May 22, 2008

Age Is Just A Number

Dawson is back at daycare four days per week, as I’ve taken a part-time job for the next few months to help a family member. Due to the delicate nature of the situation and to protect the privacy of those involved, I’ve been asked not to blog about it. This is the first time this has ever been asked of me and I completely respect the request and the reasons behind it. (I did mention this to two people that I felt obligated to notify, but my family is okay with this due to the circumstances.)

I know that this is vague and I apologize. I never realized how difficult it is to write about something, without actually writing about it. And it’s very weird to not be able to talk about an issue. This is a first for me. I have often chosen not to blog about certain topics, but I’ve never been prevented from blogging about something. I’m sure many of you have been in this situation before, so I know you’ll understand.

Anyway, what I wanted to say was that yesterday was Dawson’s first day back at daycare. On the way there we stopped at Kwik Trip (a local convenience store/gas station), because I needed a cappuccino, and Dawson walks up to the counter with a container of powdered donut holes. The plastic container was larger than his head, and my little guy looked hilarious as he tried to carry it without dropping it.

“Mommy, I wanna take donuts to ‘Nee’s house. All my friends will be so ‘cited to eat donuts!” he tells me.

“Dawson, are you sure the kids like donuts?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. “They love ‘em!”

“Okay, donuts it is.” I say.

So, I pay for our purchases and when we’re back in the car, Dawson continues to tell me all about his friends.

“Trevor and Taylor and Bree and Sammy are my best friends, Mommy. They love donuts. I love donuts. They gonna be so ‘cited!”

Each of the kids he mentioned are either a year older or a year younger than Dawson, and he always talks about what kinds of games they play or what type of art project they make each day.

I asked Dawson if Adrian and Lydia, two of the kids who are about 15-18 months old, were his friends, too, he replied, “No Mommy, Adrian and Lydia are just babies. They too little to play with my friends.”

I started to chuckle, but then I wondered how he was able to distinguish Adrian and Lydia as “babies” when they aren’t that much younger than Dawson.

“Doodlebug, how do you know that Adrian and Lydia are just babies?” I asked.

“Because they still wear baby diapers, Mommy! I wear underpants like Taylor and Sammy, and Bree and Trevor wear pull-ups. They are almost big kids like me!”

There you have it! Age differentiation from the point of view of a 3-year old.

Taylor, Trevor & Dawson. They are all born in September, a year apart, and BFFs for life.

May 21, 2008

The Working Woman’s Pregnancy Book

The moment I found out I was pregnant with Dawson, I went to the nearest bookstore and purchased two or three pregnancy books, one of which was What to Expect When You’re Expecting. The book was jam-packed with facts and information, but it scared me silly.

I was obsessed with my pregnancy and I thought if I read every book written on the subject I would be prepared for anything that could happen over the course of nine months until my baby arrived. But that book had me worried about every possible ailment my baby could be born with and I spent 90% of pregnancy in a scared, irrational tizzy.

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May 20, 2008

Sadness, Anger, Frustration: An Update, Comments Open

I have been going through something the past few months and it’s a subject that I always feel uncomfortable blogging about. I worry that in the midst of my vent I’ll spew something that will offend others and I don’t want to do that. I’ve experienced the repercussions of “blogging out loud” and it doesn’t feel good at all.

Thing is, I’m frustrated and angry and sad and I have to get it out. Stuffing all the emotions to the pit of my stomach isn’t healthy, and maybe just getting down to it and letting it all out will allow me to refocus on the situation.

You see, I want another baby. Doug and I have been trying to get pregnant since last fall. Actually we began trying much earlier than that, a year ago really, but we didn’t focus too hard on it because we didn’t want babymaking to become stressful. Add to that my nagging family members, constantly asking when baby number two would arrive and I was in no mood to put extra pressure on myself.

Month after month I would chart my cycles, pee on ovulation sticks, have sex at the “right time” and wait as patiently as possible hoping that when I took a home pregnancy test, positive lines would appear.

