Someone Other Than Me

For the last several weeks, TRex has been questioning life, death, doctors, and God. He continues to find ways to talk about people who have died from heart problems and then ask if it could happen to his sister. He wants to know why doctors won't save everyone, specifically why might they not save DQ someday (afterall, we've told him he need not worry about his sister because mommy and daddy are bringing her to the best doctors, who are doing everything they can do).  He is questioning just how much doctors can do.

In the mix of that, he met a "best friend" this summer who told TRex all about God and how you will live forever if you just believe.  TRex (and DQ after learning from her brother) have begged me to allow them to believe in God so that they can live forever.  "Mommy, please, please let us believe in God. I don't want to die."

I've lost track of the number of times that I've explained that even people who believe in God die and that they can believe whatever they want, but mommy and daddy don't believe in any god. I've told them to ask whatever questions they have, but they don't think I can answer. So, I tell them to talk with their aunt, but they don't want to.

And so my poor little boy is piecing together life and death and religion all at the same time. The other night, after a discussion of hearts wearing out, TRex decided if he dies before me, he's going to let me know if there is a God. And then he said "And if there is no God, I don't know what I'm going to do." Of course, I explained to him that no matter if there is a God or not, he was going to live a good life, full of love, spent doing good work with the people that matter. He seemed to accept that, but he continues to worry.

Considering I've been having these conversations repeatedly over the last several weeks, I wanted to be sure TRex's worries weren't overtaking his schoolwork.  So, Tuesday morning, I met with TRex's new principal and his new teacher. We were there to discuss TRex's anxiety and how it affects school and to develop a plan for him when his worries over his sister became a distraction.

Wonderfully, they told me that TRex is adjusting extremely well and fitting in with the other kids. He is showing none of the signs he has in the past of worrying over his sister at school. But, they were concerned that he is bringing those concerns home to me. He is obviously pushing the worries out of his head in school (a very good distraction), but he still needs to get them out when he feels safe. He feels safe with me. Me.

Then they hit me. They think TRex needs a counselor so he can give his concerns to someone other than me. OTHER THAN ME!

Alarm bells rang out. My mind was racing: How could they want me to pay someone to take my place?  Shouldn't they be happy that my son is comfortable enough to tell me everything?!? Why would they want me to break that special bond between us???? He is my son!!!!

Luckily, I listened to what they said nonetheless. They love that TRex and I have an open dialogue and that he feels comfortable confiding, but experience tells them that TRex will stop coming to me at some point, probably when he needs it most. When I become too overwhelmed or concerned, TRex may hide his feelings to protect me and then he will be all alone. We need to get him comfortable with someone now so that should something happen down the line, TRex will be covered.

I should be grateful that TRex is in a school that cares enough to look out for him now and down the line (his principal offered to speak with him whenever he felt sad or confused or needed reassurance because of his sister).  And I will be grateful someday. But, right now, I don't want to think about the days when my sweet, sweet boy doesn't want to confide in me. I know they are coming, but I'm not ready to let go.

Playing Games in a Tent

Mommy, I want to dream about playing games in a tent with you aaaand . . . eating Azteca.

aaaand . . . eating healthy foods at home.

aaaand. . . eating strawberry shortcake.

aaaand. . . going to a chocolate factory.

Such is the nightly routine of my sweet girl. She is always going to dream of playing games in a tent with us and eating whatever suits her fancy that day (unless we read or watched Willy Wonka).

But how often have we played games in a tent?

Recently, not much.

It is 8:30 at night, when I'm sitting at the lonely computer, that all I want to do is play games in a tent. But, I can't. My babies are sleeping (or at least they better be!)

We bought this new house, complete with an office for me to work in. I've taken advantage of it. I've been home at bedtime so much more over the last several months than I had in a very long time. But now I want more.

I want to be able to play games with the kids, not just tuck them in. I want to be in their classrooms, not just hear about their days. I totally understand why being a stay at home mom would rock.

Don't get me wrong. I still love my work. I'm enjoying my new practice area. And we can't afford for me not to work (especially with the new house and an old house that is still in need of a renter--YIKES!)

But, sometimes, I want to play games in a tent with my babies and eat yummy foods, not just dream about it.

Best Day Ever!

It's funny how life gives you just what you need, right when you need it. Obviously, Friday was not a good day for me. But, in the words of the Dancing Queen, Saturday was the best day ever!

A couple of weeks ago, when DQ was sick and not going any where, TRex and the Mad Scientist went to the movies. DQ was sad, but we can't keep TRex boxed up in the house whenever she is stuck here. It is too hard for all of us and he goes stir crazy. To calm the Dancing Queen down, I told her we'd go see "The Lorax" when it came out--just the two of us. She didn't know there was a new movie, but she was so excited because she loves, loves, loves "The Lorax", both the old movies and book. And she hasn't been to the theater since last summer, when we vowed she was too young and had to wait. And she has never done something like the movies or any outing without her brother!

I didn't know that DQ had held on to that promise. I fully intended to keep it, but at my leisure. So, Friday night, after I was sad and spent, I got a phone call from the Mad Scientist. DQ was saying something about seeing "The Lorax" with mommy and nobody else go to go. She had learned the movie came out that day and sure we were going on Saturday.

