(Or: How My Friend D Made Me Lose My Head.)

(Or, More Truthfully: How I’m Freaking Out About Turning 34.)

Two nights ago, I found myself on the phone, making a hotel reservation in Vermont for the weekend of April 24-25, 2010.

And I said these words to the hotel clerk.

“I’m running the half-marathon that weekend.”

I was fortunate enough to make it through my 20s and into my 30s with NO age-related freakouts.

In fact, I LOVED turning 30.

Maybe it was because 30-something sounded so COOL. Not only was I in my sexual PRIME, but I had also accumulated a bit of wisdom from my 20s-induced craziness.

Without being old, that is.

And over the past couple of years, I’ve conveniently FORGOTTEN my age. In fact, when people asked I’d have to actually DO THE MATH to remember. 31? 33? I never could remember.

Until I first saw my new primary care doctor a couple of months ago.

And she told me that at 35 I needed to get a baseline mammogram, add daily calcium supplements into my diet, and make sure that I was taking care of myself.

And, you know, 35 is advanced maternal age too, so I should probably think about that sort of thing if/when we want to try for another kid.

And then there’s the fact that my friend S, who is close to MY AGE, has cancer. Which, probably incorrectly, I’ve always looked at as an old person disease.

Now see. I’m not TURNING 35 next week. I’m only 34.

But. I’m THAT much closer to 35.

Which is halfway to 40.

And maybe that’s not OLD.

But it’s not YOUNG, either.

I didn’t really realize how much this was affecting my recent decisions.

Until the very moment when I was making a hotel reservation for the Middlebury Maple Run on April 25th. When the words “I’m running the half marathon” came out of my mouth.

I CAN tell you that I have been plagued with feelings of inadequacy for the past few months.

I’ve started to take back control on the weight front, for example. Because I see FAT when I look in a mirror.

I’ve been really hard on myself when it comes to parenting a toddler. With not knowing he was sick with pneumonia. For not dealing well with the tantrums.

I’ve felt like a slacker for not getting my ASS out of bed in the morning to go for a run. But really couldn’t figure out how to make that happen.

And I have had “run a marathon” on my list of Things I Need To Do Before I Die for 10 years now.

I keep making excuses. I’m too busy to train. I don’t know if I can manage it physically. I want to be done with having kids before I start training. I don’t want to train because it gets cold in New England in the winter.

Yada yada.

But yeah. I have A BIRTHDAY next week.

And in typical Serenity way, it triggered a bit of an early mid-life crisis.

I mean, what have I really ACCOMPLISHED off that list?

Lately… not much at all.

So when my friend D signed up for another half marathon this coming March, she inspired me.

Enough to think that maybe I can run 13.1 miles myself.

Maybe I’ve lost my head completely.

Maybe I needed a kick in the ass and remember that I’m living life for ME, too. Not just for O and J.

Maybe this is my way of coping with the fact that I’m getting older, and worried about my health, and giving my belly fat the proverbial finger (because I’m going to run this thing even if it jiggles the whole damn way, thank you very much!).

Maybe it’s an obsession.

Regardless?

I am running a half marathon on Sunday, April 25, 2010. In Middlebury, Vermont.

Eek.

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You know what sucks about getting older?

Not being able to eat what I want. When I want. In the quantities I want.

*sigh*

My 34th birthday is next Thursday.

And despite my best efforts – the running of the 5Ks this summer, the trying to eat healthy stuff instead of crap, but not really ACCOUNTING for everything that goes into my mouth – last week when I got on a scale I saw my “freakout” number.

Everyone has one of those. It’s the number where, when your weight gets close to it, makes you start changing things. You skip the after dinner ice cream. You have salads at lunch instead of the sandwiches.

Personally?

I have seen that number MULTIPLE times over the past few months. And though I manage to eek my way down 5lbs every time, I go back and forth and back and forth and back and forth.

That number is a BAD one. It’s the number where I cross over the threshold from being “normal” into “overweight.”

And I went to a wedding two weekends ago where my control top pantyhose managed to meld my belly fat into a ball that resembled a very early pregnancy.

Trust me, walking around with a toddler clinging to you while sucking in your gut is NOT a fun way to spend a wedding.

And even worse?

I have BACK FAT, people.

So I decided that I am DONE with being unhappy with my weight. I’m tired of being embarrassed when I have to dress up. I’m tired of ALMOST fitting into clothes that are the size I used to be. I’m tired of disliking what I see when I look in a mirror.

