Passages

My grandmother passed away yesterday. She was 96. Well, truthfully, she'd have been 97 on December 1st, so she was actually closer to 97 than 96. She was, for lack of a better, more accurate word, amazing. She was the original tiny force of nature (something we call E frequently).

I'm struggling with this post, a bit, because I'm not even entirely sure how to articulate everything I want to say. But I know I need to try. So, here goes...

First of all, my grandmother was my namesake. She was, like me, the middle of five children. And as much as we were different, there were ways in which she always made me feel like she got me, in a really special way. She got married at 28, which, back in the 40's, was considered pretty late. And that was one of the really significant things she passed on to me - that belief that there should never be a rush to get married - that it should be all about finding that right person. And since I've covered her love story with my grandfather repeatedly in this space, we all know she did just that. And the moment she met E, she was absolutely, 100% convinced that he was that right person for me. And as usual, she was right.

My grandmother was kinda fabulous. She believed in looking good - dressing well, being well-groomed (the last time we visited her, E told her her hair looked nice and she positively GLOWED as a result), and in living life to the fullest. She played golf into her nineties and drank martinis at cocktail hour (5 PM sharp) even deeper into her nineties. She led a life brimming with love. She invited it, cultivated it, cherished it.

On that last visit that E and I had with her, she was fairly out of it, for the most part. Interestingly, as we were getting ready to leave, she perked up. It was as if she came back, in a way. And she said almost exactly the same things to me that my grandfather said to me the last time I saw him. To the end, they were true twin souls (and still are). And just like with him, I had this inkling inside that it would be the last time I'd see her.

I know I've written before about the visit I took to see my grandmother after my grandfather passed away, and about sitting in his chair, and the flickering lamp. Tonight, as I was sitting in my own living room, the lamp next to my sofa flickered the same way. It's not really a lamp that flickers regularly, so it caught my attention. I could just picture the conversation:

Mam: "Oh, Dad. Don't fool around. You know how sensitive Linny can be."
Bucky: "No, don't worry. She loves this trick! Watch. [Flicker.] HA! See? She loves it!"
Mam: "[Shaking her head,] I wish you wouldn't do that. She's so overly sensitive. You're just going to make her cry again. Heavens to Betsy, that Linny can cry."
Bucky: "Oh, Betty, relax. She's not a child. Drink your drink before it gets warm."

I've had this very intense mix of emotions inside these last two days. I'm so relieved for her that she's no longer sick or suffering. She loathed being sick. And she even more intensely loathed the loss of her eyesight. But that doesn't erase the ache inside that results when you have to say goodbye to someone you love so dearly. And then I'm also so glad for her that she is finally, after almost exactly 13 years, with my grandfather once again. She missed him terribly every day of these years, and I know the reunion they're sharing is full of joy. And then there's the pain that comes with knowing they're both gone now, and that part of our family life that they represented is more memory than reality now. I think we can acknowledge that death is a natural part of life and appreciate its inherent difficulty. I don't think those concepts are mutually exclusive.

Among the hardest things was having to tell B what had happened. I'm of the opinion that you shouldn't lie to children about these things. So, we didn't. We told him what was going on. And in his highly emotional way, he processed it. He cried, and he wailed that he didn't want Mam to go to heaven. He said he was going to miss our visits with her, and he told us he was mad at us for visiting that last time without him (she was in hospice care toward the end, so children were not allowed). But he expressed all of that, and he expressed how much he loves her, and all in all, I think it went about as well as it could.

Anyway, I feel like this post is VERY all over the place, so who knows - maybe I'll come back and tweak it at some point. Or maybe I'll just leave it as kind of a raw, brain dump. We'll see. Suffice it to say that a big part of who I am left us yesterday and I'm sad. And happy. And very, very thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. Give your peeps big hugs, y'all.

Five

Five years ago today, my son was born. As everyone always says, everything changed that day. (Cliches are cliches because they're true, right?) In some ways, these five years have gone by in a blink. In some ways, I really can't even remember what it was like before he was here. He's just everything. It's funny. I kind of feel like those early days are a blur. I forget what it was like when he was very tiny, because he's clearly not that baby anymore. He's a (very) tall, mouthy, strong-willed, intelligent, sensitive boy who amazes and annoys (enrages?) me on a daily basis. He defines who I am as a person. My questioning of myself mainly stems from him, as does much of my sense of identity. I waited 31 years for him, yet in a way I feel like he's always been with me.