I couldn't let my sweet girl down, so Saturday morning, we prepped to go. She wanted to see the movie in 3D, but there were no tickets left that fit her nap schedule, so she settled for the 10:15 showing of the "regular" movie. The kids were jumping round the living room, jubilant with the day (TRex was returning to swimming class that he had missed since early December since we missed the sign up for the last session somehow). The Mad Scientist and I decided we'd meet up after at our favorite Mexican restaurant. It was at that point that DQ squealed with delight "This is the best day ever! I don't even have a smile big enough I'm so happy! I get to go to the movies. Then Azteca. And I get to be with my mommy!" Talk about heart melting moments. **Sigh**

DQ and I did go to the movie and she had a wonderful time. She sat so well through the whole thing. I reveled in watching her little face get so excited. And hearing her exclaim: "He's the one who cuts down the trees!" and ask me "Why is that the last tree, mommy?"

Lunch with the family was wonderful. TRex got his usual bean burrito. DQ ordered a bean enchilada, but preferred the tamale I ordered and the Mad Scientist's shrimp chimichangas. The perfect morning!

Today, we continue with the fun. First, the kids and the MS built a park in the living room.

 

It makes me smile from ear to ear to listen to their squeals as they have fun together. Eventually, the park turned into a forest. And DQ was the Lorax. She spoke for the trees.

This afternoon, I plan to do something actual work, but we're also busy getting things ready for a very special butterfly birthday party that is coming so soon.

 

 Life is good.

Not a Tiger Mom

I am not a tiger mom. In fact, I sometimes think I an the opposite of a tiger mom.

Don't get me wrong. I want my children to succeed. I want them exposed to important learning experiences.

But, I don't force them to take lessons (except for TRex's swimming class, but that is to help him learn to swim cause he loves water and I don't want him to drown and we are hoping it will help him get over some of his fears). 

I don't sit in front of my kids with flashcards and I didn't make them learn to read as babies.

Frankly, I get annoyed that after seven hours in school each day my 5 year old has half hour of homework every night.  He's in kindergarten!

I think kids should be allowed to be kids. And I think school is important. I think homework is important. I think fostering the attitude that schoolwork is important is important (this is why I do not let TRex know I'm annoyed by his homework!)

I know there are other kids out there who are being groomed to excel in every way possible to be the uber kid so that by the time my kids are in junior high, the uber kids will make the team and beat my kids at everything. I know these uber kids will have better chances at ivy league schools and a more stable future. I saw their parents at an open house when kindergarten began. The desperation in their faces was palpable as they asked about starting a Mandarin club so the kids could learn more than Spanish. I know my kids will have tough competition.

Yet, I can't be a tiger mom.

I want childhood be to full of wonder and adventure. I want my kids' imaginations to bloom and grow. I want them to know the joy of a lazy day. Inspiration is born of a mind left to wander and experience. I don't see how regiment and 100% discipline allows the spirit to grow.

So, yes, I'm not a tiger mom.

The Pacifier

Picture this . . . Thanksgiving 2011. Lunch for the kids has just ended and a very tired Dancing Queen begs to take her nap. Then it hits us: we forgot a pacifier!

All hell broke loose.  DQ was inconsolable, screaming, crying, full-fledged melt down/tantrum.

Could this be a teaching moment? Would we end the addiction? We weren't about to give in to a child screaming at us.

I chose to do the only logical thing--left the Mad Scientist with DQ and made a mad dash to the closest drug store

And as my husband smashed his head against the wall calmed DQ down and determined if she had repented enough to earn a pacifier, I was lost, trying to determine which pacifier would be best for my tired girl.

I got in line behind a grandpa. We chatted as we waited for the clerk to ring up lotto tickets down the way. After 5 minutes of no movement, I asked the clerk whether we were in the correct line. The grandpa offered for me to go ahead since I was trying to alleviate my daughter.

As we continued to wait some more, the grandpa regaled the story of his young grandson and how he was so old when he finally gave up the pacifier. Then, he went where all well-meaning people go. He told me how there just gets to be a point when a child cannot have a pacifier any longer.

Then he asked how old my daughter was. I told him 3.5.

His demeanor immediately changed. He scolded "Well, you have to get her off of it. Put a piece of spice paper on it one time and she'll never go back. You've got to break her of it."

I explained that my daughter is sick and the only thing that calms her down in the hospital or at blood draws is the pacifier.

He pushed on, set in his way, and I let him.  The fight wasn't worth it and I had just paid for the pacifier.

I'm okay with it. I'm okay that he felt compelled to force his opinions on me. (Heck, I used to be that person who'd frown upon seeing a child who could walk with a binky in their mouth.)  I know people have strong opinions about it.  And I'm okay with those opinions not comporting with me reality.

I'm also very much okay with the fact that my daughter still uses a pacifier at 3.5. I saw why the day of her cath. She was in pain, in a strange place, with strangers all around her. She needed one thing that was a comfort and normal. Her pacifier is that for her. Yes, she has "pets" that she sleeps with at night,  stuffed Lightening McQueen and Elmo, but those she can sleep without. The pacifier is the calm.

DQ in the hospital waiting.

