I took time today to go back and re-read all my posts about my miscarriage.  The disappointment, the pain and the months of indecision and uncertainty that followed. As miscarriages go mine was pretty easy.  It happened early before we ever saw or heard a heartbeat.  I never had to suffer through the physical pain of actual miscarriage since I had a D&C days after discovering that the pregnancy was a failure. It was all very medical and clean and uncomplicated. Sort of. The emotions that were left behind though and the anguish of knowing my body had failed me was hard to reconcile.  And yet now, well it doesn’t really matter now. Because in less than two weeks I’m having a baby.

It is funny how all those meaningless platitudes that people say; “it is for the best”, “God will send you another”, “there is a reason for this” all make sense now.  It was good that we had more time to think about this last baby. I do feel ready, or at least as ready as anybody feels for a baby.  I’m excited and I have a feeling that this little girl, this little dawdler of mine who is delaying her arrival, well, I suspect she has a wicked sense of humor like her Daddy.

I recently had a student say to me, after hearing me complain about labor pain, “I NEVER want to get pregnant. I don’t know how you did it three times.”  Yep, we women, we’re crazy like that aren’t we?

We are going from 2200 square feet to 3300 square feet. We are going from four small bedrooms with even smaller closets to four large bedrooms with walk-in closets. I’m going from one triangular shaped useless linen closet to each bathroom having its own linen closet; from no storage closets to four storage closets. You get the idea.  We are upgrading in almost every regard.

Currently my life is filled with boxes and paper and trash and laundry.  I’m busy preparing both myself and the kids for this new change in environment and it seems unbelievable to me.  I’m excited, I’m nervous, and I’m stressed.  For the time being this is a bit of farewell.  After Wednesday I won’t have internet access again until Saturday and even if I did I’ll be too crazy making sure that every last bit of Barbie accessories and Star Wars action figures makes it into new bedrooms.  Wish me luck and let’s hope I don’t go into labor!

When David and I bought that house we had $10,000 in savings and thought we were rich.  We were young newlyweds and this house seemed HUGE.  David was so excited about home ownership that the day we closed on the house he immediately ran to Home Depot, bought a lawn mower and mowed the yard.  People assume that I’m sentimental about the memories we made here with our kids, but honestly, I’m more misty eyed about David and I being young and married without kids.

It was during the first six months of our marriage that I stood in our bedroom folding laundry.  I don’t remember what started the fight and indeed I don’t even remember what the fight was about.  What I do know is that it was heated and we were shouting at each other and I was folding socks with noticeable passion.  David let out a loud “AAAARRGHH!! YOU DRIVE ME CRAZY!!” and stomped off down the hall towards the front door. I then heard a loud BAM! And then David exclaimed “OH SHIT!” Feeling absolutely no sympathy for whatever problem he created for himself I shouted back, “WHAT? WHAT HAPPENED?” David paused and then sheepishly responded, “I punched a hole in the wall.”  David is the least violent person I know. As a matter of fact one of the things that attracted me to David was his gentle, calm spirit even in the face of adversity.  This sudden outburst of violence was so uncharacteristic of him that I thought he was joking.  As I started to walk down the hall towards him I shouted, “ARE YOU JOKING?” and at this he started laughing.   When I arrived where he was standing there was about a 5-inch diameter hole in the wall.

The wall in our brand new house.

The wall that was right by the front door.

The door through which our 8 dinner guests were going to be walking through in about 5 hours.

We looked at each other and I muttered, “you’re an idiot. You know you have to fix that now?” David quietly nodded.  We both stood in silence looking at the hole for a moment and then started giggling.  David turned to me and said “please don’t tell anybody tonight that I punched a hole in the wall.” I instantly understood his embarrassment.  David is not at all the kind of guy known for violent or angry outbursts and he knew what he had done was childish.  He didn’t want any of his friends to know.  I understood.

Our first guests arrived for dinner and as they stood in the foyer Chris, the husband, said “hey, what happened to your wall?” David and I hadn’t discussed an alibi and so I stood silent.  David jumped in and said “oh, I was hanging some pictures and the ladder went into the wall.” We all stood looking at each other. Chris smirked, nodded and said “dude, you punched a hole in the wall.”  Busted.

David patched the wall. His first drywall patch job and it was beautiful. To this day you can’t tell where the hole had been.  And yet, I can’t walk past that spot without thinking about that hole. The hole that the new owners know nothing about. The hole that was symbolic of that first year of marriage. The hole that taught David and I that sometimes laughing at your argument is far more productive than fighting in the first place.