Ups and Downs

Well, as you've probably gathered by my decidedly sporadic presence lately, the ups and downs (emotional) continue. It's getting really frustrating, I have to say. I guess at least there ARE ups, right? But I mean, of course there are. How could there not be? I have a husband who is loving and smart and funny and brave (see 180X40 for evidence of this) and generally awesome. I have a son who, although he drives me bananas daily, is sensitive and smart and surprisingly athletic and really, really hilarious. I have a daughter who is a ray of sunshine, who makes me smile at just the thought of her, who is sweet and curious and very obviously brilliant. Oh, and did I mention beautiful? ;)

Yet, there remains a malaise that won't entirely quit. Late in the spring, I re-discovered running, and that has been tremendously helpful. However, I've currently got a strain in my right hip that precludes running (if I run on it, I get maybe 1/4 mile before it pops, at which point I can barely walk for a day and a half...so, no running for now).

Meanwhile, I think I'm at a bit of a crossroads, in terms of life and identity. I love being a mother. I love everything about it, even the things that drive me crazy. It's literally a dream come true. I love being a wife. I love having a partner in crime. And I especially love MY partner in crime. I love this family at the center of my universe so much that merely writing those words seems inadequate.

But I still feel a searching inside. I feel like there is still another calling I'm supposed to find. I feel like there is more to my identity about which I'm not yet sure. And that's kind of an angsty feeling. I feel a bit like I'm not complete in that way. Pair that with the damage my old gig did to my psyche and my confidence, and I'm on rather shaky ground.

But as you also know, I'm a pretty upbeat girl, and I do love to focus on the positive. So...I know the not so great stuff will get better. And the great stuff, I will be grateful for every day. Even the days when B makes me want to run for the hills. Which, if we're being honest (and why would we stop now?) is, like, EVERY day. God, I love that kid, you guys.

Vacation, Birthday, Injury

We were on a family vacation last week. During that vacation, E turned one. I cannot believe how incredibly quickly that year went by. I mean, B's first year was fast, sure, but this past year? It was a heartbeat. And now my sweet baby girl is a year old. It has been absolutely awesome, watching her grow through her first year. She is an absolute delight, a tiny force of nature, a silly monkey.

Last Thursday, she was playing with her cousin and fell and hit her head. She was dazed and listless, so we called 911. Admittedly, I was basically incapacitated by panic. I won't even try to front. By the time the ambulance arrived, she was more or less back to normal, and by the time we got to the hospital, even more so. We stayed in the ER for about an hour and a half for observation, and in that time, she chowed a bottle and charmed the entire ER staff. Needless to say, this was even more indication that she was back to normal, so we were released. It was just a few hours, but it was the longest few hours of my life.

So Behind

I'm so behind on my blogging. I've begun several entries recently that went un-finished. I at least owe a brief download of what's up.

- Two weeks ago, my childhood friend Heather lost her husband in Afghanistan. He was a Marine EOD Tech (like the guys in The Hurt Locker), and a true American hero. Please join me in offering her prayers and healing energy as she navigates this unimaginably difficult journey.

-This Saturday is the March for Babies in Boston. I'll be participating once again with my family. Please consider supporting the March of Dimes. They are an amazing organization. I began my involvement after some dear friends lost their premature baby girl and I felt really helpless. Volunteering with them has been among the best experiences of my life.

-My seemingly invincible grandmother, who is 96 years old, is having a rough go of it. She's had them in the past and I've discussed them here, and she's bounced back in ways that have amazed her family. I know that she misses my grandfather every day, and I'm so grateful that she's stuck around for all of us.

-I still owe an update on the Liebster blog award I was nominated for several weeks ago. I haven't forgotten about it, per se...it's just that every time I think about the fact that I owe an update, I don't actually have the time to write one. I will.

-I also still owe an update on my PPD/PPA situation. I've stopped nursing and have begun meds and things seem to be improving a little bit. Hoping to continue that trend, and will update as the situation warrants.