When DQ has an echocardiogram done, she is extremely well-behaved. We've been told over and over again that DQ is one of the best behaved kids they have during those exams. The only reason is because she knows she gets her pacifier.

The fact is, I want her to have something that makes her happy so that when she is being hurt by strangers, she can concentrate on her happy place. Her happy place just happens to be sucking on plastic.

My 3.5 year old has had her ribs spread apart and chest opened three times, her heart has been sliced and diced twice, she has had seven heart catheterizations, three of which had "complications", she had another surgery to correct a defect unrelated to her heart, and lots and lots of procedures under anesthesia with a breathing tube.  My sweet little preschooler usually has her blood drawn at least once a month. She has been averaging two shots every two weeks. She gets x-rays monthly, echocardiograms every four months, abdominal ultrasounds every four months, hospital stays frequently, and IVs often. She wears a nasal cannula, taped to her face, pumping oxygen in her nose every night, she takes 10 medications a day on average, and she doesn't really complain about any of it. The only thing she asks for is a pacifier to suck on when times get hard.  I don't think its too much to ask.

Besides, no matter how much she loves the pacifier, she's not going to go off to college sucking on one at night!

DQ leaving the hospital, after multiple blood draws, echo,  xrays, and lots of doctors.

Ignorance is Not Bliss, Just Ignorant

When I was pregnant with the Dancing Queen, my family kept the news of DQ's diagnosis a secret from another family member, pregnant with her first child.  Nobody wanted to worry the mom to be. She was so close to giving birth, the thought was it would be too much. And I was so lost in my own grief, that I didn't really care. I went along with it.

Four years in and I know that was wrong. We should not shield pregnant women. If they do not know the risks inherent in giving birth, how can they know what to look for? Moms and dads are the first line defense for their babies. They need information. They need to know what to look out for, especially since heart defects are so common, but not yet routinely screened.

I don't know why I started thinking about this today, but I did. Life is a miracle. Each day, I'm flummoxed by the thought that any of us can be alive at all because of the complexity involved. Any tools we can have to help us through are needed. Knowledge is the greatest tool available.  So, if you are pregnant or love someone who is, please let them know about CHD (read this link with tons of info), so they have as many tools as necessary to help their baby should they be one in a hundred.

______________________________________________________________________________

After posting, I realized why I was thinking of this today. Today is the 4th anniversary of the day our life changed completely. Four years ago today, I had my follow-up ultrasound, where they diagnosed DQ at 20 weeks gestation with tetralogy of fallot and couldn't find her pulmonary artery. That was the first time they told me "we just have to wait for her pulmonary arteries to grow."

Thank You

Thank you all so much for your words and support after my post yesterday. I really appreciate it. 

The Mad Scientist and I took TRex out to dinner without the Dancing Queen last night (she went with Ma) and had a nice long talk. We told him everything we thought he ought to know. We explained DQ's broken heart more, we explained the seriousness of it. We even told him that there had been times when we didn't know if DQ would come home. Of course that scared him. We told him that we get scared too and it was okay.  We also assured him that the reason we take DQ to so many doctors and take her to the hospital and give her so many medicines is because we are doing everything in our power to keep her healthy. We even told him how he helps. And we tied it all back to DQ's wish. But most importantly, we let him know he could ask any question ever and he could let us know if something made him angry, sad, or scared.

Overall, I think it went very well. We did expect some questions, but he had none. Well, at least he had none last night. As I drove him to school this morning, he bombarded me with all sorts of questions. Luckily, we had time and I was able to answer them. Since DQ got sick last night, TRex was scared. Instead of taking it out with anger, he talked to me about it. It was a very good morning. And the fighting has ceased (well, at least the over the top fighting we had been experiencing ceased).

We've always been open with TRex. We have never lied about DQ's condition, but we also didn't volunteer how desperately serious it was at some points. Yesterday was not the first time we had told TRex that having DQ in the hospital scared us. And it wasn't the first time we've discussed her prognosis. But I do think it was the first time it was not in the context of DQ in the hospital or just having surgery or a procedure. I think it was more of a wake up call to TRex that this is not going away. Couple that with TRex learning this week in school that most people don't spend much of their lives in doctors' offices and hospitals and it was a little mind-altering for the poor little guy. Hopefully, now that the dialogue has started, he will continue to feel comfortable coming to us when he is jealous or angry or thinks something is not fair.

I guess the next hurdle will be when he says something is not fair and he will be right.

Feeling Blessed

I should really be showering and packing since I planned on leaving my house over an hour ago for a fabulous 4 day weekend away with my girlfriends. Instead, I've been reveling in a morning to myself. I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, good coffee, and playing with pictures of my beautiful children. I figure my friends would understand. I have an entire weekend with them and never get time alone, so I'm taking this morning.

This time alone and my ultimate decision to take the weekend away, has led me to one conclusion: my life is wonderful. I am lucky beyond lucky. I have an amazing husband, fabulous kids, a great family, wonderful friends, a great job, and so much more.

Today, I'm grateful that I can take a weekend away with friends for the first time in 7 years (I think). I'm grateful that my children are alive and able to hug me and goof around. I'm mean look at those faces.

I'm so lucky to have these precious children call me mommy.

