A Year in Review

We had our family and a few close friends over on Saturday to celebrate the Monkey's first birthday, so last week was chaotic. In fact, it was quite similar to the exact same week in 2011, minus the lactation and Hydrocodone. So in between cutting out stars and soothing a cranky teething toddler (and/or spouse), I did enough reflecting to come up with a few things I've learned about being a Mom over the last year. I'm sure some (if not all) of these things will apply to the rest of my life:

1. Always use the bathroom before leaving the house! I remember being taught this rule as a child, but it's only this year I've discovered why. Using a public restroom (and I still do from time to time because, um...I've had a baby!) with a baby or toddler in tow is one of the most unpleasant experiences I've ever known. And what happens when he's 2 or 3??! (I may need to invest in a catheter for shopping purposes.)

2. The concept of "sleeping while baby sleeps" is bullish*t a myth. Yes, there have been days when I've been able to nap while the Monkey naps. Those are the days immediately following sleepless nights, so in my mind that's just an extension of night sleep and doesn't count. Otherwise, the little creature has a radar that detects when I'm just beginning to relax. That's the exact moment he wakes up, even if he's only been asleep for five minutes. Maybe I'll have better luck with Numero Dos, but I'm not holding my breath.

3. Always take a snack. This goes for baby, Mommy, and most definitely Daddy. I shudder to think what fate may befall me if I'm stuck in traffic with a hungry kid and/or spouse. I know some Moms who have darkened this doorway to hell, and I'll follow in someone else's footsteps, thankyouverymuch.

4. Drive Thru Starbucks locations are God's little reminders to Moms that everything is going to be O.K. (No explanation needed, right?)

5. Judge not, lest... I whined, and postulated, and complained about so called "bad" parents for years. I'm not proud of it, but I have thought things like: "They should really take him out of the store, while he throws his fit." "Why doesn't that baby have her head covered in this wind?" "Dear God, please don't ever let me go out in public like that." These are all things I would never say out loud, but my internal voice screamed them. 

Well, guess what? I'm officially one of those "bad" parents. And guess what else? I really don't care. In fact, I was actually "called out" the other day by a 70-something year old woman in a store, who couldn't believe I had brought my child "out" in "this weather." The temp. was 45, and it was sprinkling. Yes, there are better times to get out of the house. Like June. Or even May. Those would be appropriate months to leave the house, based on midwestern weather conditions. All other months would be indoor months due to the "extreme weather conditions" we have here. I just smiled and thought, "If only my toddler couldn't hear my words, I would say them out loud. But since he can, I will focus on his needs and education and not your asinine-ness (not a word, I know, but this is also not a professional publication)."

Perhaps the most important truth I've learned is that I only have my best to give. And while I work my ass off to be an exceptional average parent, I must find ways to maintain a shred of sanity through the journey (mostly because I can't afford one of those luxurious Malibu coping facilities or a nanny to stay with my kid while I'm away). If I'm fortunate and continue trudging, I'm hopeful I can keep my child out of trouble and maybe even occasionally happy.

Selecting Memories

My son is 1 today. I should be gooey, teary, etc., and I'm sort of getting there. But as I very slowly climbed out of bed this morning (when he woke up an hour early, after going to bed two hours late), I thought, "Oh no. I'm afraid I may hate this day, and then I'll feel guilty for the rest of my life." He was super cranky, of course, because he shouldn't have been awake; but his store brand diaper (don't get me started on this topic in my house) had failed and he couldn't sleep.

When he and I both are exhausted, it doesn't bode well, until one (or both) of us either takes a nap, or gets some coffee (That's me, not the Monkey. I like a baby who sleeps.) My moment of truth occurred when my Monkey grabbed his cup of milk before I could get the lid on it, and it spilled everywhere, including parts of my kitchen I had no idea existed. I lost my cool for about five seconds (an occurrence which my toddler has decided is hilarious, just like his Father. I may not live past the age of 40, unless military schools are now admitting toddlers and/or 40-something spouses).