Hope all is well with everyone.

Playing Nice

Why can't we just play nice? I mean, seriously, why can't we all just treat each other with respect and dignity and kindness?

I've been thinking about this a lot in relation to motherhood. The various camps we set up - the working vs. at homes; the breastfeeders vs. the bottle feeders - set up a kind of adversarial dynamic that seems so counterproductive to me. Certainly, there are exceptions, but for the vast majority, don't we all want to do what is best for our children and our families? And isn't what's best different for each family? And shouldn't we, within reason, understand and respect that?

I've been a working mom. I've been a stay at home mom. Both are absolutely brutally hard. Being a MOM is hard. Period. There are a million reasons why women choose each option. And there are women who don't so much choose an option as do what circumstance dictates. In fact, that was the case for me - I didn't CHOOSE to be a working mother, per se. I had a baby and at that time, we couldn't afford for me not to work, so work I did. Miserably. For two and a half years, until we felt like we were at a point when I could stay home for a while.

Now, I stay home. And it. Is. HARD. Anyone who claims it isn't has never done it full time. Full stop. You can stay home with your kids on your two week summer vacation and think, "This is cake!" But you don't know what being a stay at home mom is until you've done it in the dead of winter with a cranky toddler who's got a wicked case of cabin fever and it's literally too cold to play outside. And I'm not talking one day of that, either. I'm talking full on MONTHS of tedium. And as much as you love your kids, you can't help but feel stifled on a lot of those days. And then you feel guilty for not feeling constantly grateful and present.

And if you've never been a working mother, then you don't know what it is to be a working mother, either. You can judge the woman who harriedly drops her child off at daycare and realizes she's forgotten some daily item, and you can think, "HOW could she forget that?!" or whatever. But until you've BEEN that woman, trying to herd a one year old up, into clothes, through breakfast, into the car and into the school, you don't know how excruciating it is to kiss your baby goodbye for the day and cross your fingers that nothing horrible will happen to him while you're gone. And you don't know the crushing guilt you feel about that separation. And you don't know the seething jealousy you sometimes feel toward the women who get to spend all day with their kids.

On the breastfeeding front, there is a similar type of judgment. Listen. I agree, wholeheartedly, that breast is best. I do. I've breastfed both my children. I'm not going to lie to you here, it hasn't always been my favorite thing to do, but I've recognized its importance and benefits. HOWEVER. There are cases in which breastfeeding isn't feasible. I've had friends and relatives who haven't been able to breastfeed. Not who didn't feel like breastfeeding, but who couldn't. Maybe the baby didn't latch, maybe their production wasn't enough, whatever the reason, they couldn't sustain that human life without the aid of formula. And to them, I have said that formula, that option, exists for a REASON. Is it preferable to breast milk? No. But is it better than a malnourished baby? Oh, HELL yes. And yet, the judgment.

This particular issue is hitting very close to home for me right now, since I'm still battling the terrible anxiety, and in order to treat it properly, I will need to stop breastfeeding, since anxiety meds and breastfeeding don't mix. And the guilt I feel at the prospect of stopping breastfeeding is unreal, because after all...breast is best, right?

And yet, I have done nine months of breastfeeding. And the reality is that my anxiety being properly managed will be beneficial to both my children, won't it? Not that I've been unable to care for them or anything like that, but the fact is, kids are perceptive. So, if I'm anxious and scared and tense, they pick up on that, don't they? Probably. And I want to be fully myself for them. I want to be fully present. They are gifts. They are treasures. And I DO get to spend every day with them, and I don't want anxiety to cloud my enjoyment and gratitude.

To be continued, I suspect...

5

Five years ago tonight, I took a pregnancy test and it changed everything. We did the pregnancy test "just to rule it out," or so we thought. And thus began the biggest adventure of our lives...

Some recent shots of my goofballs...

If You're Going to Fight about Uteruses, Maybe Find Someone Who HAS One?

The Internet has been abuzz today with discussion and photographic evidence from the hearings about birth control...which seem not to involve any women. This seems rather counter-intuitive (and in fact counter-productive) to me. It also made me want to share some of my perspective on the topic.

