Mother's Guilt

Guilt. I don't remember ever really feeling guilty until I became a mother. Am I doing enough? Am I doing too much? Am I doing it right? Wrong? Too high-strung? Too laid-back? I just pray for grace as I do the best I can.

Then the second child finally came along. He is, well how should I put this, a needy little guy. Maybe I'm not tending to his needs as promptly as I did his brother's at this age? Speaking of his brother, am I spending enough time with him? I'm suppose to be reading more with him and practicing his handwriting. All hard to do with a baby at the teat.

I just realized I forgot my due date for my 4th pregnancy, which ended in September 2008 at 12 weeks. He would have been 1 on the 20th. A one year-old! And I forgot. My other two angels had due dates back in January, and they never crossed my mind. Sigh.

God grant me peace, serenity and grace.

Worst blogger EVER!!

Hi! I found a few new addictions! No time to blog when I'm busy...

Facebooking... (enough said, it's that bad! Is Facebooking a verb??) After all, who has time to upload pictures to Facebook & a blog?

My new love... photography! Who wouldn't love to take pictures of these precious subjects...








And lastly, I've been working extra shifts to support my new found habit...


That is, buying Vera Bradley purses! Next up, Purple Punch diaper bag... oh yeah!

Better than Xanax

After my third miscarriage in September of 2007, I had finally learned enough from the prior two losses to advocate for myself. You'd think as a nurse that after my first loss I would have known what to ask for, and to know enough to let my concerns be known. But, I was a naive patient on the other side of the fence.

After my first two miscarriages I had terrible insomnia and anxiety afterwards. It didn't last that long, and I just learned to deal with it.

Finally, after loss #3, (in which I was hospitalized over night and then told to go home and wait to lose the baby) I asked, no rather, I demanded a few days worth of Ambien and Xanax. They helped take the edge up so I could sleep and function as I started to heal physically and emotionally.

During my pregnancy with Owen, there would be times where I was paralyzed with anxiety. Every stretch of my uterus brought irrational fear. With every trip to the bathroom evoked apprehension and a thorough inspection of the toilet paper. In the second and third trimester, I panicked when I didn't feel him move. Anyone who's been through pregnancy loss I'm sure can relate.

Knowing I couldn't have a glass of wine, or take a pill to help me through these emotions, I looked for other ways to cope with the anxiety and stress I was experiencing. I prayed, and asked others' to pray for me and the baby. I reached out to my church family more than ever. I'm typically not one to ask for help, but I felt so desperate, I was willing to put myself out there.

I also read a lot of Psalms. I listened to this hymn, Psalm 62, hundreds of times. I'm not kidding. It always brought me such a sense of calm. And now, when Owen is having one of his colicky moments, I put this song on and he starts calming down. I think he must recognize it from all the times he heard it in utero!

Oh Oprah!

Oprah, Oprah, Oprah! I just watched yesterday's start to "Best Life Week" on DVR. Seriously, all you have to offer me is "love yourself?!?" Haven't we heard this time and time again? Make yourself a priority? Dammit Oprah! I was hoping you found a magic potion of formula that at last, would be the answer to all our weight problems.

I don't know if I can take weight loss advice from Oprah anymore. She didn't make herself a priority last year, and therefore didn't have time to work out, plan meals, etc., and got fat again. Seriously?

I'm not working out right now because I'm cleaning my house, nursing my baby, taking down Christmas decorations (finally). If I had your money, I could hire people to do the majority of all this, and my fat ass could be at the gym!

While I recognize that there are ways I could delegate more, and therefore have more time for myself, I don't think I would want to take that extra time and workout. Not because I don't love myself, but because I hate working out! I'd much rather be shopping, getting my nails done, catching up on my TiVo playlists or browsing Facebook.

Please Oprah, find a magical bark in the rain forest that could be made into a supplement, and would magically shed the pounds! Don't tell me to love myself!

End rant.

I'll think of Emilie

I've been a tad over emotional today. And I admit, perhaps a tad irrational.

