Bad Chemistry

I was going to write about my Black Friday adventures and gripe about anti-BF people and how they think it's okay to be obnoxious to those of us who hit the stores the day after Thanksgiving, but life intervenes and I need to air out another issue.

As of today, I've had my 3rd miscarriage.  That's a personal rate of 60% and, honestly, with odds like that I should be hitting the local casino.

My first was before Avery, when my husband and I had first moved in together.  I was on antibiotics and we were far too early on in the relationship to have a baby, so I suppose it was a blessing in disguise, but it was horrible.  I was actually amazed at how hard I took it given that I didn't want to be pregnant.

The next time was when we were trying to conceive our 2nd.  That took me a while to recover from, mainly because I wanted so badly to be pregnant.

Today, I got to call my doctor's office and report my 3rd "chemical pregnancy," which they really don't take very seriously.  There are women out there with "real" fertility and pregnancy complications and, especially since my losses weren't consecutive, it pretty much gets pushed aside with a "try again next month" attitude.  It really doesn't make it hurt any less.  I don't think I've stopped crying since I realized what was going on.

Naturally, however illogical, I'm blaming myself.  Did I drink too much caffeine?  Did I eat something I shouldn't have?  Once again, my crazy superstition about going to funerals while pregnant has been realized (all 3 losses were after attending a funeral...my great aunt died the day I ovulated; I know, it's dumb, but these things have a way of growing in a mind looking for ANY answer).  Worst, is there simply something wrong with me; am I destined to repeat this every time we try to conceive?  Hell, my husband's taken to joking about "getting through" another miscarriage before really getting pregnant again.  I know it's a coping mechanism, but it makes me feel inept.

So, as I wait for the doctor's office to call back, presumably to tell me there's nothing to do but bleed and try again, I'm watching my two beautiful babies play with each other.  I know I'm lucky and that I should be grateful for what I have.  I know amazing women who have been through losses so much greater than mine, strong women who survived what I don't know if I could survive.  But I simply feel empty and lonely and scared.

We Are...

I went to the University of Pittsburgh, a school that likes to fancy itself a rival of Penn State University in many ways, but especially in football, despite the fact that the two programs have very little in common and PSU is on the winning end of the matchup with an all-time record of 50-42-4.  My husband is currently attending Penn State, continuing this year a "few" years after starting there upon graduating high school.  Over the years, I've traded jabs with him and my many friends who are alumni, but always with the knowledge that they never took the "rivalry" as seriously as my fellow Pitt grads did.

I've been trying to formulate a post this week in the wake of news of Jerry Sandusky's horrible crimes.  I have had so much to say this week with friends, all of us sharing our outrage and disbelief, and I contemplated sharing what my thoughts were regarding the situation, but anything I could say has been said, regarding Joe Paterno, the media coverage and the bigger, more important crimes.

Photo credit: Reuters

Instead, I'll write about this: as I watch the pre-game portion of the Penn State/Nebraska game, I'm crying like a baby.  The seniors running out of the tunnel for a game that doesn't resemble anything they could have imagined even a week ago, the teams mingling in the middle of the field for a pre-game prayer, the pride, conviction, and renewed meaning behind the singing of the alma mater....during all of this, the cameras moved to students who were, like me, crying.

For many of them, this is their first exposure to the ugliness in a world that, to them, has been theirs to rule.  The utopia of Happy Valley has been hit by a virtual nuclear bomb and, while my reality check or introduction to imperfection of men may have been different than theirs, it's something that all of us go through in our lives.

This situation is horrible, disgusting, and only bound to get worse.  But it has united people.  Penn State has an unbelievable ability to raise money for worthy causes and now, their sights are set on organizations created to help Sandusky's and other miscreants' victims.  PSU's real rivals have stepped forward to offer support and understanding.  Today, differences have been set aside for a bit and people are coming together for a much more important reason than a football game.

So, while none of this makes any sense yet, nor will it ever, really, many of us are mourning this loss of innocence with the students and alumni of Penn State.  And even though many of us aren't......

We Are.

