Where I've been

Sorry, it's been a month! Yikes. I have been flirting with Nervous Breakdown territory. School has hit me like a freight train this year. I can't figure out why this year is so different from the previous 11, but I can't get my footing. I think it's because of my lower-level classes. Normally, I have one. Under normal circumstances, the class has about ten kids, most of whom just need me to slow down. They'll have learning disabilities but nothing too severe. There are usually two or three kids in there who have only spoken English for a year, so they need me to simplify my language. Usually this class is my favorite.

This year... I have two of these classes. Each has about 18 kids. Each has about 4-5 kids with SEVERE disabilities, usually with attention span and fooling around, but it's at a level I haven't seen since I taught in Hell Los Angeles. And it's bad-- a few of them even smell inhuman, like livestock. Some look like what your mind would conjure if I said "nuclear waste"-- they're one step away from being the three-eyed fish on the Simpsons. They are wrecks. I saw one girl dig around in her nose, completely unselfconsciously, like a toddler-- and then put her finger in her mouth. She is 17. Instead of kids who are struggling with English, I have a few who speak no English at all. Not a word. The problems are exponential, and the classes are breaking me.

Add to that the lack of flow in my day. I feel like I'm tripping and falling all day long. Each class is something totally different (I've taken on an intro physics class this year), so there's no momentum, I have to switch gears every hour-- wipe the board clean, get different papers out for the next class, etc. And with the ungodly amount of kids who get special services, my phone is ringing all day long, interrupting me constantly. I've got sped kids, ELL kids, kids in emotional support programs, you name it, so there is constant tab-keeping and paperwork and phone calls tracking down kids or aides. My day is a clumsy 100 mph mess from start to finish.

Most of the time I feel shocked and bewildered, like why can't I get it together, what the hell is wrong with me. Not a question, a growled statement. The responsibilities on my plate are like a pile of oranges at the grocery store. When I lose one of them-- forgetting my bag at home with that day's lesson, finding that the printer only has hot-pink paper in it and the photocopies I make from that are too dark to read, unexpected assemblies or fire drills, that kind of thing-- it sets off a chain reaction towards me losing my mind because I cannot maintain a train of thought. Ever. The more balls I drop, the more I'm losing my students' attention, and it's just snowballing. I am honestly worried that I'm going to have a stroke. I can't take a day off to recuperate because I've already been out for a conference, and soon I'm going to have to take some days off to stay home with Sascha when my mom goes to France for two weeks. Days with her are not relaxing, but at least it will be one day that I don't have to answer 20 phone calls from sped in the middle of teaching. I won't have to say "now where was I?" all freakin' day.

So that's that. School has splattered me this year and I'm still trying to put my guts back in. I suppose the upside is that the three "normal" classes I have are amazing, full of fantastic kids.

I'm spending the day today trying to figure out ways to make my week less crazy, planning outfits and meals now, so hopefully I'll be able to breathe again soon.

Grateful

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. We started school and it's taking me a while to adjust to (read: recover from the shock of) the full school day. It's exhausting. That, and I have two very challenging classes. One is a freshmen science class. I love the subject- intro physics- but the kids are like puppies on a sugar high. They have the attention span of a housefly. The other class is straight out of "Dangerous Minds," except they're not dangerous, they're just annoying, and they ignore me the same way Michele Pfeiffer was ignored in that movie. They're also at the end of the day. So when I get out of work, I have to focus on Trying Not To Die Of Exhaustion until bedtime. I'll get used to it.

I just felt compelled to post because I saw the first episode of "Biggest Loser" a few nights ago and it hit me hard. One of the contestants lost her husband, 5-yr-old daughter and 2-week-old son in a car accident, hit by some dumb kid speeding. The thought of this is too big for me to get my head around, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. One moment she's a wife and mother, the next moment she's not. Hearing her story sobered me and shook me up. Since then I haven't been able to take my eyes/hands/mouth off Nick or Sascha. A few days ago I was trying to watch Oprah. Sascha put on my high heels and was stomping around the hardwood floors making a huge racket. Nick said "I'll take her in the other room," and I said "no no, she's fine"-- thinking to myself, that woman would give anything to have her kid interrupt her TV show.

In short, it's freaked me out enough to keep me in a near-constant state of wide-eyed frantic appreciation for everything in my life. Look! Beautiful weather! Healthy parents! The phone rings, and I'm "HIII MOMMM!!! HIIII!!" And what a gorgeous, wonderful daughter I have! She can wipe her beet-stained fingers all over the curtains, that's fine! This overcooked meat is the best thing I've ever eaten! My job is hard, but I love it! My spare tire is irrelevant! And so on. Every time I touch Sascha I'm trying to memorize the feel of her. I woke up in the middle of the night to touch Nick's back last night, so it's even getting to me in my sleep.