I go back to work tomorrow. I've sat around all day today in my pajamas, holding and kissing my baby. I can't believe I have to be gone from him tomorrow for over 12 hours. Then, wake up and do it all over again on Saturday and Sunday. Over 36 long hours. My husband can't understand my crying over the situation. After all, both boys will be at home with my husband. They'll be well cared for and loved. But I want to be here with them. I want to steal kisses when ever I feel like it. Scoop up a boy of my choosing and give them a squeeze. I love the smell of my boys (yes, even the almost 6 year old!). And I am going to miss them.

I think part of my issue is the very intensity of my job. As a hospice nurse, I have to be on my "A" game all the time. I won't be able to be of much help to a grieving family who is caring for their loved one, if my brain and my heart are at home, in my PJs, snuggling my baby. I have to be there for them in that moment. 100% of myself has to be in my job.

In my self wallowing today, I've given much thought about how lucky I am to be here. In the most basic way, I am thankful that I live in Michigan, and I have a job to be going back to.

I've also given much thought about fellow blogger Emilie Lemmons, and her recent passing. Emilie even commented on how "helpful" and "compassionate" hospice care was to her, in regards to them caring for her in her home. I thought about her hospice team, and how intense of a situation it would be to walk into the home of a beautiful family, with two baby boys losing their mother. I've been in similar situations, and it is draining, surreal, and rewarding in some strange way. So tomorrow, when I feel drained and stressed, I will try to think of Emilie and get through it.

When I finally get home, I will not freak out if my husband forgot to put a onsie on the baby, or if Matthew ate PB&J for breakfast and lunch.

I know that they will have been loved, and smooched, and cuddled, all while mommy was at work, hopefully making even the smallest difference in someone's life.

So, if you see me in my car, in some parking lot, pumping my boobs, crying to Owen's lullaby CD, and kissing my PDA with these pics...






please ignore me and cut me some slack... it's been a long, hard day!

'Twas the season...

We had a busy, but fun, Christmas back home in Illinois. After an 11 hour car ride to my in-laws (delays due to weather, should have been around 6), we finally arrived. We then spent Christmas Eve with them, and then drove another 2 hours to see my family.

The boys' did wonderful in the car. Mommy, not so much.

To sum up our travels...



I go back to work this Friday, Jan. 2nd. I'm not ready, but I guess I need to be.

In case anyone was wondering...

... the hustle and bustle of the holiday season and a colicky baby do not go well together. Just in case you didn't know that.

I don't know... colic, reflux, adverse reaction to my dairy intake? This fussiness is all new to me. Matthew was the easiest baby. Not that Owen is that difficult, but around 7 or 8 at night he starts fussing. Now, I've heard of babies who cry for hours no matter what anyone does for them. But Owen is content to be held and "snacking" as I call it. He'll nurse, then take a 15 minute break, and want to nurse again. And, rather aggressively, I might add. Doctor said it sounds like colic. I just feel bad for the little guy. He's not a happy camper. I guess I'll keep trying to figure it out.

Had my 6 week post-partum appointment today. I can't believe it's been 6 weeks! Had the ole birth control talk with my doctor... it was all I could do but practically burst out laughing mid-conversation. Me? Birth control? Bwah-hah-hah-hah-hah!!

Hubs was all adamant about Owen being our last. I was fine with that, as it is not as if we've had the best of luck fertility wise. Owen was an unexpected blessing. A true miracle. I feel so blessed that he is here with us. But, now we just aren't sure if we want to try again. I don't know if I'm strong enough to TTC. Who knows how long it would take us to conceive? And what if I had another miscarriage? Do we want to practice some sort of birth control, or just let "nature take it's course"? We just don't know.

I feel selfish contemplating baby #3. I feel angry that infertility and pregnancy loss has made me scared to think of trying to conceive again.

I guess once you're an infertile, you're always an infertile, no matter how many babies you have. It changes the fiber of your being forever.

I am so grateful for the little men in my life. It was worth every tear and every heart ache. Infertility can't rob me of that.