When I think about leaving this house it is those memories that I will be the most sad about leaving behind. Lazy Sundays watching football together. Collapsing on the couch together after a party.  Laying in bed worried about living without an income or not getting pregnant. David and I spent the first nine years of our marriage in this house – laying the foundation that one needs to weather the storms of life. It is these early years of navigating our differences, our strengths, our love that I will be sad to leave behind.

Last Wednesday the baby “dropped”.  I know she dropped because I had an entire day of painful contractions followed by the feeling that a little person was sitting on my rectum.  When considering the possibilities of where a child could place itself in your body the rectum is not a “happy” place.  After three or four days I began to notice that something didn’t “feel” right.  It became painful to stand, sit, walk.  I chalked this up to late pregnancy discomfort and marched on with my daily activities. By Sunday I was in P-A-I-N and discovered that my sweet little girl had given me hemorrhoids.  I’ve NEVER in my entire life had a hemorrhoid. Why? Why would God do this to me? Why?

I sheepishly divulged my discovery to David who responded by laughing for ten minutes and telling me to not be such a baby. I punished his insensitive remarks by making him go to the drugstore to buy hemorrhoid cream and NOTHING else. Thus drawing acute attention to the embarrassing product he was purchasing.  Having never experienced this particular ailment before I consulted “Dr. Google” who assured me that I would be fine in a couple of days with rest and warm baths.  Except it wasn’t getting better it was getting worse.  And every time I complained about the pain David seemed exasperated and would utter; “it is just hemorrhoids. Lots of people get them”.  I’m sure many people do have them but how do they function?

On Tuesday I woke up to the sight of a lot of blood.  I instantly wanted to do a victory lap around the house screaming to David “SEE! I WAS NOT EXAGGERATING! I WAS IN REAL PAIN AND THERE IS THE PROOF! I’M DYING!”  However, the acute pain and the ax-murder-esque scene in our bathroom was a bit distracting.  I called the doctor with the announcement that something was “WRONG” and how did I know that? Dr. Google told me.  My doctor though, being the professionally trained medical person that she is, was not worried.

What happened at the doctor’s office can only be classified in the department of both horrifying AND embarrassing.  Just when you think your children can no longer embarrass you any longer the one within your womb finds a new low to pull you down to. Both frustrated and frightened I made David come into the examining room with me.  I’m afraid he may never touch me ever again.  Of course David found this to be a great opportunity to make jokes at my expense and the doctor, sensing his jovial nature, joined in. I, on the other hand, being naked from the waist down and feeling a whole new type of physical violation just focused on not throwing up.

And this, this combination of pain, disgust, embarrassment and physical horribleness – do these women who LOOOOVVEE being pregnant never experience this? Or do they find this as a great way to get attention.  Because honestly, right now, while I type this, I have both children climbing on the couch I’m resting on whining and hitting each other.  There are more dirty dishes than clean dishes in the house.  There are more toys on the floor than on the shelves. My children are living off of goldfish crackers and juice boxes (and I can’t promise they haven’t shared the kitty food with the cat). And this is supposed to be a “magical” time in my life?  This is supposed to make me feel beautiful and wonderful and a vessel for God’s miracle of life? Because the only miracle happening in my life right now is the fact that David and I haven’t killed each other or the kids. Or possibly that the health department hasn’t condemned our house.

David promises me that some day – some day soon – I will look back on this and laugh.  Maybe I will, but right now all the laughing is happening through tears.

#1 DON’T SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF

Now, I know everybody tells you this from the moment that the first pregnancy test comes back positive, but I will tell you that this is the hardest lesson to learn but also the most important. Every grandparent or ‘retired’ parent will tell you; “spend less time cleaning and more time playing”.  You know what? Listen to your elders.  Is my house a mess? Yes. Most days my sink is full of dishes, my laundry back-loaded, and toys in my family room. In exchange for that I have well-adjusted children who get to experience a mentally sane mother (on most days).  Some day I will have children old enough who can do the dishes, vacuum and make their own beds.  In the meantime, they clear their dishes, put their laundry in their hamper and do the best they can.  And you know what, I no longer care if my house is clean. I reject the idea that cleanliness is a sign of a successful mother.

#2 DON’T CRY – LAUGH

Motherhood is filled with the most ridiculous moments and indeed most “mommy blogs” are filled with tales of such silliness. In my case I can recount stories of spilled paint on carpet, exploding poop on visiting relatives, puke in the middle of the mall, etc, etc. If you thought child delivery lacked modesty and was embarrassing, well, that is only the beginning.  You must learn to laugh at yourself or you will find yourself crying far too often.

