Perfect World vs. My World

So let me set the scene...

Swim lessons.  Three kids.  Two of them heading into the pool, one eating snacks, watching videos, and terrorizing the lobby.  One mom trying to get said kids to pool on time and hoping that the other one doesn't pee or poop all over himself in public.  Also, hoping she can contain the younger one for the thirty minute lesson.

Child A is very excited and can't wait to get back in the pool after a two month hiatus.

Child B is very nervous and shy and really loves swimming, but insists he doesn't want to do this, but only just this minute, not any time leading up to the activity.

Child C is, as usual, along for the ride.

If you know my children, you know exactly which one is which.

Last night was the first swim lesson for a couple of months.  We took a break at the end of the summer since we weren't around much, and then I just didn't get them signed up again until recently.  My kids love swim lessons.  LOVE them.  Both of them love swimming.  And they have come so far in the 10 months that they've been going to swim lessons.

So Ainsley goes right in.  Freddie holds back and starts crying.  And in my head, I know this is one of "those" moments.  You know.  Those moments that you read articles about.  Like "How to be a loving, caring, mother and raise confident children without ever raising your voice or disciplining at all because kids are SUPER rational if you just give them the chance and if you talk softly and let them lead they way they will do exactly what you need them to do at exactly the right moment."

Bullshit.  Well maybe not.  Not in a perfect world, where I have unlimited time for each child to work through his or her issues.

In my head, I think - okay, stay calm.  Who cares if every one's staring at you as you drag this determined, 50lb, 5 year old onto the pool deck.  And who cares if the 2 year old is by himself in the lobby.  A lobby that he has escaped from before.  A lobby that opens to a busy parking lot.  And who cares if the 2 year old decides that this exact moment, while his brother is throwing a fit, is the perfect time to relieve himself in the middle of the lobby.  And who cares if I drop a small fortune on swimming lessons, and he wastes half the classes crying over being shy.

So instead of sitting on the edge of the pool and saying things like "Okay, let's just sit for a minute and see if you want to participate.  Ohh...doesn't that look like fun.  Hey look, you know how to float, show the teacher."  And other soothing, calming, encouraging things like that, I end up "yelling" through hushed, gritted, teeth "Get in the pool.  You love swim lessons.  Get in the pool right now!!!"

Eventually, I hand a screaming, squirming, powerful child over to an instructor and escape through the door to find Cohen.  And I listen to the instructor talk to Freddie.  Say all of the things that I want to say.  Do all the things I want to do.  I think about these things, and figure out how I should handle them either before or after the fact.  But the problem is, I'm never just dealing with this scene.  I'm dealing with multiple scenes all at once.

If I had walked in there with just Freddie, I could have been as patient and available as he needed me to be.  The the fact is, I can never be 100% available to any of my children.  I can't spend all evening putting Cohen on the potty, so he has accidents.  I can't sit all night with Ainsley explaining multiplication and division, so sometimes her homework doesn't get finished.  I can't sit on the edge of the pool with my sweet, shy Freddie and gently coax him into the water, so he screams.

And I feel so guilty.  I see people with one child and sometimes I think, "imagine how much I could give to one child."  Now, one child is NEVER something I wanted or ever considered.  I honestly don't know what I'd do without my siblings.  When Clif and I go crazy and someone needs to figure out which home to put us in, my kids will have each other to turn to and that's important to me.  But I will say, I look at families with one child and sometimes I feel a twinge of jealousy for my kids.  That they could have all that attention and patience and love just showered down on them.  A million free hours to talk about fears and shyness.  Days on end to work through math and reading challenges.

Freddie finally got in the water.  And I watched him sit on the side and pout.  I watched the teacher eventually move the class closer to him.  I watched him finally participate and then have a blast.  I greeted him at the door with his towel and said "Hey!  How was it?"

"Good," he smiled.

"So are you glad I made you go?" I asked

"Yes," he responded, and that made me happy.  Made me feel like I made the right decision, but it doesn't erase the guilt.  All I did was drag him in there and shut the door.  Someone else gently coaxed him into the pool.  And someone else figured out how to get him to participate.  And I watched from the one way mirror.

Re-evaluating

I've been feeling a lot of stress lately.  Stress over schedules and finances and baby and health. 