I'm grateful for a husband who is my best friend and my life. I'm grateful for my mom who watched the Dancing Queen all week because she was sick and unable to go to school. I'm grateful that I have a job where I can go away for a couple of days and people can appreciate how much I need it.

I'm grateful for so many more things and this morning, I can see it all. But mostly, at this moment, I'm grateful for these smiles.

What are you grateful for today?

It's all about balance . . . isn't it?

As a young woman, beginning my life, I was told over and over again that I could have it all. I could be the working mom. I could be a professional. I could do it all. The only limit was my dreams.

But that's not true.

You can't live all of your dreams at once, unless you are incredibly lucky. And let's face it, most of us are not that lucky.

To succeed as a mom, you need to invest a lot of time. To succeed as a wife, you need to invest a lot of time. To succeed professionally, you need to invest a lot of time. To maintain sanity, you need time to yourself.

All of it takes time. But you can't buy time. So you can't buy your dreams. You must choose.  And even if you think you have no choice, you are still choosing. 

Everyone will tell you that the trick is to find the correct balance of each facet of life to feel like you haven't given up on everything.

Balance.

That's what it's all about. Or so they try to make us believe. I constantly read articles on how to achieve balance. They all promise the same thing: if you balance your life, you WILL be happy.

But, you know what I think?

I think achieving balance is bull.  The people who sell us "balance" are the same ones who once told me the only limit was my dreams.  Life makes it difficult, if not impossible, to balance everything. There will always be something tipping the scales and attempting to knock us down.

The real trick is to stay on the line when the wind is blowing you over. You don't have to be balanced all the time. You just have to make sure you don't fall off.

I've been pretty close to falling the last couple of weeks. In order to stay on the line though, I had to let go of blogging and reading blogs for a while.  I hope some of the other things can fall away soon, so I can return to the blogosphere, but for today, I wanted you all to know that I'm still here.

Fraud

I haven't been posting because I feel like a fraud.

In my last real post, Thursday night, I wrote how I intended to make "me time", how I was just going to plan it and make it happen because I am worth it.  Unfortunately, I was quickly reminded the next morning of why I don't normally have me time: the Dancing Queen's precarious health.  We spend so much time on doctor's appointments, therapy, procedures, etc, that "me time" is swallowed up by being a "normal" family, work, and sleep. And I can't just make "me time" happen unless I forgo sleep (much like I am doing right at this moment).

That is why I feel like a fraud. I promised to myself only a couple of days ago that I was going to make time for me and the very next morning, the promise was broken. I don't know how to rectify this or if rectification is necessary, but I do know that I don't feel right.  I feel guilty for declaring that I enjoyed the time away from my kids because for a moment I didn't realize that the Dancing Queen wasn't doing well (because I didn't see her for a couple of days). I feel guilty for making myself a promise (that was told to the world no less) and know it can't be kept (not with DQ home from school two days, three appointments this week alone, then school starting next week).

And maybe "guilt" isn't even the right word. But I don't feel right about my "me" post, but I also feel like I was right in the sentiment behind it. I am worth "me time". I am more than just my family and work, but in order to keep it all going, I have to continue putting myself further behind.

I also don't feel right about wanting to take time away from my kids and taking care of them because it is not their fault either. As much as I didn't ask to be the parent of a special need's child, the Dancing Queen didn't ask to be born with a horrific set of conditions that threaten her life and make everything more difficult, even the easy stuff like, breathing and eating.

And so I feel like a fraud. My statements on this blog last Thursday, while heart-felt at the time, were not quite right. And this blog is merely an extension of me, so I have felt not quite right. I am not that together. It is not as easy as scheduling "me time".

Me Time

We got a surprise this week. My mom came to watch the kids on Tuesday when the Dancing Queen couldn't go to school because of her fever the night before and at the end of the night, she took the kids home for the week.  (Their cousins are in town from out of state and she wanted them all to spend time together. And she always dreamed of being a full time baby sitter for her grandkids, just as my paternal grandma did for us.)

Anyway, I found myself sans kids for several days. The Mad Scientist and I think it is probably the longest we have ever been away from the Dancing Queen.  (She has been knocked unconscious for much longer periods of time, but we were still by her side.)

It was nice. I was able to sleep in later in the morning and get to work earlier. And the only thing keeping me awake at night was myself. There was no crying, no nightmares, no worrying that the kids are too cold and wondering if I should check on them.  It was very freeing.

The best part of it all was getting up in the morning and having the house all to myself. I made coffee and sat at my computer, reading what I wanted without interruption. It was so very wonderful.

Of course, I have been going through kid withdrawl and I am beyond excited that my kids will be home tomorrow evening. I miss them so much, especially when so many heart kids are going through very rough times. I just want to go to their room right now and hug them like I do every night, but they are not there.

Still, this time away from my sweet babies made me realize that while I have been very good about getting myself out of the funk I was in earlier this year, I still have a long way to go in making time for just me. I've been better. This blog is good for that. I take time to write posts when I need to get my thoughts out there.  But, I still don't have enough time set aside for me to be me. I don't normally have time to sit back and enjoy my coffee. I'm either guzzling it on the way out the door, leaving it untouched on the counter, or drinking at my desk at work.

