Tuesday, April 24, 2012

The Little One

Sadie and I agreed upon having one child.  She was terrified of being a parent and never imagined herself in that role so one was a huge step.  It wasn't much after Big Guy turned one that I knew I HAD to have another baby. I can't really explain it except to say it didn't feel like an option for me.  Something, somewhere was nagging at me and I just knew I had to do it.  Sadie was reluctant at first but when the same donor we used for Big Guy had some vials returned that were available we jumped on it.  It must have been fate that I checked the cryobank website that day but I swooped in and bought those vials as fast as a momma bird swooping in to protect her young. 

Conceiving Little Guy was difficult.  There was a lot more pressure because we had a limited number of vials (8) which gave us four months of trying to conceive. (We chose 2 vials a month, some people only do 1).  Months one and two came and went and that damn pregnancy test broke my heart every time.  My cycle got funky from stress and I went to talk to my doctor about getting some help through medication.  I was prescribed Clomid and sent off to try again.  The third month of trying I was completely convinced I was pregnant.  The test, negative.  I couldn't understand it until I learned that Clomid side effects can mirror early pregnancy symptoms.  Humph.  I was depressed, anxious and moody doesn't even begin to describe my Clomid attitude.  I would literally laugh and smile one minute and sob uncontrollably the next.  I seriously considered not doing Clomid for the next cycle because the side effects were so bad.  I could not give up.  I took the meds and went on to our last month.  The pressure was immense, it was all on me at this point and this was our last shot.  I scheduled the two days of insemination's and went to the first.  Sadie had an important meeting and couldn't be there so I braved it alone.  IUI (intrauterine insemination) wasn't horrible by any means, some times it was slightly painful and others not at all, it's just nerve wracking.  I was sitting in the exam room waiting for my doctor to come in and do the procedure.  A fair amount of time had passed and I was getting more and more anxious. Then, a knock at the door and in walked one of my favorite NP's.  Shuffling in behind the NP was another woman and they both looked very solemn.  I don't remember the exact wording but I was told that the medical assistant had, while preparing the vial for insemination, accidentally spilled it's contents.  Horror.  I cried, a lot.  This, our last month, our last two vials and now one of them was gone.  The donor had retired and there were no others out there and she spilled one???  I could not comprehend how it happened, could not understand why it was happening to me.  I re-assured the assistant that while I was devastatingly sad I was not angry at her, and I wasn't.  Mistakes do happen, to everyone, and she was genuinely sorry.  How could I be angry at her?  I was, instead, angry at the world.  The prepared the last vial and I was inseminated and instead of the usual 10 minutes with my feet in the air they gave me at least 20 to try to ease my mind.  It didn't matter though, I knew I would not get pregnant. Nothing had gone as planned this time, nothing was working and the spilled vial was just another sign I should be happy with Big Guy and let it go.  Low and behold, just 9 days later there was a + on the pregnancy test, faint but there.  I was convinced it was a false positive because in my head I had resigned to the fact that this wasn't going to work.  I took something like 11 tests before I believed it. 

My pregnancy went fairly smooth.  I had some issues with my blood pressure but nothing like the pre-eclampsia I experienced with Big Guy.  I spent one night in the hospital prior to delivery because of elevated pressure and little fetal movement but all was well in the end.  Little guy arrived on his scheduled c-section date at 39 weeks.  My doctor had to use the vacuum to get him out because he was so tightly wedged in my pelvis and could barely lift him over the curtain for me to see.  In fact, all I got to see were the family jewels.  Little guy weighed in at 10 pounds 14 ounces and from the moment my eyes met his I knew why he had to be.  Little Guy is an old soul, someone you've known forever. 

I can't imagine life without my boys and I am ever so thankful to the man who chose to be a sperm donor.  I do not know your name or where you live but I feel like I know so much about you through watching my boys grow.  You will never be able to understand the gift you have given me.  You gave me the gift of motherhood, you gave me the gift of sons, you gave me the gift of life. 