And every month as the big fat negative would stare me in the face, mocking me, the sadness would set in. Followed by anger, frustration and a loss of hope.

Oh, how I try to stay positive. Oh, how I try to not let this bring me down. I pretend that it doesn’t hurt deep inside when others announce their pregnancies. Even when I’m genuinely happy for these women, who deserve to have beautiful babies as much as anyone, part me wants to run away and not think about it. Sometimes I don’t want to go through the congratulatory motions because I feel like I’m creating more hurt for myself. Sometimes I want to scream and yell and curse. But I don’t.

I think about how ridiculous it is. I don’t want to be a jealous woman. I’ve blogged about this subject only a few times before and I feel shitty for doing it. I hate ripping open the wound for all to see. But then the anger sets in and makes me think I have the right to express how I feel.

I keep thinking that my “turn” will come again. That it’s not in the cards at this moment in time, but you know what? That pisses me off even more. And there’s no one to talk to about it. People will never tell you, but they are sick of hearing about the poor girl who can’t seem to get pregnant. I’m that girl. And when I confide in some of my pals, they nod and smile, but I can tell they don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about it and it’s me. Yet it’s eating me alive.

And what’s worse is there’s nothing that can be said or done to make me feel better. It’s pathetic, really.

This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with conception issues. It took two years to conceive Dawson. I’ve been diagnosed with every fucking female problem imaginable. Fibroids, PCOS, blah, blah, blah. I’ve been going to the gym to distract myself from this frustration, thinking that losing weight will help. And then I start to cry, because how much weight do I need to lose to get pregnant? Dawson will be four years old in September. Will my kids be ten years apart, because I couldn’t get pregnant?

I feel awful thinking and worrying about this crap. And I know it doesn’t help matters. I know that. I’ve been through this before. It still hurts.

My period is due tomorrow. I jumped the gun and peed on the stick today. Negative. I don’t even feel pregnant. Yet I keep holding on to this small glimmer of hope. Through the tears, I keep hoping. But it doesn’t make me feel any better.

I just had to get it all out….

(Comments are closed for now. I’m just not ready to hear what everyone is thinking. I’m sure many will think I’m crazy. I probably sound like a nut job. I know that.)

Updated - Comments are now open. After I stopped dwelling on it, I realized that I need to stop blaming myself and it’s okay to let others support me.

So many of you have sent me e-mails sharing your stories. I’ve discovered my story is not unique and some of you have felt the exact same way that I do. It’s okay to let it out. Scream and yell and curse if you need to. Use the comments as your forum. I admit, just writing my post yesterday was therapeutic and I’m somewhat clear headed today.

Thanks to everyone who e-mailed me. Words cannot express how grateful I am for your support. That alone is helping me to remain hopeful. Thank you.

May 19, 2008

Summer, Summer, Summer Time

Yes, the Fresh Prince song is stuck in my head…

With Memorial Day this weekend, I’ve started planning our entire summer. Trips to Noah’s Ark, Six Flags Great America, church picnics, Brewers games (yes, more baseball!), Polish Fest and of course BlogHerCon. Writing it all down on the calendar makes me realize how quickly summer will be over, and it hasn’t even begun. I know, I shouldn’t jinx it.

Then I remember that my husband turns 40 this July and I’m contemplating birthday parties. My father turns 53 three days after Doug’s birthday and then I wonder if I should do a joint birthday celebration. You know, bake two cakes with one mix.

Thinking about all the things we want to do and places we’d like to visit is exhausting. Perhaps it’s just as fun to stay home and play with Dawson in the backyard. But I feel guilty for not exposing him to many different activities.

And let’s not forget family vacations. Doug and I have never taken a real vacation. We’ve never even been on a honeymoon. Part of me wants to book a trip to Mexico for the two of us, but the homebody I’m married to is hard to convince.

So I wonder, am I crazy to want to pack so much fun into one short summer? What kinds of Summer Activities do you and your family participate in?