The biggest difference that I noticed with the kids gone is that I feel less guilt. If I take the time to check my email or read the news in the mornings, I usually feel guilty because I should be spending that time with the kids or I should be making their breakfast so we get out the door quicker, so I get to work quicker, so I get home quicker and actually manage to see the kids before they go to bed. But this week, I didn't feel guilty because the only thing I had to do was get myself to work and back. I still saw the Mad Scientist. We had some nice dinners together.

The moral of the story is that that I am tired of the guilt. And tired of no me time.

So, when the kids come back, I intend to change my attitude about myself. I am worth more. And being a working mom doesn't mean that I have to put myself last on the priority list. If I prioritize myself and know I have time set aside for just me, then I think the rest will fall into place.

If I schedule "me time", just like I schedule everything else, I should be able to make it happen. If I know there will be me time, I won't try to continuously sneak in a minute here or there to be me. I can enjoy my time with my kids because that is kid time. I can work when at work because it is work time. I can fully be with my husband when I'm with my husband because it his time. And when it is my time with just me, everyone else can fend for themselves. I think that sounds fair. I am worth it!

What do you do to not lose yourself as a mom?

How I became a Lawyer Mom

I fell in love with the law as a senior in high school. I took AP Government taught by an attorney (and long time high school teacher). I loved, LOVED that class. It was taught in the socratic method and assignments were to read books regarding issues touching the government and not boring topics (we covered assisted suicide, religion in government, presidential politics, etc). We would be given one side of a debate to argue (and many times not the side we favored). I loved it! I will say it again, I loved it.

That AP Government course changed my life. I no longer thought of myself as growing up to be an engineer. Nope. I was going to law school.

Through college, my conviction waffled. I changed my undergraduate major several times and with each change, I thought about the future and what I would do. Ultimately, I switched to math as my major, with the understanding that I would still go to law school.

When it came time to take the LSAT or GRE though, I didn't know. I loved math by then. I loved the challenge of research (yes, there is research in math) and figuring out the hard problems (including trying to figure out answers to problems never solved before). It was exciting and challenging to me. But, I knew I was not born a true mathematician and would not likely be truly great at it, at least great enough to do more than teach calculus to college students. I had met people who were meant to do great things in mathematics and my mind just didn't work that way even if it was much better at math than most people, including most engineers. Did I want a career where I could never even work toward attaining greatness?

Law on the other hand, still made me happy and I loved the concept. But working in the law meant being a lawyer.  Being a lawyer meant long, long hours at work, no real social life, lots of work. Is that what I wanted? At that time, I believed that I would never marry (hence never have children), so the hours spent being a good lawyer wouldn't matter.

Still, I didn't know which way to go. I felt like it was a lot to consider for a 21 year old and my parents (bless them) were no help. Not that they wouldn't talk it through with me (we always talked), but they wouldn't tell me what to do or even which way they were leaning. My dad would usually spit back what I told him, structured in a pro and con list.

Obviously, I took the LSAT. I went to law school. I started working at a firm. I started billing crazy, crazy hours (on my first trial team, I was putting in 90+ hour weeks). I rarely did anything besides work. I loved most every minute! I had made the right decision!

Then, I met the Mad Scientist, the man who I thought I would never meet. We fell in love almost immediately and within months (maybe quicker), I knew I wanted to have children with him. And here we are, eight years later, married, two kids, and I am still a lawyer. I am still a litigator. I still love what I do, but I hate the hours. And that is how I become a litigator mom.

It's Hard Being a Working Mom

You may have noticed that my posting has dropped dramatically over the last couple of weeks. (If you didn't notice, it has.)  My posts have dropped because my hours at work have increased. A LOT. That is a good thing, but it also sucks.

Working a lot is very good because having business is always very good. You might not know this, but the legal industry has been suffering just as much as the rest of the economy. Many, many attorneys have lost their jobs (but not their student loan debt!) Many, many more support staff have lost jobs. So, having work is a very good thing.

Unfortunately, this uptick in work is not crazy busy, not trial prep busy, but it is normal busy pre-recession. The problem is my level of overall fatigue. Because I am so tired from this life we have been living for the last three years, it is hard for me to get up in the morning because my inner night owl wants to come out (or at least stay in bed). However, if I don't get up by 5:30 am, I don't get to work until 9:00/9:30am, which means I have been leaving work between 9:00 and 10:30 pm. When I don't get home until 11:00pm, my night owl really kicks in, making it so much harder to rise the next day. Throw in the Dancing Queen crying off and on all night due to pain from an ear infection that won't go away no matter what we do and continuously bursts and bleeds, and I am one tired mommy.

I know my heart has bled a lot on these pages about how difficult it is being a heart mom and it is. But I don't think it is as black and white as I've been making it out on here or in my head. At least 50% of my exhaustion, of my dreariness, is being a full-time litigator mom. Trying to find enough hours in the day to take care of children (and a husband) while working is hard enough, but I am also expected to do the extra hours required for a litigator and I need to constantly be on call for emergencies and surprise deadlines. I'm not sure how I do it all because I am always so very, very tired.