Being this positive is really good to a degree. It's sort of what I imagine it would be like to take Ecstasy (I heard/saw a lot about it in college, I was just too chicken to try it myself). (I sound so dorky saying that.) I just hope the semi-panic and fear recede eventually. Ugh, but considering how addicted I am to this show...

Are any of you watching?

Oh, and a post-script:

I think I am completely at peace with the fertility thing. I am pretty excited about the prospect of moving forward in my life with one kid. Another would be fine, but I am enjoying where we are so much that it's obscene, and I kinda don't want to mess with it. So she's not potty trained. So she's almost three and still takes a bottle of milk (yes, a bottle) twice a day. Meh! She is fun. She sings and whispers and plays with the dog. She's magical, and completely satisfying. It is hard sometimes with the whole Daddy-preference thing, and some days it really gets to me and makes me wish I had a kid that wanted me back. But today she climbed on top of me as I stretched out after my run, and that was enough.

Anyway, I'm seriously not tracking my cycle anymore. I don't care. I know, I know, "watch, now it'll happen," but as we all know, getting pregnant is not the issue... I am guessing I will have 2-3 more false alarms/early miscarriages, and then my personal deadline will arrive and that'll be that.

And then we'll go to Europe!! Wheeee!!

Doing okay

(with a nod to Claire-- hellooo!)

I'm fine. It's been a week. This past Thursday, Nick and I took a little mini-vacation to Vermont. Just one overnight. It was great. Very relaxing, very not-kid-friendly, very something we couldn't do if we had two kids (or at least it would be a lot harder to convince my mom to take two small kids instead of just one). Here are some pictures:

Relaxing at the B&B before dinner.

Dinner at Hen of the Woods. Amazing table!
Lunch Friday at Simon Pearce-- another amazing table!

Otherwise, I feel fine. I think I expected the miscarriage from the moment I saw the positive-ish pregnancy test, so it wasn't nearly the blow it was the last time around. I've been distracted though. I spent the morning crying over my college friend dying of cancer (I think I mentioned this recently); this morning I found out that he has just days left. It's a sobering thought that he sometimes doesn't recognize his wife or daughter.

So that has certainly kept me from feeling sorry for myself. At Simon Pearce yesterday I made a crack to Nick about my old, infertile body and he was all "hey, hey, don't say that..." I had to clarify that it is much easier for me to deal with things through humor. Besides, bad things are (or can be) funny. It's not funny to talk about having a great marriage or whatever.

Speaking of funny, Sascha thinks I am Julia Roberts. She watches this video on YouTube of Elmo and Julia, then likes to act it out later. She gets me to say "Hi" like Julia does, and she takes over the rest (both parts). But now she calls me Julia! Last night I put her in time out and left the room, and she started screaming "JULIAAA! JULIAAA!" Oh HELL it was funny. Dude, I will totally take that.

A few unpolished thoughts

So, where to begin.

I didn't go for the bloodwork. I already know the answer. If my dad (and Claire) is right, and it is possible for me to still be pregnant, then great-- I'll grow a baby. I just could not stomach the idea of waiting rooms and paperwork and opening files and signing forms and just UGH. Not to mention having to go back for comparative bloodwork in a week. I just can't. Not today. Today I want to eat smoked salmon and sit on my ass and shop online. More about the shopping later.

In the past 18 hours I've had at least three more requests for me to go see a fertility specialist. I may have finally figured out a way to express how I feel about that. It boils down to my not wanting it badly enough. I feel very strongly about putting my faith in fate's hands. Que sera, sera-- if I'm supposed to have one, then that's fine. If I'm meant to have two, I'll have two. My gut speaks loudly & clearly to me about not wanting to mess with that.

I guess I can see too many benefits to only having one.

This summer my sister made a jokey-eyerolling remark under her breath about "huh, mother of one," ribbing me about how easy I have it (she has three). It was funny, and I laughed, but it stuck with me. She's right. I do have it easy with one. Lately that kid has been rocking my world. She's been so fun that I've fallen desperately, scarily in love with her. We have a couple of inside jokes and when our faces snap towards each other and we laugh at them, in that moment of private recognition, it's like the planets have aligned.

