever i bend down now. all normal symptoms and not all in my head. i have a friend who is due three months ahead of me and sis-in-law is a month behind me, who both assure me that all of it is normal... and that more is coming.
i had conversations about pregnancy with each of my sisters recently. bells, who hated being pregnant, teasingly asked me how it was going, knowing full well how blindsided i was physically. she laughed knowingly as i told her how much i didn't enjoy it in spite my excitement about being pregnant. ate, on the other hand, dismissed my inquiry when i asked her why she didn't tell me how hard pregnancy was, simply saying that she kept her focus on the end result: a baby.
my baby.
our baby.
peanut.
when i think about peanut, i am overcome with love. gratitude. even a bit of grace… i'm not gonna lie, i worry every day that i'm not eating enough of a variety, am drinking too much coffee (i'm allowed 12oz a day) and not enough water, am not sleeping enough or pushing too hard in a pilates class. i talk to peanut and imagine what she looks like (fraser commented the other day that we're going to need to pull a major switch if peanut is, in fact, a boy because i've been calling her a girl for weeks now. for the record, he wants a mini version of me and i want a mini version of him, but i have a strong feeling peanut is a mini me).
bells told me that the love she has for her twins is beyond anything she'd ever known. knowing how much of my heart belongs to my nieces and nephews, she assured me that my heart will expand and love in new, inexplicable ways. i can't imagine loving anyone more than i love my family, my friends and fraser, but i look forward to giving peanut everything that i've got.
it's been a long time since i've posted one of these. the past several weeks, i've simply been too tired. the months before that, however, i felt too defeated by the whole trying to get pregnant thing. now that i am, i will power through the symptoms and keep my eye on the prize: peanut.
our very own little peanut.
but first things first. pregnancy.
real talk. getting pregnant was not easy, especially in a society that tells women in their early 30s to start thinking about it before it's too late. women who are lucky enough to get pregnant after 35 are automatically considered high risk regardless of their health. that would be me. we found out about my pregnancy a month before my 38th bday. we'd been trying for over a year.
the truth is, i didn't think it would take us so long. in spite of close friends and acquaintances who've had difficulty getting pregnant, i blindly believed i would be an exception rather than the rule. i have a sister who had multiple miscarriages before having her children and one who naturally had twins without complications. still, i naively thought it would be relatively easy. after all, i'd taken good care of myself and am totally in love with my husband. of course, it would happen.
just months before i took my very first pregnancy test, fraser and i realized we'd been trying for almost a year and getting my period began to take its toll. my initial excitement, which had turned to nonchalance (in an attempt to cover how hard it was hitting me emotionally) became impatience. frustration. anger. there were times i actually cried when i got my period. it didn't make sense and i gradually became sadder and sadder about it. at some point, i asked my closest friends not to bring it up unless i initiated the conversation because it hurt to talk about it.
the fact that i am pregnant is an incredible gift. fraser and i know many other couples who deserve the same and haven't been yet. to say that i'm grateful for the life growing inside of me is an understatement. i have to admit, however, that i had no idea what i was in for as i hoped, prayed and dreamed about being pregnant.
pregnancy is no joke.
i am in awe of every woman who's survived pregnancy. every single one. to be fair, i recently worked in an environment where pregnant women took indoor cycling and/or yoga classes like it was the most natural thing to do. a few of the instructors taught these same classes throughout their pregnancy, inspiring roomfuls of people to sweat it out and/or keep their zen. i admired these women for keeping up with their normal workout routines as i took their classes or worked out alongside them. today, i would give them all gold medals.
i have to be very careful here because i don't, in any way, mean to complain. that said, fifteen weeks into my pregnancy, i'm finally beginning to feel like myself again. working out exhausts me. i take pilates twice a week and have to nap after. i need more sleep than i've ever needed before. there were days when i'd sleep for ten or twelve hours a night and take a two hour nap in the afternoon. luckily, my schedule allowed for such luxuries; i cannot imagine holding a full time job and going through the first trimester.
with all that sleep, you'd think i'd feel refreshed and ready to take on the day. not so. i was nauseous for about six weeks straight. i never actually threw up but always felt like i was on the verge. having nausea 24/7 was numbing. everything smelled really bad. eating became i chore, which is disappointing because eating is one of my favorite things in the world. i assumed i'd have cravings for weird food combinations and enjoy consuming them. sadly, the opposite happened. i craved nothing. in fact, i lost my appetite but was constantly having to eat in an attempt to avoid full-blown nausea… the nausea eventually subsided and i only got nauseous when i waited too long to eat (thus the non-stop eating).
headaches are my new thing. for awhile, avoiding salty foods later in the day and drinking water helped. unfortunately, that's no longer true. i wake up with a headache every morning these days no matter how much water i drink. even though i'm not sick, i also have a runny nose and occasionally get nosebleeds. my appetite is still not the same but at least i can eat meat again. the only thing i've really craved is sushi, which i can't have. (yes. i know i can have california and tempura rolls, but i want the real thing. raw salmon. raw albacore. raw yellowtail.) oh. and i feel like i'm gonna throw up whenever i bend down now. all normal symptoms and not all in my head. i have a friend who is due three months ahead of me and sis-in-law is a month behind me, who both assure me that all of it is normal... and that more is coming.
i had conversations about pregnancy with each of my sisters recently. bells, who hated being pregnant, teasingly asked me how it was going, knowing full well how blindsided i was physically. she laughed knowingly as i told her how much i didn't enjoy it in spite my excitement about being pregnant. ate, on the other hand, dismissed my inquiry when i asked her why she didn't tell me how hard pregnancy was, simply saying that she kept her focus on the end result: a baby.
my baby.
our baby.
peanut.
when i think about peanut, i am overcome with love. gratitude. even a bit of grace… i'm not gonna lie, i worry every day that i'm not eating enough of a variety, am drinking too much coffee (i'm allowed 12oz a day) and not enough water, am not sleeping enough or pushing too hard in a pilates class. i talk to peanut and imagine what she looks like (fraser commented the other day that we're going to need to pull a major switch if peanut is, in fact, a boy because i've been calling her a girl for weeks now. for the record, he wants a mini version of me and i want a mini version of him, but i have a strong feeling peanut is a mini me).
bells told me that the love she has for her twins is beyond anything she'd ever known. knowing how much of my heart belongs to my nieces and nephews, she assured me that my heart will expand and love in new, inexplicable ways. i can't imagine loving anyone more than i love my family, my friends and fraser, but i look forward to giving peanut everything that i've got.
it's been a long time since i've posted one of these. the past several weeks, i've simply been too tired. the months before that, however, i felt too defeated by the whole trying to get pregnant thing. now that i am, i will power through the symptoms and keep my eye on the prize: peanut.
our very own little peanut.
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