I began a birth control protocol (daily pill) at 19. I was not (SO, SO, sadly NOT) sexually active at the time. What a lot of people, including a majority of men, including, I'm fairly certain, most of the men involved in today's hearings, do not realize, is that the same hormones that prevent you from getting pregnant also treat a host of other illnesses and issues. For me, it was an extremely painful affliction the details of which I won't go into here. After years of debilitating pain a couple of days per month, my doctor finally recommended and prescribed a birth control pill. And it helped. A LOT. It kept me from having to swallow quite such massive doses of Naproxen (the ingredient in Aleve, which back in the olden days was only available by prescription). It helped a variety of things.

Did I ever make use of my birth control pill as birth control? Sure, if I'm being completely honest, I did. Most of the time, I didn't rely solely on the pill, because the pill does not protect against STD's. And I mean, being on birth control certainly did not make me feel like I had license to be promiscuous. What it did was help me be in less pain, and have one more safety measure in place on those occasions when I chose to have sex. Which I did on occasion because I was an adult woman capable of making such decisions for myself.

When I lived in Georgia, my insurance didn't cover birth control, so I had to stop taking it (because I made very little money and birth control was less essential than my asthma and thyroid medications). And guess what happened? The pain came back, in spades. Guess what else happened? I still had sex (sorry, Mom, but I did). For me, and for a lot of women with similar medical reasons for taking birth control, the link between birth control and sex is not as straight-lined as that panel of privileged old men would believe.

Furthermore, even if it were, I really don't get what business it is of theirs. As I've said before, I do understand the argument against abortion. But there is a significant difference, to me, between being against abortion and thinking you get to have a say about what I do in my own sex life. This is such a gigantic step backwards I can barely even wrap my head around it.

I'm not sure how coherent this post even is because I'm rushing to get it done, as I have to go now and care for my two children, who, thanks in part to birth control, were born when I was good and ready to have them. And aren't they lucky to be raised by a mom who actively wanted them and jumped for joy with each positive pregnancy test?

Gratitude

A friend of mine posted this morning about a friend of hers who passed away a year ago today, from breast cancer. She was 32 years old and had a six month old baby. That? Is a tragedy. My heart goes out to her family, and to her, because I can imagine the pain of knowing you would never get to see that baby grow up (at least not here in the physical plain). It sucks.

And, having a six month old myself, it is a really good reminder of WHY it is so important to be grateful for every single day I have with my precious girl (and my boy, too). Even the miserable days are DAYS. We would all do well to remember that.

I also have a dear friend from college who is battling ovarian cancer, and I know she's going to kick its ass into next week. Part of the reason I know that? Because this is a woman who is REALLY GOOD at living in the now and appreciating life.

Gratitude is a powerful tool. It can change your entire perspective. Days I wake up and remember to take  a minute to review all the things I'm grateful for are consistently better (by a large margin) than days I wake up and allow myself to feel beaten down.

Listen, I don't mean to preach here. I'm not in a position to lecture anyone. Just some observations for a Friday morning...especially since it being Friday topped my list this morning.

Disappointment

**UPDATE** The Komen Foundation has backed off the decision to cut this funding. Another success for online activism!

*****
Ten years ago this spring, my mom and I participated in the Avon Breast Cancer 3 Day. This was before the Komen Walk (3 Day) and the Avon Walk (2 Day) split into two separate events. It was among the most amazing experiences I've ever had. I credit it with cementing my adult relationship with my mother, as well as kick-starting a weight loss and fitness regimen that carried through the remainder of my twenties (though I need to get BACK into THAT now...digression).

My maternal grandmother died of Breast Cancer in 1971. I never knew her. Breast cancer is a very personal thing to so many of us, myself included.

And that is why it breaks my heart that I won't be able to support Komen anymore. I just cannot justify supporting a supposed charitable organization that is pulling funding to the largest single provider of free breast cancer screenings in the United States.

Believe me, I understand why. I understand why people have such an issue with Planned Parenthood. Abortion is a deeply felt issue on both sides of the argument, and there is no easy resolution. My personal views have been made clear repeatedly in this space so I won't go into that again now.