I mean, I've done close to nothing to prepare for this baby.  I will say, with a third kid there's not a ton to be done.  I've got mostly everything covered.  There are no showers to register or prepare for.  There's no crib to buy and put together.  There's no nursery to pour over and set up.  But still, to think he'll be here in 5-ish weeks?  Scary thought. 

A part of me is so excited and another part just wants him to stay put a little longer.  I know the sooner he gets here, the sooner I'll be headed back to work and then figuring out the schedule of three kids in three locations with two working parents?  Holy hell, it makes my head spin.  I'm not even going to touch on the expense of it.  That is a number I don't like to think about.

Then there's the diabetes that I'm trying desperately to control.  It's going okay.  But I do have off moments.  Like when the office throws a "shower" for me and there's cake.  Even the smallest sliver of a piece sends my numbers over the top.

Oh and then there's also the ultrasound I just had where the doctor tells me the baby is currently 7 lbs.  Do you know that a baby gains about 1/2 a pound a week at this point?  That puts him around 9.5 lbs at birth.  Now, how much stock to I put in this estimate?  Not a ton.  The same was said about Ainsley and she was born at about 7.5 lbs.  But they were pretty close with Freddie's estimate.  And even though I'm smaller than I was with Freddie, I've gained half the weight I did with Freddie...I definitely feel like little man is bigger than Ainsley.  He's filling my abdomen.

Finally, there's  the delivery.  I've wanted to try for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean).  Starting out I figured I'd do it if there were no complications.  Well, there are complications (diabetes, possible large baby, and not the most supportive area for it). 

So in the last week, I've been re-evaluating my life.  The stress is weighing me down and keeping me up at night.  I've decided I have to let some of it go.  I'm shelving the finance and schedule aspect of my stress.  There's not a thing I can do about it right now.  In a few months, Clif and I will need to make decisions.  Maybe I don't go back to work, maybe I find a part time job, maybe we move away from the area.  I don't know yet, but all those things are things that can't be acted upon today, or this week, or this month.  Right now, I've got to focus on keeping myself healthy and bringing this baby into the world.

I've got to let go of the ultrasound findings.  I can't put the fetus on a diet.  If he's big, he's big.  I've been extremely healthy and active this pregnancy.  I've done everything I could to bake him properly.  If that means he's a 10 pounder, then so be it.

That leaves delivery, which of late has been causing me the most stress.  My doctor is on the fence about a VBAC.  This week I'll need to talk to her again about it...which is causing me stress.  I really hate any kind of conversation with any doctor.  I hate going to the doctor.  My blood pressure will be high, she'll probably test me for pre-eclampsia...again.  Even though, I know what actual high blood pressure feels like.  I know what it actually feels like to be on the verge of slipping into pre-eclampsia.  This ain't it.  This is just your run of the mill anxiety.

Over the last few days I've been thinking about what I really want out of this delivery.  I've realized something.  I'm not really set on a VBAC.  I'm not one of these people who thinks I absolutely need to push a baby out of my body in order to be a woman.  A VBAC scares me as much as a 3rd C-section.  I've tried to read up on natural childbirth and VBAC...and I think I've gained a lot of knowledge...but it's just not something I'm super interested in.  I have a lot of friends who are.  Who are very into it and love it and have passion about it and I think they're awesome for it.  But it's not me.

I've realized that my biggest concern is being told I have to have him early.  I don't want to have him early.  I want him to come when he's ready.  Because of the signs of pre-eclampsia I showed with Freddie, he was delivered by c-section at 38 weeks.  I showed no signs of labor.  If Freddie gets a cold, he wheezes.  He's been diagnosed with Restrictive Airway Disease.  Which basically means asthma but they won't diagnose a kid with asthma until after they're 5 because so many grow out of it.  Although he's much better than he once was, we've had some scary moments with it.  The lungs are the last thing to develop in the womb, so I've always wondered...maybe, if he had stayed a bit longer...maybe he wouldn't have this issue. 

I know it's a what if, but as a mom, you can't help but go there.