Mind on a Baby, and a Baby on My Mind

Nope.  Not pregnant yet.

But now that we know Baby #3 is in the near future, my tendency toward over-researching topics has found a new topic to dissect.  Despite my relative expertise on the topic, I'm finding all sorts of things I need advice and reassurance about.

1. Am I really ready for this?  I mean, really?!
Since having baby #1, I always knew there'd be a baby #3.  My parents were both the oldest of three, as was I, and my husband is the 3rd of 4 kids.  Once I decided I wanted kids at all, I wanted to have more than one for a sibling, and 3 just felt more natural to me than two because it's what I know.  So, logically, I know that I am ready to have another child because I made the biggest part of the decision long before now.
But now that it's so much more real, I'm freaking out a little.  Will my older two be okay?  Can we afford another one?  Is our house big enough?  Questions that I've already thought through and problems that I've already solved, but I look up people in similar situations just to reassure and, in some instances, further prepare myself.

2. Telling our family.
My in-laws will not be AT ALL surprised when we announce a pregnancy.  They will be thrilled for us and excited for another grandchild.  Pretty normal reactions and I welcome their support WHOLE-freakin'-HEARTEDLY.
My family?  Well, let's just say that they haven't learned that some things aren't any of their damn business, nor are their opinions welcome.  Honestly, if I could just skip telling them, I would.  I'd much rather do the Facebook announcement to distant friends and relatives than tell my family.  Avery was unplanned, so they still seem to think that we are irresponsible about getting pregnant.  When we told them Isaac was on the way, I was asked if I really thought that was a good idea, whether it was "another accident," and told that THEY thought we should have waited longer.  Wow.  Thanks.  Then, when Isaac was born, my mother was so upset that we didn't tell her about the c-section and let her know everything that was going on, that she didn't come to the hospital to meet her grandson when we called.  Pretty sure my husband will never forgive that.  And last week, one of my brothers made a comment about the fact that I, "keep popping out kids."  Really, asshole?  I have two.  And I'm 31 years old.  Furthermore, a few of the women in my family have said we should just be happy with what we have and stop because we have one of each.  Because, obviously, motherhood is all about symmetry....  No wonder I have such skewed views of being a mom.  I have such screwed-up role models.
So, yeah.  Not thrilled about that.  I'm seriously leaning toward the picture-text of an ultrasound or pregnancy test to tell them.  Really.  Not kidding.

3. Getting pregnant in the first place
Yes, I know how it works.  But for some reason I'm still afraid I'm going to have trouble getting pregnant.  It's never been a problem before, but I still find myself looking up stuff I already know (cycle length, hormones, timing, etc.) to assure myself that I'm not screwing things up.  I even bought a fertility monitor because I managed to convince myself that my cycle is wonky.  I'd feel worse about the expense if it wasn't for my learning that my cycle is, in fact, on the fritz since I had my IUD out...

4. Staying pregnant
We've had two miscarriages (one before Avery and one between Ave and Isaac) and I'm truly terrified of having another.  The feelings of guilt and anger and emptiness are horrible, never mind the physical pain.  Chris doesn't have any idea how to make me feel better, though he really tries, and I feel worse about the fact that I'm not helping him through it...  I hate this topic and really try not to think about it at all, but when it pops into my head, it digs itself in and scares the crap out of me.

5. Childbirth
I've had 2 c-sections and will be trying a VBA2C this time around.  Uncharted territory for most women and their doctors.  I'm apprehensive, but I really think it is the right choice given our circumstances (long stories, which will need to be discussed in a later post).

6.  I'm getting old
I know, I'm really not.  But I've begun to appreciate my two kiddos being old enough to do things for themselves and almost being out of diapers.  The thought of the sleepless nights and work involved with an infant is exhausting...not enough to outweigh the wonderfulness of a baby.  It wouldn't surprise me if this wound up being our last, though.