I had lots of roll models for working moms. My mom worked full-time while raising my sister and I. My aunts worked. Both of my grandmothers worked. That is what you do when you have to put food on the table and one income won't do it. I saw them struggle to balance it all, but I had no idea of the utter weariness of it all. So, when baby fever hit, I knew I could do it because they all had, but I didn't really know how hard it would be (or the toll it would take on me physically).

Add in at least one doctor appointment a week, therapy sessions, and the inevitable trips to the pharmacy, even doing the regular stuff for the kids gets hard. For instance, TRex will begin kindergarten a month from now. How can I find the time to take him to visit the school (when it is open)? I need to be at work during the day and if I'm not at work during the day, I'm at a doctor's office or the hospital. I simply don't have extra time to take him to the school. Yet, he needs to go there.

So, I make time for things like visit schools, making me work later and longer when I finally get into the office. The next day I sleep in later, perpetuating the cycle. The only way to break the cycle is a break. This is why vacations exist. People need a pause button for life. And even if you don't go anywhere, at least you can catch up on sleep. But instead of vacations, we get hospital stays that are more draining than most everything else.

And that is why I am not blogging. If I'm not working or at a doctor's office, I am exhausted without brain power to write. It's hard being a working mom.

Playgroup

A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from a new mom looking to join my working moms' playgroup. The one I started when I went back to work. When TRex was born. Five years ago. I politely informed her that the group would have been made up of five year olds if he had still been active and it ceased being active before the kids even turned one. She thanked me and started her own group.

The thing is, the working moms' playgroup never really got active. I tried my best to make the group work. I so wanted to meet other moms who were going through similar struggles--trying to raise a child, maintain a marriage, work full time, and keep the rest of life in balance. I planned an event once a month.There were six moms on the email list and only three of us ever got together at a time and usually it was only two of us. It is really hard to find a time where multiple working moms can get together, especially when toting the kids along for the ride.

When I got pregnant with DQ and was so, so tired, I didn't have the energy to plan any more play dates. Right after I regained my energy, we got DQ's diagnosis. That was the end of the playgroup.

Until I opened that email from the new mom, I hadn't really thought about the playgroup much (except when I do my taxes--one of the mom's husband is our tax guy). But since I opened that email, the playgroup sits in the back of my mind regularly. Not because I was close to the women. I barely knew them. And not because TRex missed the other babies. He was under one and went to day care. He had loads of friends and interaction, so those playgroup kids were blips on his radar.

I guess part of me wishes for what I was trying to build back then--friendships with people who understood where I was coming from. If I had become friends with even one of those women, I could then just call her up and hang out, get a drink, talk to someone in person. But, that didn't happen.

Don't get me wrong. I have plenty of very good friends, more than I probably deserve. But my best friends (besides the Mad Scientist and he is not a girl) live in different states--four different states. If I want to go out for a night, it is a big production that requires at least a month of planning or six months. There is no casual dropping by, no spur of the moment "I need to escape, HELP ME" nights. And that is unfortunate.

How do you make new friends (outside of work) now that you are an adult?

Unfair!

I have been leaving my children at day care since both of them were three months old. Of course, the first time I dropped off TRex, I was paralyzed with fear. I couldn't concentrate on anything except whether my precious baby was okay. And he was. As the days went by and TRex loved his day care providers, it got easier to drop him off. It was never easy, but easier to leave him behind. Then the separation anxiety phase hit and he would cry his little eyes out when I left. Those were hard days. But, he and I made it through those days and he was once again happy as soon as he got to school and didn't real mind mommy leaving.

Then the Dancing Queen was born and poor little TRex, all of 17 months old, had his world turned upside down. He had no idea why he was shuttled between people. He did not know why mommy and daddy weren't home. He had never met his sister and had no concept of a sister. And to top it all off, he didn't know who would be picking him up or dropping him off at school or at home. Poor little TRex was a mess. So after I could drive again, we settled into a routine. I would drop TRex off at school and go to the hospital to be with DQ. And being dropped off at school felt good to TRex. It was normal and expected and his beloved M&D gave him extra hugs to help him through the days.

Leaving the Dancing Queen at day care at three months old was an entirely different story. After all, she had only been out of the hospital for a month. She was on a feeding tube. And she was still a very sick little girl, but she survived better than I did. M&D put her in a swing and she loved it. She enjoyed being around the kids and she loved the music. DQ took to it better even than TRex had.

It didn't get really hard with DQ until she returned to school following her second surgery. She was about 16 months old. She hit the separation anxiety phase right when she returned after having spent 3 non-stop months with me. She would cry so hard when I left that my entire being would ache. She would get over though once I was out of sight and that made it all right, but didn't help my ache. I wanted to be there for her. She did get over the separation anxiety phase and it got easier again to leave her. But every time she was hospitalized, upon her return, she would cry when I left for at least a couple of days. Leaving her at those times hurt, but I could do it because I knew giving her that freedom would allow her to grow and become independent.

But now, its different. Every day of summer vacation, when I drop DQ at her regular preschool/day care, she screams and holds me tight, refusing to let go. I don't think this is clinginess for mommy. It feels like she doesn't want to be left at that school. It's not the teachers. She loves them. I think the problem is that DQ has no friends. TRex tells us each night who he played with throughout the day. We ask DQ and she says nobody or tells us who wouldn't play with her.