So I've revised what my conversation will be like with the doctor.  I'm not set on a VBAC, but I don't want to schedule anything, and unless there is some life threatening reason, I'm not bringing him early.  Women have been doing this for a gazillion years.  Our bodies know what to do.  The babies know what to do.  He'll let us know when he's ready.

Now, I can just stress over my water breaking at work...

Number Three

I sat there on the toilet puzzled.  Counting and recounting days.  Day 14.  No doubt, day 14.  So why was I seeing blood.  Twelve days early.

I stepped in the shower.  It's cancer.  I have cervical cancer or ovarian cancer or one of those cancers that never shows any signs and HOLY HELL I must make a doctor's appointment tomorrow.  I knew I shouldn't have waited on my annual, it was due a month ago.

And then...

What if it's not.  What if that pregnancy test I took two weeks ago was wrong.  What if my period wasn't a period.  What if the exhaustion isn't from the half marathon training.  Well, then I'm miscarrying.  In three pregnancies I've only bled once and it ended.  Just ended. 

I dry off and slip into yoga pants and a t-shirt.  I hand Clif $10 and send him to the store.  I stand in the kitchen waiting, googling "mid cycle bleeding," "cancer and bleeding," "bleeding while pregnant," "random female bleeding."  I come up with a million different scenarios.

I text my sister.  She's a nurse.  She doesn't know. 

Clif comes home and I take the test into the bathroom.

The positive sign appears before I can finish peeing.  I'm pregnant...but I'm not, I must be miscarrying.

Two weeks I've been pregnant.  Two weeks of caffeine and beer and sushi and over easy eggs.  Two weeks of running 5 and 7 and 11 miles.  Two weeks of crunches.  Two weeks...I'm pregnant, but I'm not.  I've done something wrong.

I have ultrasounds.

"Everything appears to be fine."
"This resembles a healthy 6 week fetus."
"I can see a slight flicker of a heartbeat, but I can't get a reading.  It's probably just too early."
"Right now, I see no blood around the fetus."

But the blood.  I was bleeding.  Bleeding in pregnancy is bad.  Very bad.  Tell me I won't miscarry, then I'll be excited.  Then I'll embrace this.

"Well, we can't say that exactly.  But we have no reason at this moment to believe you will lose this pregnancy."

So I wait.  I worry.  I know this is ending.  I won't be happy.  I won't get excited.  I won't tell anyone.

But I have to tell some people.  My sister, my mom, a friend I am spending a weekend at a winery with.  I have to tell them, because they'll know anyway.

They all say it will be fine.

But I'm sure it won't. 

So I don't get excited, I try to forget that I ever even saw that positive sign.  If I'm going to miscarry, it won't be like last time.  I won't be a wreck, because in my mind, I'm not even pregnant.  It's all a mind game anyway.  Miscarriage.  It's too early to feel it or know it.  You just fall in love with this idea and then poof, it's just gone.

I don't get excited when I can't keep my eyes open at 6 pm.  I don't get excited when I throw up my prenatal vitamins 3 nights in a row.  I don't get excited when I have to move the notch on my belt buckle.  I don't get excited when I see the first ultrasound, even though I can finally see the heartbeat.

I wait.  At 12 weeks I'll get excited.  We'll hear the heartbeat, then everything will be fine.

I am 12 weeks and 6 days when I'm sitting in the doctor's office waiting for my 12 week appointment.

There won't be a heartbeat.  I know there won't.  And then I'll miscarry and this will be over.

And then, just as that thought leaves my mind, a tiny little bubble deep in my pelvis.

Was that?

No.

Then another.

Yes, it was. 

You are there and you're telling me to stop worrying.

Be excited.

Stepping Out

I've talked before about how I have anxiety stepping out of my comfort zone.  It amazes me how far it reaches.  I mean, why should I care what anyone thinks of me in a town that is 600 miles from where I live.

Why do I care what anyone thinks of me anyway?  Why do I even think people notice the things I do?  Pretty sure they don't.

So I flew to Chicago on Sunday, by myself, for work.  I don't fly much.  I fly by myself even less.  I'm not scared of flying, but it does make me nervous.  And every little bump we hit, I'm praying - begging - to make it out alive.

