Bleeding heart.

(This post has been seeping through the edges of my brain for what feels like a very long time. I’ve written and deleted it multiple times. So I’m pressing “Publish” because I’m tired of thinking about it.)

There are VERY few things in my life that have literally spun me off my axis and, when I was finally able to breathe, changed me to the very core.

My cousin’s suicide was one. Overnight, I realized that I had an IMPACT on people, for good or bad. It’s awful to say that I lived for 19 years without realizing that, but it’s true. The moment I heard my mother crying, the person I had been was no more.

Losing my job 10 years ago was another. Overnight I lost all semblance of security and realized that the life I had been living was a complete sham. Not only did I have no income, but I had creditors knocking on my door and bills I couldn’t pay. It was a very hard lesson in fiscal responsibility.

Now.

I was one of THOSE infertiles.

I didn’t WANT to take the badge of infertility and wear it forever. When we brought home O, I wanted to be done with it. Because the moment I held him, I realized that it didn’t matter how long it took us, or how many doctors we saw, or how many times I cried at night, or how many failures it took to get pregnant, or how much I despaired, or how little hope I had left at the end of our treatments.

None of it mattered. He was ours, and he was perfect, and the way he came to us was Meant to Be.

I wanted to move on. I downplayed how hard it was to people who didn’t know what we had struggled. I never exactly SHIED away from telling people that it took us a lot of doctors and treatments to bring O home, but I never harped on it. I wanted to heal, to get away from it.

And even now, as we look ahead to trying for a potential sibling for O, I don’t really CONSIDER it not working as failure. I do feel confident that if O were our only child, I would feel as fulfilled and happy as I am now.

I think.

But my sister is having trouble conceiving. And my sister in law has had three miscarriages.

And this weekend, J’s single cousin S confessed that she is starting to DREAD the holidays. Because it’s all about the kids. And she WANTS kids. She wants kids so badly she can’t even breathe. And she is losing hope that she will EVER have kids because she’s going to be 37 this year. And she’s single.

And I found my heart constricting in remembered pain with every word she said. And I told her that she needs to make a safe place for herself, and if the holidays are too much, then she needs to take CARE OF HER and NOT GO.

Thing is, though. She left, and the heaviness settled on me again. The “why her?” and “it’s not fair.”

What do I DO with this empathy? I know the hurt. I LIVED IT myself. I know the fear, and the pain, and the hopelessness.

And I can’t do anything about. Not for my sister. Not for my sister in law. Not for J’s cousin.

Infertility has changed me to the core. It’s made me sensitive to other people’s struggles. And it makes me want to take their burden FOR them. Because I KNOW that pain. I know how awful it is.

I can’t.

Worse yet. I don’t have the time to crusade for infertility. I don’t have the talent to write a book about my struggles with infertility. I’m not a therapist. I can’t write poetry about it, or educate people, or gather a community together which links infertiles to others who are in the SAME situation.

I am just an accountant with a blog and a family of whom I often feel that I don’t have enough time to devote in the first place.

And I have no idea what to do with this bleeding heart.

The Sick Chronicles.

Over the past, oh, 20 months or so, J and I have gotten downright LENIENT about the sick.

Because, it seems, that O is ALWAYS ill. Always has a runny nose. Always has a bit of a cough.

We’ve chalked it up to him being a daycare kid. And though we often get depressed at our inability to keep him healthy, it is what it is. The sick, when it’s not a BAD sick, doesn’t slow O down. It doesn’t keep him – or us – up at night.

However.

Since he was diagnosed with such a bad case of pneumonia a month ago we’ve kept an eye on his symptoms. He had what we thought might be a relapse before we left for the wedding, so I took him to the pediatrician. Though she couldn’t find anything WRONG per se, just a low grade fever and still with the cough, she gave us more antibiotics, which she had warned me we might need.

And O was GREAT in DC. No snot. No cough.

As soon as we got home, he immediately got a runny nose and a phlegmy cough. It hasn’t gone away since.

J suggested that maybe he’s allergic to the cat. Or mold, since we had water in our basement a few times this summer when the gutters were down before they were replaced.

(Not that this will incent him to, you know, actually DO something about the basement. I think I’ve asked him a THOUSAND times to clean it up so we can bleach the floors. Because if there IS an allergy to mold, why not, you know, CLEAN IT so that things get better?)

But I digress.

I took O to the allergist for his flu shot – the H1N1 today. And there was some question as to whether or not he could even GET it at first, since he had his usual cough. And the allergist came in, and I told him that it’s been a cough now for a while, but it’s productive, and we’re getting a follow up x-ray TODAY for the pneumonia after the shots, so whatever he wanted to do was fine.

He decided to go ahead with the shots. And O did fine.

I was expecting him to just have us leave when we were done.

But instead, he came in and gave us a prescription for a nebulizer. And told me that since O has had two bouts of pneumonia in the past year, if he has another he wants to do some blood tests for immunodiseases.
(He used some other word that immunodiseases, but I can’t remember it now. All I know is that it has something to do with his immune system.)

And he told me that he wouldn’t worry about it too much, but that his sick sounds chronic now.