But here's the thing. Komen was NOT funding abortions at PP. I know for a fact that PP is very careful about assigning their donations and grants. They have to be because every cent is examined. So, I can say with a measure of certainty that Komen was, in fact, funding BREAST EXAMS. And now they're not. Which is shameful and embarrassing, and the reason I will have to pull MY support of THAT organization. Luckily for me (and those like me), there are lots of other places to donate to help eradicate breast cancer.

I guess if I ever walk again, I'll stick with Avon. Unless they do something equally boneheaded, that is.

Baby Love

I mean, it's pretty obvious to state explicitly that I love babies, right? But there are so many little things about having one in the house that I so adore, that I'd kind of forgotten about, and am remembering happily now that we have one again.

I love the feel of a sleeping baby in my arms. She's warm and soft and smells delicious. She breathes and coos quietly in her sleep. She smiles in her sleep if I touch her cheek. She nuzzles my shoulder and neck.

I love her purely joyful smile. This girl is kind of exceptionally smiley and I cannot get enough of her smile. When I walk into a room and she catches sight of me and breaks out in an enormous grin, it makes everything seem worthwhile.

I love the sound of her laugh. One of her favorite people to laugh with/at is her big brother, and it might be my favorite thing EVER to watch him perform for her and listen to her belly laughs at whatever goofiness he comes up with.

I love her personality. This child is a tiny force of nature - has been since birth. I am fascinated by her incredible independence and self assurance. I hope these qualities stay with her as she grows.

Hibernation

It's sunny and kind of warm today (especially considering it's January in NH), which always gives me the feeling of coming out of hibernation. During the frigid (and usually snowy) winter months, we kind of tend to hunker down and not do as much. This becomes particularly true when we have babies, or at least it does for me.

But I was realizing today that I've isolated myself more this time around than I did last time, even though this baby is older this winter than B was during his first winter. I think it probably has more to do with my emotional state than anything else. It hasn't been a conscious thing, but I think I haven't been as focused on my social life as I would normally be.

In most of my friendships, I tend to be the one who keeps contact. That's not a passive aggressive slap to any friends of mine who are reading this. Far from it. It just is what it is. I tend to be the needy one, for one thing, and therefore, I'm generally the one who makes sure contact is kept up and that plans are made occasionally, etc.

Thus, I realized today how many of my friends I haven't seen in ages. How many of them, even, haven't met E. I kinda miss my homies. I hope spring time and my improved mental state rectify this situation.

Sunshine

It occurred to me recently that, when B was a baby, the vast majority of my posts were about him and motherhood. Now, with E, I haven't posted as much period - probably largely due to being, you know, crazy busy. But even when I have posted, most of the writing hasn't been about her. Which is odd, since I haven't been any less engaged this time around, certainly. Suffice to say that my baby girl has been an absolute pleasure to get to know. She has a true sweetness about her, and she is generally a pretty happy girl. Despite my ongoing anxiety issues, she continues to be a source of joy and peace, and I'm really, really grateful for her.

He's a P.I.T.A., but he's OUR P.I.T.A.

I was just reading on People.com that Sarah Burke, the freestyle skier who crashed last weekend, passed away. That made me feel really sad. But oddly, it also brought a new sense of gratitude, since 10 years ago today, my younger brother was in a skiing accident. He suffered a severe concussion, but he's fine now. Reading that article today, of all days, reminded me what a terrifying couple of days we had, and how grateful I am that one of the biggest pains in the ass I've ever known has continued to BE a pain in my ass for the past decade.

In fact, one of my vivid memories from the morning after the accident was telling him, in his near delirious state, that he'd ruined my birthday, in an attempt to get a laugh. He said, "When's your birthday?" And I told him it was the next day. To which he responded, "Well, then I didn't ruin it. YET." The neuro doc said it was the best sign they'd had that he was going to be okay.

Anyway, yea, I'm glad he's still around. Wear your helmets, y'all.

2012 Will Rock

So help me God, it will.

I'm tired of being this depressed, depressing person. I'm getting my mojo back. By hook or by crook, these things will happen. I'm focusing on getting back to my positive self. In seeing the magic in the world and believing that I deserve my blessings.

That's all I got for tonight.