I know this will sound silly (and insulting to many, many people-- sorry), but there seems to be a slightly hipper quality to having one child as opposed to an army. When I thought I was pregnant, I was thinking "oh, now I'm really going to be a mom-- I'll have to get a minivan and maybe a midwestern accent and pull my jeans up to my tits." Whereas one child still seems to be straddling the line between having kids and not having kids. Technically, it is neither. I don't have kids, I have a kid. It's like I still get to keep part of my adult identity. Some of the coolest mothers I know only have one. Not that having more than one automatically makes you not cool! Shut up, I'm just trying to make myself feel better about having a miscarriage and being old and barren.

Of course, I am sad about not having another. I am. This was going to be my Redemption Baby. A pregnancy where I wouldn't be overwhelmed with panic and fear, concerned only with myself. The early months where I would know firsthand what to do, and know that those days would pass. A final chance to try to breastfeed. It would have been my Do-Over Baby, where I would right all the wrongs I committed with Sascha.

And I worry about only having one, in terms of... if something ever happened to Sascha, we wouldn't be parents anymore. End of parenthood. The thought of that is too horrible to bear. Or what if she screwed up her life? Became a crackhead? Or wanted to move to LA to become an actress? (shudder) It would be almost as bad if she grew up and hated me. What are the odds? I mean, she's been pushing me away from her since she was born. It's practically hard-wired in her. I know plenty of first-born daughters who have that relationship with their mothers. Of course, I know a handful of women who were only children who get along with their mothers just fine.

So I think I'm not going to see a specialist. I know this decision will not sit well with so many people, but like I said, I just cannot get my gut behind it. I will continue to try until I turn 40 in 2011. After that, I'm packing it in and moving on with my life as a mother of one.

For now, I'm thinking about raw oysters and martinis. I'm thinking about shopping for school clothes at non-maternity stores. I'm thinking about running the half-marathon again next June. I'm pricing trips to London in February. For now, I'm going to continue enjoying the bits of adult life I'm slowly getting back since having Sascha.

Strike Two

I'm bleeding.

My dad says there's still hope. I think the hope is all his. I'll take the blood test tomorrow to confirm what I already know. This being my body, I know what's going on. I'm done. Again.

As I cried into Nick's chest again tonight, I couldn't stop thinking of my college roommate, whose wonderful husband is losing a long battle with cancer. Believe me, I am counting my blessings, but I'm still disappointed.

I'm sorry if you're family or a close friend and you're finding this out here. Do me a favor and don't call me. The long pauses punctuated with a sad "I'm sorry" is torture. I hope that doesn't sound insensitive. Also, please, PLEASE don't tell me not to tell anyone next time I get fake pregnant. I don't need any fingers wagged in my face right now. And I still don't regret telling.

Thanks.

Wine is waiting.

5 Weeks

Unlike last time's fake-out pregnancy, I actually don't feel like a pig this time.

Check it out, I can fit into my pre-pregnancy shorts! This is a pair of shorts I bought the summer we got married, when I was in awesome shape!

Granted, I'm still spilling out a little. But hey! They fit! By the way, that is a bathing suit top holding up Rock of Love Bus 1 and 2, not a cute yellow bra. (are you kidding? they don't make bras that cute in my size.)

Exhibit A: bras in my size

And can I just say, the camera is cruel. I was holding the camera up, and I'd look in the mirror and go "wow! I look great!" then look at the camera screen and go "oh no, I look awful!" then back to the mirror and "wow, I look great!" and so on. Unfortunately, the 3" roots in my hair are represented accurately.

This post has two points-- one to document my possible weekly belly-growth update, because I wish I'd done that with Sascha, and the other to remind any of you who happen to be my friend on Facebook: please keep this under wraps! I have students and random acquaintances on Facebook. I've gotten very lucky so far, but pleeeeease don't say anything there yet. Thanks!

The rabbit is half-dead

...and apparently, I am sort of pregnant.

I've been dying to write about this, but had to tell all family first, and even that had to wait a few days. It's good that I've had a little time to cool down. Here's what happened.

Last week, my period didn't come the day it was due. I took a test and it was negative. Three days later, still late, took another test... and I got the same faint second line I did last time. Actually, even fainter. I. Was. FURIOUS. Really, really pissed, spitting virtual f-bombs like an angry cat to my friends in the forum I'm in. When I got pregnant with Sascha, I had two strong lines the day my period was due. Stupid old, crusty body. I am not up for another fake-out pregnancy. This was at 5 am (I'd been up since 3 with my usual insomnia), and I was wondering-- how do I tell Nick when he wakes up? Congratulations, sorta? Keep your calendar open in a few weeks? I went with "I've got good news and bad news," and he grimaced when I showed him the test. Even he knew.