#3 ASK FOR HELP

At 39 years old and approaching the arrival of my third child I have learned this lesson.  I cannot do it all, and I’m not going to martyr myself in an effort to somehow garner praise and appreciation from some invisible entity.  Let me fill you in on a secret, your children will not appreciate you more for killing yourself and neither will your spouse.  They won’t appreciate you, they will resent you. I pay for a housekeeper to clean my house every two weeks. I pay for babysitters when I need a break or assistance to get things done.  Motherhood is a hard job and it is a 24 hour job – you cannot do it all the time

#4 CUT YOURSELF SOME SLACK

You are not going to be a perfect parent all the time.  You will snap, yell, scream, throw a grown-up tantrum, let them watch tv, eat popcorn, processed foods, sugar, soda pop, etc. None of these things make you a terrible parent.  One of my best friends is a family therapist and she has said to me on more than one occasion that unless I’m beating, purposefully neglecting or feeding my kids drugs I’ve got a long way to fall to become a bad parent. Most of us are consciously trying to read to our kids and provide a well-balanced diet in a loving and supportive environment.  It is just that that environment is hard to maintain 365 days a year. Some days you are going to be lucky if the kids spend the day watching PBS and eat macaroni and cheese for dinner.

#5 YOU KNOW NOTHING

When I was pregnant with Lucy I was terrified of the unknown.  What was it going to be like to be a parent? How was I going to handle it? How hard was it going to be? When I got pregnant with Max I had confidence and arrogance that was most definitely a mistake.  Max came out and was NOTHING like Lucy. It was as if I was a first-time parent all over again.  Now, pregnant with my third I recognize that I know nothing and there is peace in that.  No use in preparing for this child because it won’t matter. Whatever I anticipate or plan for will be wrong.

Finally, my mother-in-law has a sign on her desk that says “children grow to become the love they know”.  No matter how crazy my day is, or how much my children drive me crazy if I can end the day with a hug, kiss, snuggle and the knowledge that my kids know that they are loved, well, that is a successful day.

Mother #1: hello?

Mother #2: hi – I just wanted to call and talk to you about the current health care debate

Mother #1: Oh, I know did you watch CNBC last night?

Mother #2: I did, and I really thought, Tommy! Tommy! I told you to not hit your sister. SARAH! stop hitting your brother! Who wants to lose a privilege? Sorry about that – let me see, yes, I liked what they were saying about universal coverage but was concerned about the tax implications and you?

Mother #1: Well, I didn’t see the piece on CNBC but NPR was interviewing the CEO of a pharmaceutical company and, BILLY! BILLY! Put that knife down.  Yes, Emma I will wipe your bottom. Sorry, okay, well NPR was discussing how the reform might impact malpractice insurance and the availability of doctors.

Do you see how that works? The side conversations with children and punishments dolled out are respectively ignored and the conversation proceeds seamlessly.  Neither party offended at the break in conversation nor distracted by the requests of the children in the background.  And yet, if this same conversation were held between a mother and a man — any man — it would sound like this:

Mother #1: Hello?

Man: Hi, I was wondering what was for dinner tonight

Mother #1: Oh, well I was thinking TOMMY, TOMMY NO YOU CANNOT EAT CANDY BEFORE DINNER!

Man: I’ll let you go, you sound busy.

Busy? Of course I’m busy. I’m always busy. I’m a part-time working mother of two. The only time I’m not doing three tasks at the same time is when I’m asleep. If you insist on my complete undivided attention on the phone then please plan on calling when my children are 18 years old. I’m not sure why women can follow this phone conversation phenomenon and why men seem to instantly short circuit like a Microsoft hard drive that is trying to run too many apps, but they do and it is frustrating.

As a mother of multiple children (and yes, I’m afraid you need to have more than one to make this happen) my multi-tasking abilities have reached that of Ninja-level.  All those teenagers who think they are special because they can drive and text – Pshaw! That is nothing.  I can cook dinner, assist with spelling homework, pack lunches for tomorrow AND text message all at the same time.  I can wash hair in the bathtub, wipe somebody’s bottom, AND conduct a phone job interview all seamlessly.

What is it about women that makes us able to juggle so many tasks with little problem? Is it biological or did we develop this skill out of necessity? Would a man also be able to multi-task with such ease if he was a single dad? I have no idea but in the meantime I think it might be a good idea for me to start utilizing my “mute” button on my telephone.

