Forever the C student

Nick is stressing out about potty training. He says he thinks we're not putting in enough effort. While there's a part of me that agrees with him, that knows I've been choosing to just ignore that part of parenthood and hope it just happens on its own, the other part is optimistic that it will happen on its own-- and knows that all the coercing in the world isn't going to work on our stubborn little Scorpio. Ultimately though, I think it's the eternal C student in me that's shrugging it off. Awful, I know. I wonder what the record is for oldest kid in diapers?

The farther along I get in this whole parenting endeavor, the less pressure I feel to be a good one. I see people gnashing their teeth over the smallest details, and I just can't be arsed. We are vigilant about manners and behavior, bedtime, and sitting down for dinner. I truly feel like everything else will fall into place. Ever since I figured out that it's not motherhood that doesn't agree with me, but American motherhood with all of its rigidity and judgement and all-or-nothing impossible standards, I've been able to relax and enjoy it so much more.

I bring this up because I've been back on Babycenter to check up on the tadpole's progress, and peeking at some pregnancy magazines, and all of the articles! Oh, my. It's all so fear-based. I know, someone could very easily get on here and say "I felt the same way until XYZ [something awful] happened" and then I will look like an ignorant asshole. Until then? I get a C in motherhood (adjusted, since it would be an American D but, say, an Italian A-). In high school I would have pumped a fist in the air over a C. And, uh, I kinda feel the same way 20 years later.

Unrelated: Last night I had a horrible dream that I had another miscarriage. It was pretty vivid. There was lots of blood. I woke up in a panic and stumbled to the bathroom, and I was fine, but it shook my confidence in this pregnancy. I even felt cramps on the way to school, sure that one was coming. I think I need to see the heartbeat again to re-confirm. I've started saying things like "if I'm still pregnant by then" again.

Also, tonight is the last night that my child is two years old. Three years ago tonight I was beached sitting on the couch eating Ben & Jerry's and reading Bust magazine, trying not to think of the next day's surgery. Nick's parents were here and it was a lovely night, cozy but nervous. My co-worker is all excited about Sascha's birthday and she keeps asking what we're going to do... and I'm back to the C-student. Um... nothing? She still kind of has no concept of the gifts and the party thing. We'll do a little cake with the three of us tomorrow, then we'll invite my sister and the babysitter (Saint Erika) and their kids over on Saturday. We have zero plans. They just said they were available. Didn't make invitations... we're all, "how 'bout... 4 to 6?" Forget European mom, I'm like Caveman mom. It is what it is. *shrug* Hooray for mediocrity! But that cake is going to kick ass. Pictures to follow.

Relevant to this blog:

This is hilarious! I laughed for two solid minutes!

Signs of life

I am still trying to convince myself this is for real. Every time I go to the bathroom and I don't see blood, I'm like "oh wow, YAY!" It's like a tiny surprise party every couple hours. As if the heartbeat wasn't enough evidence:

* I cannot regulate my body temperature. Usually I'm freezing (this happened last time). In the middle of the night, I'm boiling. Until I get up to pee, of course; then I'm shivering so violently when I get back in bed that I wake up Nick.

* I'm drinking my weight in water. The best thing about this pregnancy so far is that I haven't wanted any beer or wine. Last time I felt so deprived; this time I'm like one of those cartoon people crawling across the desert all day long. Just thinking about wine makes my mouth pucker. Although the other night I took a swig out of Nick's ice-cold Bass and it was so good it curled my toes. Still. Water.

* I'm SIIIIICK. Nauseous for most of the day. It's not as bad as it was with Sascha, but it's still... ugh. However, I have discovered this amazing Extra Ginger Brew stuff at Trader Joe's. It has a shitload of sugar in it, but it is the best manifestation of ginger I have ever tasted. At least sugar is better than corn syrup. This stuff is like ginger ale, but stronger and spicy. I highly recommend it and will probably keep buying it well after the nausea goes away.

* The Tired. I noticed today that I have the shakes most of the time, like a little tremble. I don't know if it's from feeling so sick or being so exhausted. I've had a cold lately so I can't sleep well at night, and I've been waking up at like 3, 4 in the morning. It's awful.

* Watching Ellen and Portia's wedding montage on Oprah the other day made me all teary. Me, with the cold black cinder for a heart. Oh-ho-hell, can't wait for Charlie Brown Xmas, which knocks me flat every year. I go through five tissues when they say "Merry Christmas Charlie Brown" at the end and start singing... Never seen it pregnant though... Dammit I'm tearing up and my breath is catching a little just writing about it.

* Let's just say that President Obama would do well to consider my ass as an untapped resource for chemical warfare. I have to carry matches with me at all times.

So I'm only 7.5 weeks in, but this time is already 180 degrees from the first pregnancy. Yeah, symptoms, fat, gas, nausea, whatever is all still the same, but... I feel GOOD. I feel happy and just so damn optimistic, even when I've been up since 3 am. It's a lovely, if foreign, feeling. I am keeping my fingers crossed that this holds.