So I waited a day and took another test. Same result. Nick went out and got the Dummy Test, the one that actually says "pregnant" or "not pregnant." Third time's a charm. I managed to pass this test with a higher score than the C-minuses I'd gotten on the other two.

So, at this point we're cautiously optimistic. Everyone says they have a different feeling about this one, but I don't yet. I don't feel any different (aside from constantly craving spicy food, hot enough to melt my face off spicy, although that isn't all that different from normal). Not sick. Not any more tired than normal. My boobs hurt, but they always hurt. (Can anyone else out there with giant knockers confirm this for me, that big tits just hurt? Or is it really just me?)

At this point I have two more major hurdles to cross before I can fully believe it. First will be the heartbeat. Second will be the genetic testing. My sister advised me to not blog about this pregnancy (or, "pregnancy") yet until I'm 100% sure there is a full, healthy baby in there, but I just can't keep my mouth shut. If the worst happens, I'll talk about it. Of the nine people who read this blog, most of you are people I don't know, so I don't mind.

If I may allow a little excitement to creep in? If this is for real, then my due date will be APRIL 18th. BULLSEYE. Surely my luck can't be that good.

And finally, the best reaction I've gotten to this news was my friend Karin, who said "You whore! You're knocked up! Again! Can't you keep your knees together woman?" Awesome. Karin for the win!

"Two kids make one feel like none."

I just got back in touch with a co-worker from when I lived in Los Angeles. Last time I saw her, I wasn't married and neither of us had kids. Now she has two. We started talking about motherhood in general and she concluded with that statement. Considering how hard one has been for me? It made me shudder and has haunted me ever since. Whenever I'm playing with Sascha or she's being easy, the words "...make one feel like none..." echo in my head.

Nick and I had a nice talk about it yesterday. I told him that I'm still 50/50 right on the fence, but lately I've been feeling the pull even harder on both sides. Wanting a baby more than ever. Wanting to stick to one child more than ever. I concluded that it's a good thing that I am on the fence, that way I won't be devastated if I never get pregnant. We're going to let the chips fall where they may (um, except with birth control through the winter). I decided that I'll give this two more years. 2011 will be the year I turn 40. If it doesn't happen by then, I'm selling all the baby stuff and calling it a day. Dusting my hands, making peace with the nice little family I have. I know, lots of women have kids after 40, but people have climbed Everest too and I'm not going to do something just 'cause I can. (Or can I? Christ, we've been trying a long time.)

I did see that amazing midwife a couple weeks ago. She gave me the number of a fertility specialist that she loves, and who helped her get pregnant. I don't know why, and I'm going to get lots of shit for this, but I can't bring myself to make the call. Maybe I'm lazy and don't want to drive a half hour for a string of doctor's appointments? Maybe I'm afraid of what he'll tell me? Maybe both? I think I've had enough experiences where I've gone to the doctor, paid a copay, waited for him/her to be late, then had them shrug and say they don't know what's wrong with me. I would say that's been 90% of the doctors' appointments in my life (not that I've had to go very often). I don't really have the time or patience to deal with that again. The idea of spending my time sitting in a waiting room is revolting on its own. I guess that's why I'm not calling. I really wish I could find a Dr. Phil-style therapist (what, he was awesome before he went all Springer) who would lay it out for me straight instead of nodding sympathetically. That's what the last woman did. I liked her, but I need someone to shake me and ask me the hard questions I don't know how to ask myself. I don't even know what the questions are.

I have been scarce 'round the blog because it's been a very busy summer. I counted six straight weeks where Nick and/or I have played host or guest. I have loved every visit, but after six weeks I felt completely wrung out. At the end of it, I still had to face a dirty house, piles of laundry, an empty fridge, a garden & yard full of weeds, and a fat body from all the celebration eating (restaurants! desserts! oooh, let's make this! all of which were usually my idea). So I have a month to restore what I've been giving, giving, giving for six weeks. We've hired Saint Erika to take Sascha a few days a week. We still have a monster to-do list like we do every summer, catching up on things that have accumulated during the school year like getting the scanner fixed and replacing a ripped screen. But the house is clean. Garden is halfway there with the weeds. I've been eating well. The sun has peeked in here and there (the epic rain has continued through the summer, confining a lot of that visiting to the indoors-- crazymaking), enough for me to have a pool day or two with Sascha. We've finally had the opportunity to try to potty-train her, which has been a spotty endeavor at best. We're in no rush, she'll get there when she's ready. But aahhh... it is finally summer vacation!