TIPS TO WRITING A GREAT HOLIDAY NEWSLETTER (originally posted on November 28, 2008)

As we plow into the holiday season I feel a desire to provide some helpful tips when it comes to writing that Christmas letter. As an English teacher I find these little treasures to actually be time bombs of irritation awaiting me in my mailbox. This year I plan to circumvent this problem by telling you the things you absolutely should NEVER do.

#1 (and this is a biggie) DO NOT WRITE IN THIRD PERSON
Let me give you an example; “Bob is so excited at his new job and Sally is involved in the PTA this year”. Who the hell is writing the letter? The cat? Obviously somebody is writing and if it isn’t the two adults in the house than who is it? And don’t switch back and forth. For example; “I’m so proud of Bob’s new promotion this year and I know he will be happy. Sally is heavily involved in the PTA and I’m glad she has found an outlet for her creativity.” So now you are taking turns typing? Of course not. Somebody is writing this letter so decide who it is and stick with it.

#2 How To Share Good News and Not Brag
Let’s just pretend your son really did win the Nobel Peace Prize.Of course you are proud of him – any mother would be. However, you don’t want to make everybody else reading this either hate you or resent you for telling them. When sharing some piece of amazing news humble this news with some mundane thing that the person fails miserably at. For example, “We are so proud of John winning the Nobel Peace Prize this year but we sure wish he would learn how to pick up the phone and call once in awhile” or “Steve has been lucky to discover the cure for Cancer this year but too bad he can’t also cure his chronic flatulence problem”. See where I’m going with this? This is also true when talking about yourself. You might say something like, “I’ve really enjoyed feeding the homeless this year. Unfortunately my family has taken to showing up in the soup line because I’m never home long enough to feed them.” This will put your reader at ease and allow them to both respect your accomplishment and to know that you aren’t trying to compete

#3 Including Photographs
Unless the person is related or is close enough to be considered a relation a photograph of your growing child is not necessary. Truly, what am I supposed to do with these photos? Save them forever? What is the appropriate amount of time to hold on to said picture prior to disposal? 1 month? 1 year? 1 day? Don’t put that kind of guilt on me.

#4 Keep It Brief
No more than one page in a 11 point font or larger. Unless you have traveled to the moon, solved World Peace, or discovered a new country, one page is more than sufficient space. I would love to know how your family is doing but I’m not really interested in a 2008 recap that rivals a PBS documentary. This means stick to the highlights; births, deaths, graduations, new jobs/loss of job, new house/loss of house, pets, major childhood accomplishments (this can be anything from walking to rehab), divorce or marriage. If ALL of these things happened in your life in one year well – take a Prozac and then focus on the good stuff. It’s Christmas man, don’t bring me down.

I hope this helps you and guides you as you try to communicate the events of 2008 to your friends and family. Honestly, I really am looking forward to your Christmas letter so please send it soon.

7:00 AM wakes up to me reminding him to not forget about Max’s lunch and don’t fall back to sleep

8:30 AM – 6:00 PM After an hour long commute that can only be compared to a slow death march he arrives at work where his schedule is usually non-stop meetings peppered with people complaining that he isn’t in enough places at the same time.

5:30 PM – 6:30 PM Receives approximately 20 phone calls/text messages from me asking if he’s left yet.

6:00 PM – 7:00 PM Death march commute in reverse

7:00 PM is greeted by me hysterical about who knows what and the kids simultaneously talking and poking him in the tummy.  There is no dinner. I made mac-n-cheese for the kids. The leftovers are in the pot.

8:00 PM he puts the kids to bed which is probably the only time somebody is nice to him all day

9:00 PM he gets back on his computer and works for an hour or more. He catches up on emails or freelance work

10:30 PM He returns to the family room to find me asleep on the couch and he’s left to watch The Colbert Report by himself.

Why this man has not run from the house screaming I have no idea. Every pregnancy is unique and the emotional upheaval of this pregnancy is quite pronounced. David is worried that I’m going to go all crazy after the baby is born and will pull a “Dooce” and end up in a mental hospital. I’m hoping I will find my way to medication before I get to that point but yes, the emotional carnage of pregnancy is scary and I am as worried about it as he is. In the meantime I’m so, so, so grateful that I have an awesome husband who, for the most part, cheerfully puts up with my crazy.