So that's where my head is.  In all the important ways, I'm sure this is the right thing to do.  But, like when deciding to have Isaac, I've already started second-guessing all of those decisions...which, I suppose, is a lot like being a mom in the first place. ;-)

Let's Get It On

I'm convinced EVERY couple has some sort of issue when it comes to the bedroom.  The most vocal of us (yes, us) seem to be the ones who aren't getting enough sex, which experts will say is not only a symptom of problems in the relationship but of society in general.  But we all know people who have problems with their significant other because somebody, be it one or both, is having too much sex.  Am I right?  Seriously.

So I'm a Serial Googler.  Anything that pops into my head, I look up.  I'm sure it drives my doctors insane.  After another group, estrogen-fueled rant with friends about not getting enough from the relationship (apparently, a LOT of us had some "discussions" with our significant others last night), I felt the need to do some research.

But in looking up advice, I stumble across this.  This is the advice men are giving to each other.  Which, really, in a general, anatomical sense, isn't inaccurate.  But it's missing the boat.  Those are the targets to find, but if Chica's pissed that you forgot to pick up the diapers you promised 15 times you wouldn't forget, or you didn't come home on time....again.....no amount of stimulation is gonna get you a happy ending.  Capiche???  Use that checklist after the action's started.

I've got good news and bad news for all of our husbands, then.  The good news is that the research has been completed and we know the key to a woman's...ahem, chastity belt?...has been discovered.  The bad news is that the 15 minutes of foreplay guys used to complain about?  It's now been extended to days weeks whatever it takes.  A happy, loved woman who feels good about herself is more likely to create a happy, loved, satisfied partner.

Oh, and since I really can't help you with your specific issues, I've gone to my beloved Dr. Oz for some personalized information.  Check out this little quiz.  I mean, maybe, possibly, we could be partially to blame for our issues, right?

And if all else fails, girls?  I can offer some names of companies that do great sex toy parties... 

Great Moms Feed Their Kids

Our mornings (mine with the kids) are pretty predictable.  Isaac wakes up and comes to my room, with a big smile on his face, and says, "Hi, Mommy!"  He then gets the option to go back to his room to play for a bit, or go in our office to watch Sprout and read books, depending on whether Avery is up (they share a room).  They play for a bit while I motivate myself to get out of bed.  When I get up, they get the order to clean up their toys and make their beds (I'm not a stickler for neatness on that one...just happy they try).  We grab clothes and head downstairs.

I grab breakfast while they get start to get themselves dressed, then they come into the kitchen with me.  We head back into the living room to eat.  They have very serious discussions while I catch up on e-mails and headlines and statuses.

Apparently, I was the topic of their conversation this morning.  I tuned in to:

A: She gives us meat....
I: ....and Cheerios!
(at this point, they could have been talking about my mother, too; until...)
A: Oooh, and she gives us M&M chocolate pancakes with syrup!!
I: Yummy!  And milk and tea!
A: And oatmeal chocolate chip cookies!
I: And chocolate!
A:  Mmmm.  She's a really great Mommy.
I: Uh huh.  She's MY Mommy.
A: Mine too!!
I: Yup.

First of all, I love listening to their conversations.  I love that a 4-year-old and a 2-year-old can have such lengthy discussions about....whatever...and be so serious about it.  They're like a little married couple talking about their day over breakfast.

But to hear them talk about me...nicely and happily....makes me feel mushy inside.  Now, if only I could get them to remember that I give them HEALTHY food, too.

Caution: Mom at Work

Let's just jump right into some controversy, okay?  It seems like other people are afraid to say this, but I know I'm not the only one feeling it, based on some conversations I've had. 


So...deep breath: I hate being a stay-at-home mom.  There, I said it.  Not a "mom," mind you.  I love being a mom.  It's the SAH part that gets me.


Today, a friend made a comment on Facebook about people thinking that being a stay-at-home mom is easy and that those people either aren't one or aren't good ones.  That's pretty critical, and I don't really want to get into that debate.  I certainly do think it's hard as hell meeting everyone else's demands each day, ignoring my own, having any sense of a schedule destroyed by someone who refuses to nap or eat or leave his damn diaper on, eating while doing 10 other things if I remember/am allowed to eat at all, and not having a hot cup of coffee in 4.25 years of mornings...  Sigh.