I tried to get my former baby, Ginger Sue, the Cocker Spaniel, to help clean up the milk on the floor, thinking it was a win/win for both of us (Don't judge. You do it too, whether you admit it or not; otherwise, there would be no moms with pets.). But she just looked at me blankly like, "WTF are you talking about??? Clearly you're having yet another one of your meltdowns, and I just can't deal anymore!" I wanted to cry, and yell, and start throwing things, and maim my husband (who, of course, is working diligently in his office across town, having no idea what's going on here, but we all know they are never innocent...even if they're not here!).

That's when I looked at the clock, and it hit me: This time last year I had just trudged through twelve hours of active labor, with no medication. Twelve hours.* And here I am now, one year later, literally about to let myself cry over spilled milk. So I stepped it up and gave myself a pep talk. I thought about my Dad's Mom, who raised 3 children--one of whom was cognitively disabled--in the 50's, when it was not only socially acceptable to institutionalize children with special needs, but it was a bit taboo to raise them at home. She said, "Nope. He won't see the door to one of those places, while I'm alive!" And I thought about my Mom's Mom, who raised two girls all alone, while her Marine husband was dealing with frostbite during the Korean War. Sometimes they had money for groceries, and sometimes they didn't.

It seems a little over-the-top to consider such harsh realities and compare them to my own, but it helped me realize that all I have to do is make it through this one day, and do my best to make it memorable. I don't have to have a baby (already got one) or a blood transfusion (been there), or an epidural (done that). I don't even have to stay up all night tonight, and I didn't last night. I certainly don't have to worry about grocery money or the health of my child.

If we (as moms) are honest with ourselves, the first birthday really isn't about the child at all. It's about us, our memories, and a few photographs that we hope our children can cherish later. My son has NO idea what's going on today. He only knows if he's tired, hungry, or happy. My job today is the same as it is every day: to keep him in the happy state as long and as frequently as possible. It's very unlikely that he will remember this day. But I will. So I have to choose what type of memories I will be making for him and for me. Now that he's napping, and I'm sipping my coffee, I'm hopeful that I will choose wisely. If not, at least we'll have some nice pictures, and someday I will have a much more selective memory.

*Yes, I know many of you give birth naturally, feed your kids only things that grow out of your garden, live in energy efficient tree houses, and run Fortune 500 companies. That's great for you, and I'm soooooo happy for you! Bless your heart. But that's not me. At all. I fall somewhere between needing a Tylenol for a hang nail and being able to set my own broken bones, but I'm much closer to the hang nail end of the scale.

Tired

The official diagnosis for my Father in Law came back today. He has not one, but two kinds of that disease. As a family, we are in shock. As an individual, I'm tired. I'm sad. And I'm disheartened. Statistics show that he has a 30-40% chance of surviving the next 5 years. He's 70 years old. A liver transplant may eventually be an option, but...he's 70 years old. Details.

So I'm sitting here, panicking, because this knowledge is bringing back to life (no pun intended) my awareness and fear of mortality. Not just (or even primarily) my own, but that of those I love. Let's say he didn't have that stuff. Let's say he was as healthy as a horse (so to speak). How many years does he have? Based on family history, about 20. That's still not forever, but it's certainly more than 5 years. It's two decades. I think I could finally sort of get my head around this, if I had two decades. At least my son would grow up knowing his Grandfather. At least my Mother in Law would have a fulfilling retirement, traveling the world with her husband, something they've been planning and looking forward to for a number of years. And at least my husband wouldn't be facing the loss of his Father, while still just beginning a life with his son.

Panicking. What's this going to do to us? What's it going to do to my husband, who is already stressed beyond his limits? What's it going to do to my son? Will there be other casualties? Will my husband's health begin to decline as well, as a result of the stress? Will my son be robbed of his Father too? So maybe that's a little extreme. 