If you’ve never had a panic attack let me enlighten you on the feeling.  First, your heart starts racing for apparently no reason at all. Then, you feel as if you can’t breathe.  This is quickly followed by the emotional reaction of wanting to run away. On top of this I can’t sleep (which is why I’m writing this at 5 in the morning).  It would be easy to blame all of this on the baby but there is so much more to this picture. Let’s take a walk down memory lane and review how I ended up in this situation:

1.) Two weeks before this semester started in August I lost my nanny and quickly had to make the decision to put Max in preschool. This put me in the position of having had both kids home to both kids in school and with it the cascade of parties, homework, fund-raisers, etc that I never saw coming.

2.) Ten days before the beginning of class I was given a new textbook to use.  A textbook I had never seen before and would now need to write an entirely new syllabus around.  A textbook that I would later realize had little to no actual content in it and put me in a position of having to be constantly re-writing my syllabus, schedule and homework assignments.

3.) I lost the benefit of having a part-time nanny at home who could help with things like laundry and dishes. Instead I gained the additional responsibilities of homework time with the kids, and making sure uniforms were cleaned on time and packing lunches.

4.) Being pregnant I lost my ability to grade late into the evening because of my sheer physical exhaustion and so I quickly fell behind in grading.

5.) A student population this semester who seemed to need more hand-holding, more care, more time, more tutoring, etc, etc

6.) I’M HAVING A BABY!

Oh, and if that wasn’t enough, as I slide into finals week we put a bid on a new house which was accepted.  That is right, we’re moving over the holidays (well, as soon as we sell our house).  And we all know what the holidays entail; presents and cards and cookie making and an avalanche of school projects and parties for the kids.

And at night, as I collapse into bed the drama really begins. My sleep is plagued with vivid pregnancy dreams of early labor, forgetting my lecture notes or even worse, forgetting my baby.  The dreams are merely nighttime symptoms of the anxiety I feel during the day.  The dreams fade and I’m left tired and awake at 3:00 in the morning after only 5 hours of sleep.  I complain to my doctor who tells me I’m doing too much. But how do you scale back life? And it is not as if I can ask for help. I mean, it is not as if somebody can come in and do my kids’ homework assignments, or take them to the eye doctor for me, or schedule Max’s tonsillectomy or pack my house.

I’m drowning — in responsibilities, in fear, in anxiety, in excitement, in anticipation, in life.

We walked through the solid wood door with stained glass and fell in love.  It was a beautiful craftsman home built in a new trendy neighborhood. The Cape Cod styling made it stand out in a sea of brick look-alikes.  We couldn’t afford it.  We left depressed. Months passed and on a whim I looked up the house listing online to see if it was still for sale. It was and they had lowered the price – considerably.  David and I talked on the phone while he drove home one night and determined we still couldn’t afford it.  When he walked in the door and proclaimed, “I called the Realtor and told them I wanted to make an offer.”  I was dumbfounded.  Our thinking was that we would throw out a low-ball offer that we knew we could afford but that the seller would never go for.  The Realtor then informed us that she actually was pretty optimistic that the seller would accept.

Crap.

David shifted gears and started doing what David does best – analyzing all of our financial options.  He swiveled his imaginary green accountant visor and went to work.  For days he called insurance agents, mortgage lenders, family members, banks, etc.  He created spreadsheets and worked every angle of our budget front and back.  Depending on where in the process he was we were either buying the house or too poor to still afford it.  His emotions swung from elation to disappointment.  And this, this frantic energy with the calculator and the pen, this hyper-detail analysis of our spending, this is why God brought us together.  I would be overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation and give up before I ever got started. David will turn over every financial rock a thousand times before he will feel comfortable making a decision.  And because I know this about him I also know that I don’t have to worry about us making a bad decision.

With optimism and encouragement from our Realtor we submitted our offer and then waited.  While I paced the floor begging David to follow up he calmly said “I’m not calling. I don’t want to look desperate.”  His phone vibrated to life and he calmly answered.  I anxiously bounced around as he uttered non-descriptive phrases like “uh-huh” and “I see” and “okay”.  As I dreamed of bigger bedrooms, a linen closet that wasn’t in the shape of a triangle and a laundry room that actually was a room, David was serene.  He hung up and said flatly; “the seller rejected the offer and provided no counter-offer. We were too low”.  That was it.  We knew we couldn’t offer more and the seller appeared to not want to budge.  I was crushed. David was at peace.

It has taken me days to let the dream of bigger closets go while David has almost wistfully let the dream fade. And David’s seemingly calm attitude in the face of what feels like an avalanche of information is what makes him the perfect match for me. It is easier for me to let go of the disappointment knowing that the decision we made was well researched and thought out, and I know that because I trust David.