I'll finish with Sascha's Funny Story of the summer: out of nowhere, she started yelling "What the FUCK?" Nick figured out this came from him, while he's driving. (small, discreet wipe of forehead as the blame is taken off the foul-mouthed mother.) So we've tried to change that to "WonderFUL!" It's only sort of working. We'll correct her, she'll give us this little "yeah right" smile and then yell the original version again. Ai, that kid.

Shilling

This has nothing to do with anything, really. I just read this article today that talks about mom-bloggers (a term I loathe, but not as much as if you add "-my" to the end of "mom"-- talk about a condescending term) who make money hawking products on their blogs. I just want to say, for the record, that while I would love the extra cash that would bring, I couldn't do that. I've even hesitated to write about products I'm in love with just because I didn't want it to sound like a commercial. I've found really cool blogs and stopped reading them as soon as they put up a reader contest to win some crap. That's not what this one is about. Besides, product placement within my writing would take the focus off my self-absorption, and I wouldn't want to do that.

But if the Dr. Bronner's peppermint soap people ever wanna cut me a check, I wouldn't turn them away. I'm just sayin'.

PS: unrelated: it was my last day teaching summer camp today and a kid threw up in the hall. This turned my classroom upside-down and there was chaos for a good 20 minutes while kids called their moms to come pick them up and such. I caught one girl just as she was on her way out the door with my desk-cleaning sponge to try to clean it up. I can laugh now, but ugh... those of you who teach elementary school? Just so you know... Teaching high school is terrifying. Teenagers are huge, and they mouth off every day. Sometimes they back us into corners, cowering. They all do drugs and carry weapons. (there, that oughta keep you thinking you have the better deal.)

The Ghost of Pregnancy Past

This morning I was going about my business. As I reached into the fridge for the half & half, the expiration date reached out and smacked me across the face.

August 15th.

My due date for my last pregnancy (or, "pregnancy").

My dad had warned me that I'd be feeling sad again around my due date, and I secretly thought, "nah, that's a hundred years away, surely I'll be pregnant again by then." Hmm, yep. So here I am, not pregnant and feeling bad, right on schedule. Not devastated or even teary, just a little down.

And yet! Still torturously ambivalent! For the nine thousandth time, I am still balanced perfectly on that fence. Loving Sascha's independence. But seeing babies on TV and craving the feel of that tiny body curled up like a shrimp in my arms, wondering if I could breastfeed a second baby or if a second baby would even lie in my arms. Seeing my sister still have to chase after her not-quite-two-year-old, still needing baby gates and such, and thinking UGH I am so over all of that. But seeing her kids play with their siblings, and oof... what a lame life Sascha would have if I deprived her of that. (I am aware that comments are open, say what you want, but I had a kick-ass childhood with three great siblings who are now great friends. I stand by my lame life assertion.)

I have an appointment with the coolest midwife on the planet next week (or the week after maybe?). I'm going to see what she thinks. I just want someone to tell me what to do. I want a definitive answer: I am infertile. Nick is infertile. One month of clomid would work. Just something definite. Something final. If she puts me on clomid, which-- ehh, shockingly, I have mixed feelings about-- then I'll be on it for like one or two months before it's time for us to use condoms again. Naturally this brings forth the "stop trying to time it for the school year" nags, which-- people, (and by "people" I mean Mom*), if I was given the choice between having a newborn at the beginning of a school year or never having another baby, there would be skidmarks on the floor from me heading to the computer to put all the baby stuff on Craigslist. Dust hands, end of story, no intentional babies from September through February. Surprise babies? Of course I'd be thrilled, I'm just saying they'd be the result of a faulty condom. An actual surprise, not a "surprise."

I'm tearing my freakin' hair out with this. Also, I've had the same conversation with seven different people over the last few weeks-- people in my same situation who are like "yeah, I want it, but dude, I just cannot go through that again."

Also, I haven't written in like two weeks because (A) same old boring shit with the endless mental whining about a second baby-- even I'm tired of it, and (B) I've been teaching summer camp and visiting with out-of-town family. I've spent more time writing this post just now than I've spent with my own child in the past two weeks. August will be free and boring. There is a part of me that wants to think I will spend the month getting freaky with Nick trying to get pregnant, but in reality I will be working on my kitchen. That's just how I roll. (also, I'm sick of actually trying and then being disappointed. At least I can paint my cabinets and stand back and go "there-- done" and actually accomplish something I attempt.)


*Hey Ma, in your defense, I did just say I want someone to tell me what to do. Heh. Love you.