How about this? No matter what, my son's earliest memories will be clouded by this. There's no good time for this to happen in a family, but I am genuinely worried about the effect this will have on his psychological and social development. This stress--this gray cloud in our blue sky--is already affecting him, even if we can't yet see it. 

No, my FIL hasn't been handed a death sentence. Yes, we may have 5, 10, even 20 more years with him. Hell, I may have a stroke before any of these other yahoos bite the dust. But we know this: We know it's there. We know there are only so many things that can be done. And I think the worst thing about this awful disease is the timeline. It's the way it poisons and destroys our lives the way it does an individual's body. It's the 30 days between each scan. It's the 3 days of waiting for the test results, every 30 days. It's the meetings with the doctors and waiting for the phone calls. The next round of treatment. The illness that ensues. And the dread and hope of the next scan. It's the knowing and not knowing. Always feeling like you're in a waiting room, while trying desperately to hold onto some kind of normal in your life. I'm remembering experiences with other loved ones. And the remembering is what's making me tired tonight. 

I love my FIL like I love my own Father, and somewhere beyond the frustration and sadness I will find my strength, and I will fight with him. I will NOT let this destroy my family, no matter what. And I will work to live my life to the fullest and create the same experience for my son, so that this thing will gain no ground. But to do this, I need an outlet. So here I am. Grieving, feeling hopeless, and preparing for the worst. Right here. And as the words flow out of my mind, through my fingers, into this post, I am one step closer to going back to my life as the person I need to be for my family.

Clearing Out the Blogwebs

I'd like to say I can't believe it's been almost two months since my last post. I'd also like to say that time has flown by so fast that (*gasp* my goodness!) I've lost all track of it. But the truth is the last two months have seemed to move more slowly than that awful reoccurring bad dream we all have from time to time. Frankly, I've been uninspired; unmotivated; cheerless, actually downright cynical. And while I've been trying to avoid spreading those negative vibes all over the blogosphere, not writing has meant not being true to me. I like to write. I need to write. So continue reading for more Debbie Downer-isms.

Here's what I've been up to the last two months:

1. Cruise with my Other Half. It was delightful, minus the upper respiratory disease I contracted as our plane landed in Florida, which was kind enough to stick around for a full two weeks after my vacation.

2. Nursing my Other Half while he struggled to survive the illness I so generously passed to him.

3. Nursing my son while he battled aforementioned disease that turned into his very first ever ear infection (score!). There was also a bonus round for me. That would be round 2 of this plague. Are you tired of reading about our sicknesses yet? Ha! I'm just getting started!

4. The biggest fun of all came when my Father in Law had to have a tumor removed from his liver. He's only had the very same surgery 3 other times before, along with the super fun chemotherapy that follows. Yep. Tumor. That kind of tumor. I just can't bring myself to say, or type, or even think the C word. That may be what it is, but it pisses me off so much that I refuse to allow it to contaminate my mind. Dramatic? Maybe. But you've been affected by it. We all have. And I'm sick of it infiltrating my life and the lives of those I love on any level. Whether a "battle" is won or lost, for now I will stand firm against it doing to my mental and emotional health what it's doing or done to my Father in Law's shrinking liver.

*WARNING: Despite my best efforts, I'm about to be a little bit positive.

5. Somewhere in the midst of all of the above, Christmas came and went, and It. Was. Fabulous! Watching the Monkey open presents was the best. He's not really old enough to understand what was happening, but every moment of his life is filled with a sense of wonder and curiosity I wish I could still find in myself. So putting him on the floor and watching him explore one new thing after another was so much more entertaining than even trash T.V. (I know that's crazy talk, but it's true!) We were all somehow able to set aside everything else that was going on and enjoy that one day together as a family, and I am so thankful I have such a beautiful memory to cherish from now on.

So I guess I'm kind of "back." Not really sure what that means, except that this is one step to being true to my(sickly, frail, snot-ridden)self again. And maybe someday soon I'll wake up and be entertaining again! (Let's not hold our breath, k?)