Each morning when I drop the kids off at school, TRex runs off with a different kid (they greet him at the door) and none of the kids come running up to DQ. As I try to leave, I have to pry DQ from my body. One of the teachers usually has to grab her away. As I walk to my car, the tears bulge at my eyes and her cries reverberate in my ears.

I don't think my three year old is being played with at school. That breaks my heart. I know I've blogged about this before, but it is killing me lately. I don't know how to fix it. And I've been a kid before, so I know that I probably can't fix it. But I can't help thinking "life is not fair!" How could anyone not love that face!

On Looks

I have never been happy with the way that I look. I can look back at pictures of myself and realize that I was good looking at times in the past, but at that time, I felt unattractive. I've always felt fat. I am totally fat now, but in high school, I was healthy and muscled, and I felt fat. I wasn't.

I've never felt beautiful. Even on my wedding day, I didn't feel beautiful. I still don't see a beautiful bride when I look at my wedding pictures (which is why most of my purchased wedding pictures do not include full pictures of my face, only turning my head).

As I was growing up, I was told I was not beautiful. I could not be beautiful. I could only ever be cute. In fact, the Mad Scientist is the only person to ever call me beautiful. And I know he believes it. And in moments, I've gotten close to believing him, then the little voice returns chanting that I can never be beautiful.

I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder and beauty is only skin deep. I know that what is on the outside doesn't matter. But it never felt good to not be a beauty. It hurt to know nobody thought I was beautiful growing up (I didn't meet the Mad Scientist until I was in my late 20s).

So when my children were born and I saw how beautiful they were, I couldn't help but let them know it. I must tell TRex and DQ how beautiful they are to me at least once a day, if not more. I want them to know they are beautiful to me and that nothing can take that away.

But then, I read an article earlier this week about continuing disparities in the legal profession between men and women. Despite women representing more than 50% of law school graduates for a long time now, the percentage of women in management positions in firms is still minimal. The article went on to discuss how women are still mostly judged by looks, rather than skills.

I've read dozens of similar articles about professional women, about raising girls, or about how society starts when girls are young to define the girls' self-worth through looks, which is bad.

So, I started to think I was bad for telling my children I think they are beautiful. I cursed myself for ohhing and ahhing when DQ dresses up and I tell her she is pretty. I was angry for singling out TRex to let him know is handsome when he gets dressed. I wanted to thwart my subconscious for trying to keep my children from feeling the pain I had and constantly telling them how beautiful I think they are.

And then I realized that I don't only comment on my childrens' looks. I'm not raising children that will only be good enough if they are beauty queens or fashion models. I don't only give my children praise for dressing well or being pretty. I tell them I love them and hug them when they ride a bike, make a new picture, form a new sign in ASL, or sing a new song. I praise them for their accomplishments both physical, intellectual, and creative. (And I am not trying to raise entitled children, so I also scold them when they are naughty, make them work, and they are never allowed to say they can't and must use "I'll try".)

At the end of the day, society is going to make its own judgments about my kids. It is my job to help provide them the tools to succeed and thrive in this world no matter what is thrown at them. One of those tools is being comfortable in their own skin. Knowing that their mother thinks they are beautiful won't help them in 8th grade when they are picked on, but I hope it will provide them with protection so that they don't believe the mean things that will be said.

What do you think?

Rockin' the Baby

I had a totally serious post stirring in my head all day, then I got home and started scoping out all of the great baby pictures for Shell's Rockin' the Baby link-up. I couldn't help but post some more baby pictures of my sweet babies.

TRex only a couple of hours old.

TRex at about 3 weeks old.

TRex about 1 week under 2 months old. He was literally caught in his first snow storm in mid-October.

TRex 2 days under 2 months old, sleeping in the Mad Scientist's arms.

Dancing Queen a couple of hours old.

Dancing Queen around 3 weeks old.  She was 2 weeks post-op and still on a vent, but one of my favorite pictures of her at this age.

Dancing Queen at 2 months old. Her first day home from the hospital!

Dancing Queen around two months old.

I just love looking at my gorgeous babies! I have more photos of my babies as babies at my Baby Fever post. And you can see pictures of other gorgeous babies by checking out the link-up at Things I Can't Say.

*That* Lady

I was laying in bed seething. Every trick my therapist had taught me to block out the world and go to sleep was failing horribly. It was 1:45 a.m. Saturday night/Sunday morning and my neighbors, old enough to know better, self-centered enough young enough not to care, had been partying around a campfire all.night.long (as they do almost every weekend during the summer). I decided I would wait until 2:00 am and calmly go to the fence and remind them of closing time, others who had to work all day Sunday, sleeping children. I didn't want to be a total jerk. I mean some of my favorite memories revolve around campfires and nights spent with friends. But, it was almost 2:00 a.m.!

Then it happened. The neighbors got exponentially louder and the Dancing Queen began to cry. They woke up my sick daughter who needs sleep more than anything. Angry bear mama roared her head and I ran downstairs, out to the back porch and yelled at them to quiet down. There was no banter about closing time, no understanding of "I remember those times". This was me unleashing my fury over loudness (and probably a little jealousy that those days are gone for me).