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Selective Hearing

The selective hearing in my house could win awards.  Now, I know I am inevitably going to hear from women who will gush on and on about how if I were married to a man I would really know about selective hearing.  For whatever reason, men seem to take the cake on this particular trait.  So, let me pre-empt that but telling you all that Sadie is really a dude.  No, not like pre or post op dude but she acts more like a guy than a couple of my friends husbands (those with well dressed husbands and color coordinated closets know who you are).  Sadie believes me when I say I am "fine", forgets holidays, believes me when I say we aren't going to exchange gifts at Xmas or for our anniversary and feigns surprise when I get her something, and has selective hearing which when you combine with the blind thing makes for a really great Helen Keller joke.  Mostly though, I refer to my boys.  I often find myself speaking to walls, floors, ceilings, and many other inanimate objects because the animate ones aren't listening.  I get that they are kids and often caught up in play but the thing that really gets me is when they ask me a question and then don't listen to the answer and say "what?"  or ask it again. " Momma's gonna lose her shiz-nit honey" is what I want to say as I sometimes not so patiently try again.  There are also the times when you ask them something or tell them to do something and they say "what?" I repeat and they repeat "what?" I say it a third time through gritted teeth omitting f*ck from in between each word which is now how I hear it in my head.  And again, I hear "what?"  This is when all bets are off and momma turns into a crazy lady.  Sometimes I just scream because I figure a guttural scream is better than the slew of profanities I really want to sling in their direction.  I've learned to employ a few tricks of the trade like making them stop what they are doing and look me in the eye, or stand right in front of them while talking but these only work about 30% of the time.  So what do I do?  I beat my fists in the air while I scream and throw a little hissy fit to let off steam, I stick my head in the freezer to cool off (a trick I learned shortly after giving birth to A)  and I bitch to friends because the same thing happens to them too and then I don't feel so alone. 

Friday, April 6, 2012

Stories for Another Day

A few weeks ago Sadie and I were sitting with the boys on the couch and we started talking about life when they were babies (I mean, really 5 and 7.5 year olds are SO grown up).  We laughed over a lot of the stories of toddler mischief and new parenting mistakes.  There was only one problem, we didn't have much material for the 5 year old. 

Our first born, A, was a handful.  The journal I kept for him is full of stories of destruction and mayhem.  A used to empty the tupperware cabinet and pots and pans drawer on a regular basis, loved tearing all the diapers out of the cabinet, painted himself with Desitin, fell asleep in a cabinet while playing hide and seek and used to climb his dresser, take the lampshade off the lamp and burn a hole in the plastic covering of the changing pad in the time it would take me to pee.  He kept me on my toes and R should be thankful I ever considered having another child.  That said , A was a cuddler, a momma's boy and made me laugh a lot. 

R was the good baby.  He slept well, napped well, and rarely caused trouble.  Whether it was his nature or the fact that A had trained me well and I knew what to watch for we will never know.  All I know is that R's journal is filled with stories of things like long cuddly naps, favorite toys and my professing my love for him repeatedly.  He was easy.  R was sad there were not as many funny stories about him and I tried to reassure him it was just because he was so good, not because I had forgotten to write them down.  Sure, there was the time he was in the jumparoo and a mysterious brown puddle formed under his feet, and the ball popper that became a pacifier popper but nothing big. 

In the past few days though R has added to his journal.  It started with another mom telling me she heard R say he "goosed" someone on the playground.  I asked him what "goosed" meant and he said "you know, like duck, duck goose. I goosed someone."  That was a good laugh.  Then yesterday my little man unknowingly auditioned to be a Chippendale.  I sent him to bed in his Batman footy pj's and he came out in the AM in boxer briefs and a sparkly green light up bow tie from St. Patrick's Day.  So while his baby/toddlerhood were not the most amusing I do believe he will make up for that and have stories to share another day.