So.

I signed up for another three months on Weigh.t Wat.chers online.

I am hoping to lose 15lbs.

I NEED to lose 10.

I WANT to lose that additional 5 so that I’m not completely freaked about my natural progression of gaining/losing 5lbs.

So far I’ve lost 4lbs. I FEEL better already.

And. Inspired by my friend D, who just signed up for another half-marathon, I also signed up for a “Turkey Trot” next Thursday morning.

Because it’s my birthday.

And truly.

I can’t think of anything more empowering to do as I approach my mid thirties.

On my birthday this year, I’m making a pact with myself to focus on MY HEALTH.

Keeping my weight well into the “normal”range.

Committing to making sure that regular exercise is part of my life.

And that is the BEST birthday present I have given myself in years.

There are some days where I REALLY doubt my ability to be a good mother.

Like this morning.

Where my reaction to the whining and tantrums makes me feel like crap.

(Yes. I yelled. And in the moment where I yelled, and he quieted and looked at me all serious, it made me FEEL BETTER. But then it all came crashing down on me – I don’t WANT to yell, and goodness can’t I be better about not reacting to toddler stuff already?)

Where mornings like this seems like every MINUTE is a battle.

Where I wish there was a way to REASON with him.

Where, when I’m on the way to drop him off at daycare, I’m already SPENT.

Despite the fact that it’s only 8am.

But then I come out of his daycare, and he’s outside, and I see him sitting on a tricycle, a bike helmet on…

… and I am overwhelmed. He’s so BIG. And it’s going by so FAST. And I’m so proud to be his mom.

Parenting, hands down, is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I literally know NOTHING about being a mom. I am working almost entirely on instinct. Maybe 5% of the things I do in any given day is something I KNOW.

The other 95% is just faking.

(Oh yeah. And talking to my friends Heather and J and D and asking them what they think – using them as lighthouses to make sure I’m not steering us into the rocks.)

But mostly what I’ve found is that motherhood seems to be an exercise in keeping my head above water.

And trying to keep up with my son.

The good news is that the ups are FANTASTIC.

The bad news is that there are downs, too.

It’s another sort of rollercoaster altogether.

We’ve been trying to get O to say “all done!” when he’s done eating forever.

Instead of throwing his plate on the floor.

Or spitting his food out of his mouth (also onto the floor).

Because he knows the sign for all done.

One day, he’s wandering the room, eating puffs out of a plastic container.

He finishes them.

He walks over to me, turns the container upside down, and says:

“Empty.”

(Apparently “all done” is too, well, ELEMENTARY for him.)

_________________________

It’s morning. He’s laying on our changing pad and I’m changing him into his clothes.

He’s playing with his socks. He pulls apart the neat ball I’ve made to store them, drops one sock by his head.

When I ask him, “now where did your other sock go?”

He shrugs his shoulders, puts his hands wide, and says in a sing-song voice: “I dun-NO!”

When I laugh out loud, he spends the next five minutes saying “I dun-NO!”

Like he LOVES being the ham.

__________________________

The sound “tr” comes out like a “K” or a “G.”

We’re walking the Mall in DC. There are people all around us. A bus passes.

O stops, turns, points, and yells: “BIIIG COCK!”

We’re quick to assure him that yes, it’s a big TRUCK.

_________________________

In the stroller, after his nap. J is walking him to the Museum of Natural History.

O is yelling.

“Hap-PY! HAPPY! HAPPY! HAPPY!”

He’s so awesome.

I’ve been radio silent because J, O, and I went to Washington, DC.

My cousin got married over the weekend, and J and I thought it would be great to take a bit of an extended weekend so we could visit with friends and family and see some of the sights.

I even got to meet up with Lindsay and Somewhat Ordinary and Mel. And there was a moment where ALL of our kids were in one room together. And though that chaos meant I couldn’t REALLY pause to savor it the way I wanted to… I get goosebumps whenever I think about how much we’ve all gone through to have those kids and how damn lucky we are.

O did fantastic, too.

He napped in his stroller when we were between hotel rooms. He slept in pack and plays with minimal fuss. He giggled and laughed and chattered away most evenings, even when we had him up too late.

He walked up the stairs of the Lincoln Monument himself.

And walked the length of the reflecting pool, chasing squirrels.