I got there in the afternoon with nothing really to do until dinner time.  I was starving because I had missed lunch.  I found an Irish Pub, but as I stood at the door...I felt the anxiety start.  What if this isn't what it seems?  What if there's no bar to sit at by myself?  What if it's full?  What if people stare at me for being alone?

In my head, right now...all those What if's seem so stupid!  But in that split second, where I almost turned around and went to the Chipotle around the corner and then back to my room to eat, they were extremely valid.

I made myself go in, sit by myself, at the bar, and order a beer and french fries.  They had Sam Adam's Cherry Wheat on tap!!!  I could have missed out on that - one of my favorite beers - ON TAP!  And the french fries were so amazing.  Especially with the homemade BBQ sauce they served for dipping.

I had decided before I left that I would go jogging Monday morning before my meetings.  I was so excited to be in a brand new city, see new things, and jog along Lake Michigan.  But then, as it got closer, I started doubting myself again.

What if the path was dangerous?  What if I got lost?  What if I end up in a bad part of town?

I almost backed out.  Almost didn't go.  Almost missed some amazing skyline views of a beautiful city.

Almost missed a chance to walk on the beach.

Almost missed a beautiful sky over a beautiful lake.

In that moment when my anxiety creeps in and almost takes over, all I want to do is stay in bed.  I'm finally getting better at putting it aside and pushing through.  Maybe one day I'll actually be one of those people that doesn't think twice about a comfort zone or stepping out of it. 

Okay, we all know that probably won't happen but a girl can dream can't she?

Me 1 - Anxiety 7,409, But I'm Catching Up!

We all have it.  Our very own comfort zone.  Some have larger, more daring zones, and others - like me - have tiny little spaces that we feel secure.  I have a very hard time stepping out of my comfort zone.  This zone includes the spaces inhabited by my husband, my children, my sister, and my mom.  Put me anywhere else and I have some sort of anxiety over it.  It may just be a tiny bit of anxiety, but it's still there.

However, plop me down in the middle of a house with a bunch of girls I don't know?  Major anxiety.

I see others step out and join groups and go to church and make friends...all things that I feel like I can't possibly do.  What if I don't know what to say?  What if I do something wrong?  What if everyone stares at me? 

I recently realized that an old friend of mine from college lives in my area.  She was one of my sorority sisters and we were always friends but haven't really spent much time together since leaving school.  We have friends in common, so we'll bump into one another now and again, but it has definitely been over 2  years since I've spoken to her.  We reconnected on Facebook and she asked me to come to a book club.  It was something she and a friend were just starting.  I couldn't make it to the first meeting.  I was both disappointed and relieved.  Disappointed because here was a chance to do something social and maybe meet new friends and hang out with an old one.  Relieved because of the dreaded anxiety that I knew would weigh on me if I could have gone.

About 2 weeks ago, she invited me to the second meeting.  They were reading Bossypants by Tina Fey (Side note: OMG...so funny and I am so crushing on Tina Fey.  Like seriously, Tina, if this gets back to you...I think we could totally be besties!  Call me :).  I agreed to go.  The group was meeting last night.

I stressed about it most of the day.  I was distracted and withdrawn when I got home just thinking about how it would go.  Could I really just walk into some one's house that I didn't know and chit-chat?  Those are the situations that nightmares are made of.  That is not just out of my comfort zone, that is like in another comfort galaxy that I will never visit.

But I kept telling myself...do this Jaime!  DO IT!!  You must do this!!!!

So, at 6:40ish I got in my car, typed the address into my navigation and went.  I was way beyond anxious and nervous.  I actually started hoping that I'd get lost and not be able to go.  But then...suddenly there I was.  Somehow, I managed to carry myself to the door and knock.  And when the host answered, I actually smiled and said "Hi I'm Jaime."  I barely even recognized myself.

I walked in and saw my old friend and met the other girls and at first...it was a bit awkward.  But for the most part, they were all my age, we all had kids and husbands, we all worked.  So we actually had a lot in common and I was able to contribute to the conversation and once the initial introductions were made and small talk was established, I felt comfortable.

Over the last 2 weeks, I almost chickened out countless times.  I thought of every excuse, but I refused to let myself type that email.  Refused to give in to the anxiety.  And I have to say, I'm pretty proud of myself and now my comfort zone is just a little bit bigger.