But, the partiers didn't hear me. They didn't freaking hear me yelling at the top of my lungs! And so I did it, I became that lady: I threatened to call the police if they woke my sick child again. Apparently, they could make out the word "police". The fire was immediately extinguished and they went indoors or elsewhere. All was quiet.

I might have laid back in bed, thinking about the incident and lamenting my fall into "that lady" status, but instead, I walked into one of the most horrific scenes of my life and quickly forgot the careless frivolity of youth.

Let me back up a little bit.

DQ had started getting sick Friday night/Saturday morning. So far, it was just a cough and runny nose, maybe a low grade fever. I say maybe because she was out of sorts all day Saturday, crying and screaming, so of course she felt warm. But was it from her anger or from fever? We weren't sure. We were sure that the attitude was because she wasn't feeling well. Her heart rate was up, she was swollen (sign of an over-worked heart), and she was complaining of stomach pain. She took a three hour nap Saturday afternoon and still needed to be woken up from it. We feel fairly certain it is just a summer cold, but with DQ, a summer cold can lead to the hospital. Her body was obviously trying to compensate yesterday and she needed rest. Hence my sheer anger when the neighbors woke her.

The thing is, when I went back inside to check on her again, I noticed something in the dark. I looked again. DQ was sound asleep, but she was covered in blood. My baby's entire face and hands were covered in blood! I couldn't tell the origin of the blood or whether it was dry or new, or even if she continued to bleed in the dark. It seemed to be everywhere.

I ran to the Mad Scientist, made him look to be sure my tired eyes weren't playing tricks on me. They weren't! She had blood everywhere. I had the Mad Scientist pick her up to bring her to the bathroom while I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off searching for wash cloths to clean her up. My heart was racing. I was shaking. And DQ was just sleeping in her daddy's arms, looking like an angel covered in dried blood.

Yes, all of the blood was dried. There was a lot of it. It must have come from her nose. It looks like she tried to stop the bleeding with her hands and smeared it everywhere. So, it was not that big of a deal, I don't think. She lost a lot of blood, but not enough to be dangerous, I hope. I have no idea how much she swallowed. She has been having nosebleeds more frequently these days. I understand this is fairly common with DiGeorge kids and the fact that she is on an aspirin regime makes it more difficult. But, this nosebleed was definitely worse. The amount of blood was scary. Seeing my baby that way . . . Gosh, I thought someone had punched her in the face or had dropped something on her. The scene was horrific.

And all I could think about after I cleaned her up and she was back in bed, was "why hadn't she called us?" Then I remembered my idiot neighbors. DQ had probably called, but we didn't hear her over the loud party. Suddenly, I didn't care about being that lady. The reason that lady exists is because I care about more than myself. And if I have to remind a bunch of late-20 somethings that having a good time at the expense of others is . . . immature, well then I guess I'll be the grown up. My shoulders are big enough to carry "that lady" baggage.

Happiness

I kissed them both again as I do every night and I thought to myself "this is what it is all about." The love for my children, for my husband, my family, makes everything worthwhile.

How can anyone say having children made me less happy?

I read an article earlier this week that talked about how much more unhappy people are when they have children. Apparently, some researcher looked at stress levels in women with children and compared those to stress levels in women without children and determined women with children are more stressed and less happy overall. I am totally going off of the top of my head here. It may have been some other factor they were comparing. I read it a couple of days ago and didn't think much of it really.

Or so I thought.

Yet, here it is, 11:30 on Wednesday night. I'm on my way to bed and I'm thinking how flawed that study must have been.  How could anyone suggest that being a parent isn't worth it? Perhaps that wasn't the point of the study or even the article that I read, but that is what stuck with me.

Being a parent is totally worth it. Is my life more stressed than before I had children? Most definitely! Am I more tired? Yes. Do I have less money? Decidedly so. Has my privacy gone out the window? Usually.

But I don't think any of that is bad. I am stressed, tired, broke, and constantly surrounded because I have someone to care for, to love, to nurture.  I have two small, helpless babies who need me. Taking care of them has made me a better person. It has made me care more, love more, see more, feel more, and be more.

Clearly, if I did not have children, I would have more money. I would likely have more time to do things like go out, get a massage, take vacations, and basically pamper myself. And I would likely be less stressed. But what is the point in that?

I've always been a person who loves to give. I can't even hold on to gifts until the proper day to give them because I enjoy the act of giving so much. Being a parent is giving the best gift ever--the gift of life. I am responsible for helping two extraordinary individuals find out who they will be and I get to teach them the wonder in this world, the magic in life. How awesome is that!

I don't think parenthood is for everyone. I'm sure some people are happier without having to change diapers and being able to sleep through the night rather than chasing after a toddler running through the house with finger paint still wet and dripping. I'm sure people have plenty of good reasons why not being a parent is correct for them. And I say bravo to you for making your own decision.  But for me, the hugs, the kisses, the stories, the smiles, the laughter, and the everything that make up my children outweigh any possible negatives. I can't believe someone would suggest I would be happier without my children.


PS
After writing this post, I found the article: Does having children make you happy?

Mother's Day

This is what Mother's Day is all about.

Happy Mother's Day!