He ambled around the Washington Monument himself, looking up at it and saying “Big.”

He loved the mammals room at the Museum of Natural History.

He saw pandas and a cheetah and monkeys and birds and ducks and spiders at the National Zoo.

He lived off of hot dogs, pirates booty, apples, pizza, and macaroni and cheese.

He pointed out every plane and helicopter that flew by us on the Mall; including Marine One.

He loved the flight science room at the Air and Space Museum.

He stood still for 15 minutes and watched the string trio at the wedding in what can only be described as fascination.

He rode the Metro multiple times.

He played at the Port Discovery Children’s Museum in Baltimore the morning before we left for the airport.

The weather was gorgeous – 70s and perfect for walking.

And for the FIRST time since we had O, J and I had a vacation where we really enjoyed ourselves and relaxed.

We ate Thai takeout food.

We visited with friends and family.

We walked. And walked. And walked.

We didn’t stress too much about the lack of keeping O on a schedule, but we tried to keep things as normal as we could with bedtimes and meals.

Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was that the museums we visited were free, and we felt okay with going into one for an hour or two before O got restless.

Maybe it was the friends and family we got to see.

Maybe it was the uninterrupted time we had with O.

But yesterday when we woke up in our hotel room in Baltimore, we were REALLY sad to realize that we had to get on a plane to come home.

And we’re already planning the NEXT trip. Maybe in May. Maybe next October or November.

Either way, it feels like a turning point for us. Where we’ve realized that we can take O anywhere, that he’s a pretty good traveller.

And maybe, just MAYBE, we DON’T have to change the things we love to do in order to be good parents.

We can still travel.

We can have FUN.

I suppose when I say that I want to move past infertility for good, I should clarify.

I mean this.

I want to move past BATTLING infertility.

To planning going back to the RE. To scheduling the HSG, the blood draws. J’s next SA, which will confirm that yes, we are still infertile.

I am fully aware that I will always have a sense of shock when I think that there are people who can get pregnant just by having sex.

In their bedrooms.

Where some people can actually do this without really even PLANNING for it.

I can’t say I’ll ever really LIKE going to baby showers.

I’ll probably always feel that low-burning ember of anger when I hear about friends and family who have trouble conceiving.

I may also feel a dull sense of envy when I see a pregnant woman for a while. Maybe forever. I don’t know.

But I can tell you that I’m TIRED of infertility being at the forefront of our lives.

Where we have to explain to well-meaning people who ask us if we’re thinking about expanding our family that, well, we’re not sure when we want to go back to the doctor, because O was an in-vitro baby and we’ll need something like that to conceive again.

I’m tired of knowing what the next response is. “Well, pregnancy could have FIXED your infertility.”

And then have to explain that no, where my surgery may have fixed the reasons why IVF wasn’t working for us in the first place, we have MF issues which likely will require doctor intervention.

And yes, it’s POSSIBLE that we could get pregnant on our own, and yes, we’re TRYING for that, but we’re not holding our breath for it.

I want a simple answer to the question if we want more kids.

I’m tired of thinking about paying for embryo storage fees, and getting on my insurance because it’s better than J’s in how much we’ll outlay for money to the RE, but it costs a whole lot more.

And I’m tired of trying to figure out how I FEEL about the whole thing. I don’t KNOW if I’m willing to do IVF again. I don’t WANT to pump hormones in my body.

I HATE the idea of having to do 2ww agains. I’m afraid I’m going to spiral back down into the whole depressing mindfuck.

Where I hate my body and then get angry that we have to do the whole thing in the first place and shouldn’t I just be happy with what I HAVE because maybe I’m being greedy and for god’s sake Serenity just shut UP about having more kids already?

So when I say I want to move past it for good… I want to be done with being ACTIVE about infertility. I want it to be able to fade into the background. I want to heal for GOOD.

Instead of focusing on what I don’t have, I want to live my life and be happy with what I have.

And if that means it’s just J and I and O? I think I can be happy with that. Because we’re blessed beyond belief that we have him in the first place.

Anyway. That’s what I meant when I said I wanted to move past infertility.

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So, as it turns out?

My level of mental Zen is directly proportional to the amount of sleep I’m getting.

Now that O’s better, he’s sleeping more. And more importantly, LONGER.

As in, through the night.

WOO.

And so I’ve managed to catch up on my OWN sleep.