Frustrations aside, I'll still go all "Mama Bear" for these two, got it?

I was, however, struck by a follow-up comment criticizing people who say they're "just" stay-at-home moms.  Well, I'm one of those people and I feel the need to defend myself, even if it is behind the shield of a blog so as to avoid a FB comment war (you know the ones...).


I was raised around women who worked.  My mom had me while she was still in college.  She finished and stayed at home while I was little, but I really don't remember those days.  I do remember her going back to school for a teaching degree, starting to sub, and getting a job.  I also remember that my grandmother worked her entire life, even earning her MSN, back when women didn't do that.  All of my aunts worked, including one who was VP of a rehab center; when she "gave up" her career to raise her two boys, all I heard was criticism from the family about that decision.

I'd show you the diplomas, but they're in a box in the attic...

My point is that I was raised to NOT be a stay-at-home mom.  I was taught, from an early age, that it is my responsibility to support my family financially.  Everything I've ever heard or seen tells me that I'm not being as good a wife and mother because I have my degrees and am not doing all I can to support my husband and kids.  Yes, I was raised to think like a man, apparently.  Pride was a hard-working woman with well-behaved kids.


I know that many people disagree with that -- hell, I wish I DIDN'T feel that way and could be as happy being at home as some of my friends are -- and I know that raising kids is a hugely important job.  I just have decades of words and actions in my head that I feel like I'm constantly fighting.


This, by the way, is one of the main reasons I have trouble being around other SAHMs.  I'm miserable being at home; I just wasn't prepared for it and keep thinking of all the fun spreadsheets and presentations and meetings I could be a part of (I know, it's an illness).  These friends, however, seem content, organized, happy, prepared... everything I'm not.  I adore my children, who make me laugh and are fascinating little people, but my sense of fulfillment is met with team recognition, a paycheck, my name on a project, closing a deal...things that are distant memories on days that I'm continually changing diapers, picking up toys, and wiping faces after meals.  I miss my heels and suits and handshakes and $4 coffees.

My former "work" side of the closet: empty hangers and shoes I never use.

So no, being a SAHM is NOT easy.  It's a lot of work and sacrifice and there's never a day off (if I'm puking and feverish, I still have to take care of the kids; I'd kill for a sick day).  But even a SAHM may not value what she's doing if she wasn't raised to value it.  While I avoid saying I'm "just" a stay-at-home mom to avoid the ire of the super women around me, I know that there are enough other people around me who see me as "just" that.

At least I know I'm doing something right.

Once In A Lifetime

Let's start with that song.  I'm not a Talking Heads fan.  I don't hate them, but I really hate that song.  I'm sure the stupid video doesn't help.  Maybe it's some repressed memory that is linked to the song.  Maybe it's the irritating synth crap throughout.  Not sure.  I'll ask my therapist.  But for some reason I've had it stuck in my head for about 3 months.  Mainly this part:


You may ask yourself, "What is that beautiful house?"
You may ask yourself, "Where does that highway go to?"
You may ask yourself, "Am I right, am I wrong?"
You may say to yourself, "My God!  What have I done?"


Now, don't get me wrong.  I really don't hate my life.  It's pretty good by most standards.  But I'm really confused about how the heck I got here.  You know those stupid interviews people do as you complete some phase of your life, like the end of high school or college, and ask, "Where do you see yourself in ten years?"  Well, I sure as hell didn't envision living on the same street as my Junior High school in the same small town I always wanted to escape from, unemployed after two years of looking, therefore being a stay-at-home-mom to two wonderful yet slightly insane little people.  I definitely didn't foresee how totally in love I would be with those two little people -- I wasn't even sure I wanted kids until I met my husband -- nor did I EVER think I'd be about to embark on the creation of baby #3.


So there it is.  Life has become a never-ending series of befuddling observations and unexpected delights.  I want to document those for the kiddos, but also help myself understand this unplanned lifestyle.


You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
You may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
You may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"