A funny story...

There are two reasons I haven’t written in so long, and the first one is that school is insane. When I was here at school last Saturday putting in five hours of catch-up work, I ran a quick count of how many “special” cases I am dealing with this year. This includes kids on different kinds of special ed plans, kids who do their work in the tutoring center, kids who don’t speak English, kids in the emotional disorders program, and chronic absentees. In short, any kid that requires me to go the extra mile, sending packets of work home or to all four corners of the school to the various special programs (along with keys for their aides or tutors), then tracking the packets of work down and grading them. Ready for this? Out of 103 kids, I have 58 special cases. Fifty-eight. 58 extra miles to go, 58 kids for whom I am supposed to demonstrate endless love and patience and politically correct understanding every day, and sometimes I just… don’t. I still have five sections of two different subjects to teach, and I’m freakin’ spent. I think coming in on Saturdays is going to be the only way I’ll keep my head above water this year, and I’m not sure how much Nick is going to like that. But as much as it sucks, it was amazing to get so much work done without my phone ringing.

Onward.

In the past month, I’ve gotten more and more comfortable with the idea of sticking to one child. For Nick’s birthday, we got all gussied up for a date. On the way home, we started talking about the fertility specialist again, and how adamant I was about not going. Nick said something that implied that he wanted me to go, and I suddenly felt backed into a corner. I started crying and blubbed out that I didn’t relish the idea of having another baby because having a baby had been the worst experience of my life. Yep, I said it. It put such a nice cherry on top of the otherwise romantic evening (that, and Nick’s heartburn). Life of the party, I am, I really know how to work it. Sigh.

Cut to one month later, when I’m fully immersed and drowning in work (as per my last post). My period was 5 days late. I knew I wasn’t pregnant, because it had been an awfully dry month and the only time there had been any action was when I wasn’t ovulating. Besides, job stress has made me late before, so I knew that was it. I took a pregnancy test and it was negative. Done.

I had been trying on the idea of stopping at one kid for a while, and one morning I woke up and decided For Good that I was done. I was 100% at peace with that decision, and even the idea of getting rid of all the baby stuff didn’t bother me anymore. At the time, Nick was in an epic bad mood (these tend to last several days) so I was going to wait to talk to him about it until he came out of it. At this point I realized I was 10 days late. I took another pregnancy test before I got in the shower the next morning, and it was negative. Well that was a relief, considering the absolutely final decision I had just made the day before.

When I got out of the shower… there were two lines.

So um. Yep. I am pregnant. And this time, it’s for real. I found out the day my parents left for a two-week vacation (there’s the second reason I haven’t written here). They got back last weekend, and when I told them, my dad offered to do an ultrasound that day. Lo and behold, there was an actual embryo with a little working ticker in there! When I saw it, I can’t tell you how relieved I felt. Relieved and really happy, a thousand times more than I was the first time I saw Sascha’s ultrasound, because then I was just petrified. When I told Nick about the positive test, we were cautiously optimistic because I’ve been feeling nauseous, something I didn’t feel with the two miscarriages. But we decided that this would be the last “event”—if it was a baby, it’s obviously the last baby and I’ll get my tubes tied, and if it was a miscarriage, then Nick would probably go for the snip. I felt good about that decision because it meant I wouldn’t have to endure another miscarriage again. But as time went on (during the limbo between my telling him and seeing the ultrasound), I sensed him wavering on that decision and I was like “NOOOOOOO!!!” Because goddamn, I do not want to be a freakin’ miscarriage factory over here to satisfy everyone else’s wishes that I’m doing everything I can to keep trying. I’m DONE with the miscarriages, and I would have been happy to be done with children if only it meant no more miscarriages.

But! There’s a baby! A real, thumbnail-sized, 7-weeks-and-change beating-heart embryo/fetus! I’m due in late June. Of course I wish it was sooner because I’d love an excuse to not see this year’s students as soon as possible, but I’ll take it. That will give me the whole summer with Nick! I’ll probably take the first quarter of school off next year. I am cringing already, thinking about how complicated my lessons are in September and October and how much a sub will botch them, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

So here we go again. Round Two. The sequel. I feel totally different. First of all, I’m not scared. Thoughts of the horror show that is having a newborn keep creeping into my head, and I’m effectively pushing them out to make way for the good stuff. I’m not worried about getting fat at all this time. I mean, I ran that half-marathon after I had Sascha, and although it took me forever, I did eventually lose all of the weight. I’ve been nauseous every day, but it’s not as bad as it was last time. Well, not yet anyway… I remember it peaking around 12 weeks or so. If this is as sick as I’m going to get, then I’m looking at an easy go at it. Heh, famous last words.

I’m getting distracted trying to write this at school so I have to wrap it up. Stay tuned for more frequent updates (I promise) and belly pictures. If you read this and you are my friend on Facebook, please don’t mention anything publicly because I have some students on there. Thanks.

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!