So I’m feeling good. He’s still exhausting and exciting, and physical, and playful, and fun, and every day I spend with him I collapse into my bed at the day’s end, utterly exhausted.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

This weekend we went to a baby shower. For a girl who has gone to EVERY BABY SHOWER imaginable. Even when she and her husband were having marital issues. Even when kids were a LONG ways away.

So when we got the invite for the Jack and Jill party, I knew we had to go.

(Even though I still hate baby showers.)

It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. O kept me on my toes, and since husbands were there, too, it felt like just a gathering of friends moreso than a SHOWER. So that was good.

But there were babies there. My friend J, who had her utterly adorable, gorgeous, happy, smiling baby boy in June.

And another friend N, who had her son in July. Who when she was pregnant was already planning on her kids being as close together as they could possibly be.

And it came out during the course of the party that N was pregnant again.

Her kids will be 11 months apart.

My first reaction, I admit, was to remark that she was nuts.

(Yep. I actually SAID THAT. “You’re NUTS.” )

I immediately regretted it. And subsequently spent the rest of the conversation frantically trying to make things better, speaking through the taste of shoe leather.

I totally ROCK the friend thing.

But on the way home, I realized.

I want to be in her place.

I want to be pregnant.

It freaks me the fuck out, truthfully. I think “I want another baby” and then I pretty much mentally shut down.

Because when I think about having a baby… and managing O… and my marriage… and my full time job and the cost of daycare and transitioning O to another room or making the guest room another nursery and having a newborn and the bottles and sleep deprivation and schedules and money and… AND…

Well, you can see how quickly my thoughts spiral into “OMFG. NO WAY can we manage that.”

And then I think that one is enough.

I think the most annoying part of it all is that I feel like we have to make a DECISION. To go back to the doctor, to DECLARE “yes, okay, we’re ready.”

Because in my world, ready has always meant something more than where I’m at right now.

I mean, I THINK I’m as ready as I will be.

Really, how does one PREPARE for another? I have SOME knowledge of what’s involved with having a newborn.

But.

I have NO IDEA of what having a newborn AND a toddler will be like.

So yeah. All I’m going on right now is this WANT thing. I WANT to see O as a big brother. I WANT to complete our family.

But mostly?

I WANT to be finished with thinking about TTC. I WANT to be DONE with doctors and reproductive medicine.

I WANT to live our life, and be a mom, and have our two kids, and just be DONE with all this TTC nonsense. I DON’T WANT to have the internal debate whenever I see EWCM – do I seduce my husband or not? (Because there’s always a CHANCE that we can get pregnant, as small as it is.)

I WANT to set how far we’re willing to go in stone (FETs only? ONE IVF cycle? Two? Three? Seventeen?) and then stick to that plan.

And be DONE when we end up there with nothing to show for it.

At this point, I just WANT to be done. I WANT to feel like I’m NORMAL.

Where, you know, I have the family I planned for because I WANTED it.

I know it doesn’t work that way, though. Maybe it will for us, because we get lucky enough to be blessed with the two kids we WANT.

Maybe it won’t for us, either. Maybe it’ll just be our family of three.

I’m just tired of THINKING about it, though.

And really, it boils down to this.

I just want to move past infertility for good.

(My first foray into Perfect Moment Monday.)

First night of standard time. It’s dark outside. Our kitchen is warm with light and dinner cooking.

O and I are playing “Ring Around the Rosie.” When it comes to the part where we all fall down, I sit down on the floor, and he runs over to me, throws his arms around me, and we fall down together, giggling.

He stands, up, tugs at my hands, and says “UP!”

And we play it again.

___________________________

It’s 3am, and I hear him on the monitor. He’s in light pajamas, and I’ve turned the overnight heat down in the house. As soon as I hear him say “hot” (yeah, we’re working on cold) I wonder if he’s cold.

He finally calls out, questioningly – “Mommy?”

So I go into his room.

His hands and feet are cold. I put on a pair of socks and gather a couple of blankets. We rock, him cradled to my chest, listening to the soft classical music from his clock radio, his shampoo sweet against my cheek.

He resists when I put him back into his crib. “Hot.”

So I pick him back up, and he clings to me, his arms around me neck. We rock for another 5 minutes, and his breathing slows. I know he’s almost asleep, so I put him in his crib. He looks up at me, sleepily, and smiles.

Then rolls over under the blankets and closes his eyes.

I am so lucky to be his mom.