And when I told him I was wondering if there was maybe an allergen to something in our house, he just looked at me. So I asked him point blank if chronic sick could be allergies instead, and he said yes. And then he tossed me the bone – if we wanted to have him tested for more allergens (like cat hair and mold), we could.

But he didn’t sound all that worried about it. He didn’t RECOMMEND that we do more testing.

I came out of there more confused than I went in.

And I’m sitting here now, listening to O cough over the monitor. And I want him to NOT be sick anymore. But I don’t know if doing more tests is overreacting, or if we should, because allergies are serious.

I don’t know if he’s just a sickly kid, or these colds are boosting his immune system so that he’ll be healthy later on.

I don’t know if the “sick” as we call it really is extra saliva and congestion because he DOES have a tooth coming in right now.

I don’t know.

All I know is that I want my kid to be healthy. And I have no idea how to get there from here.

Perfect Moment… um… Tuesday.

It’s been tough getting back into running regularly again.

It’s dark when I go out for my 5:30 run.

It’s dry and cold, which makes my lungs feel like they’re bleeding.

I’m out of shape enough that I end up walking far more than I want to.

This morning the alarm rang at 5:00. At 5:20 I finally pulled myself out of our warm bed.

No cotton this morning – it was 45 and raining.

I wore my older running sneakers, ones that I’m okay with getting wet and nasty.

Strapped on my iPod, put my hat on, and went outside.

And this morning?

Running was magic. It was almost effortless.

I could breathe without feeling like I was going to drown.

I felt strong.

Alive.

I ran the entire 5k this morning.

Without stopping.

And when I came home, I stretched in our living room, facing the jumble of toys. I heard O upstairs, talking to his puppy in his room.

And when I went upstairs to shower, and O saw me through his open door, his face lit up.

“Mommy,” he sighed.

The perfect morning.

A bit of deja vu.

(*warning: Vent ahead. Click away if you don’t want to hear my bitching. I’m okay with it, really. Just need to get this out.*)

It was at my cousin’s wedding in DC where my SIL, my brother’s wife, mentioned to my sister and I that her period was late. By two weeks.

I knew.

My sister knew too.

It was confirmed last week. My brother and SIL are expecting.

Due July 8, 2010.

First try.

FIRST FUCKING TRY.

Two years ago, my brother had his car repossessed. Because he didn’t bother reading his mail.

That very same car, last year, he wrapped around a telephone pole in the middle of an argument with my SIL because he “lost his temper.”

My SIL’s mom lives with them so they can pay their mortgage.

All his life, because he’s the youngest, and the only boy, T got whatever he wanted.

Looks like he’s STILL getting whatever he wants when he wants.

Through all of this, I could only think of my sister.

Who is on her third assisted Femar.a cycle. Where they didn’t even bother triggering her this time, because though she had multiple follicles, they were too small to trigger, and she was headed to DC for the wedding.

Where in January she’ll have been trying for three years.

Where I’ve never heard her sound so defeated, questioning God’s plan for her.

I hate to use the words Not Deserving. Because, money troubles aside, my brother is a good kid man. He’s ALWAYS worked hard. He’s family-oriented – was really upset when my parents moved to Texas, mostly because he’s always lived near them. He’s taken care of my parents’ animals when they’ve been out of town. He helped my father with remodeling, and yardwork, and all sorts of stuff.

And he’s as protective of our sister as I am. When I told him about C’s troubles, he breathed out and said “Wow. I had no idea. Poor C.”

And he promised me that he’d be sensitive about it around her.

(Yes. That includes no bragging about his biologically superior sperm. Which is why I brought it up in the first place – because he told me that he was surprised it happened quickly. That my SIL thinks it’s “because she’s fertile, but really it’s due to [his] strong and focused swimmers.” I’m quoting exactly what he said to me. No joke.)

Mostly my brother is just young. Immature. Needs to grow up.

So I can’t say Not Deserving. Because he IS deserving.

But.

I’m absoutely GUTTED for my sister.

I know what it feels like, to be in her place.

And listening to her say “It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. I can handle this” over the phone made me want to SCREAM.

At the universe, at God, at whomever has made it so that SHE has to endure this pain when my brother gets what he wants without having to work for it. Yet again.

WHY HER?

I’m so ANGRY. I don’t UNDERSTAND why it’s so hard.

IT’S NOT FUCKING FAIR.

Watching her with O makes my heart bleed. Somehow she gets past his shyness with people he doesn’t know. Every time she sees him, within minutes, he’s playing with her like he’s known her all his life.

She is going to be a FANTASTIC mother.

And I’m so angry that she’s had to wait this long. I want to FIX IT for her.

I want to make it better.

All I can do is listen, and empathize, and tell her that at some point it won’t be the way it is now. That she’ll resolve her infertility some way or another.

Doesn’t mean I’m OKAY with any of this. Because I’m not.

Not at all.

Insanity.

(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.

A (Not totally) Wordless Wednesday: The O Dance.

Click here for more WW images.

(Re) Taking Control.

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.

Life with a toddler.

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.

Early Conversations.

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.

A REAL vacation.

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.