And then he redeems himself

Ben was ornery today.  He got up from his nap before I did.  He chose to wake me (and Elise) by having a screaming tantrum about 6 inches from my face.  Very unimpressive stuff.  The afternoon through bedtime continued with about the same behavior.  And I hate to say this (I feel like a terrible mommy when I say this), but I was not enjoying him.  I was faking enjoyment through some parts, but overall, I just kind of wanted to curl into a ball.  And maybe rock back and forth a little.  I got him in the shower before bed, told him he could play for a few minutes and that I’d be back to wash him up.

This is what I came back to…..

I love being a mom.

What did your kid do today that made you smile?

Clomid, will you be my Valentine?

I’ve hemmed and hawwed about whether I should include the story of our struggle to conceive Ben in Life with BE.  Afterall, I wouldn’t be where I am without my journey through  infertility.  But the whole thing was so intensely private and painful.  And difficult for people on the outside to understand.  I was open about the factual aspects of infertility with plenty of folks, but only shared with a select few how I was actually feeling about all of it.  Like deep down feeling about it.  Because I wasn’t doing well at all.  It was not my finest year by any stretch.  After some pondering, I’ve decided to include a handful of moments, realizations and snapshots from a heartrending road that lead to a breathtaking destination. 

February 2008, a few months in to realizing there’s an issue

I spent Valentine’s Day with my gynecologist. If I can be completely honest, it wasn’t as romantic a holiday as I was hoping for (I blame it on the speculum sitting on the counter beside me). My gyno had previously hoped the first batch of progesterone would get me right on track and then it would be clear sailing. But I was back in the office with my crappy chart on Valentine’s. To celebrate, my doc had also brought my crappy bloodwork results. I hadn’t ovulated.

The gyno was still positive. I’d take the progesterone again to start a new cycle, I’d start Clomid, we’d throw in some more bloodwork. Honestly, 90% of my brain was thinking, “I’m just having issues from being on the pill so long.” The other 10%, the deep-down-keep-it-to-myself part, was starting to freak out. What if it’s a real problem? What if it’s not just from coming off the pill?

We wrapped up the appointment with a solid plan and I headed up to the front desk with my check out paper from the doctor in hand. I stopped dead in my tracks about halfway there. Under “Reason for Visit”, my doctor had checked off “Infertility”.

It actually took my breath away….like I was punched in the stomach. One little check in a teeny tiny box stopped my world on its axis for just a moment. Really??!! You’re already calling it infertility?? We’re already calling it infertility?? I’m not ready to call it that.

I got in my car and just sat there, the word infertile bouncing around in the empty silence. And then, I got angry at my gynecologist. Like I wanted to go back in that office and, in front of his patients, yell at him. The only words I could come up with were f*ck you with some c’mons and seriouslys thrown in. I decided that would not be a very wise choice. Instead I went home, feeling angry and sad about a little check in a teeny tiny box.

So much for clean

While burping my daughter just now, I realized she’s smells a bit like mildew.  For those of you who don’t know me from daily life, I have a freakish sense of smell.  It’s both a curse and a blessing.  So Ellie smells icky.  I conclude that the large load of lights I did a couple days ago must have stayed in the washer too long….as in the large load of all four family members’ clothes that I dryed, folded, and put away.  If I don’t dig through and find the clothes now, this one load will haunt me for weeks to come.   

I’m pretty sure Martha Stewart doesn’t have these kinds of problems.      

A new beginning

I blogged previously during one of the darkest times of my life.  I was struggling to conceive my son, Ben, and struggling to understanding why I was infertile.  I turned to blogging as an outlet and was shocked by how much the blog helped me through my journey, both through my own words as well as others’ words of encouragement and support.

This time around is completely different.  I’m blogging to capture the best time of my life.  My time with my kids as my husband and I navigate our way through raising two young children.  So frequently I find myself in the middle of something magical with one of the kids and I’m trying to burn the moment into my brain.  But I know, over time, I’ll forget so many of the little details that I’m begging to hold on to.  So I’m taking pen to paper (sort of) as a way to remember all the minutiae of this chaotic, funny, stressful, fantastic time in my life that is flying by so fast. 

Ben is 3 years old and so spirited.  And by spirited, I mean he’s a little hellion right now.  He is freakishly energetic (seriously, the cleaning I could accomplish with that kind of energy), stubborn and argues for argument’s sake.  And he is wonderful.  I mean it.  He’s this amazing kid who has these moments where I just want to freeze time because everything is so perfect that my heart just aches.  And thank God he has these moments.  These moments are what keep me from selling him on Craig’s List.  Elise is 3 months old.  I was really scared to have two kids.  Scared I couldn’t love her the way I love Ben despite everybody’s assurances that I could and would.  She completes our family.  She’s this exquisite little human with the biggest smile.  She adores her brother.  She prefers quiet.  She lights up our home.  She also farts like a grown man. 

When Joe and I chose to name our daughter Elise, I looked for meaning in the combination of our kids’ names.  I loved how they went together.  Ben and Elise.  Sounded very timeless.  But was there more to it?  Like how in my family all the kids’ names start with ‘M’…..except mine because I’m clearly the black sheep accident tacked on at the end who got the ‘J’ name (I jest.  They couldn’t think of any good ‘M’ names so my dad chose the name Jacquelyn.  My sister, Marybeth, pushed for Marmaduke and was defeated thankfully). 

So was there anything to their names, I wondered?  I mulled the whole thing over.  Just B.E.  Just BE.  Just be.  And I loved it.  Because it reminds me of exactly what I need to do as I raise these two beautiful children.  Just be.  In the moment.  With them.  As they grow.  And learn.  And share.  And question.  And celebrate.   And love.  Just BE.  And so here is the story, my many little chapters, of life with BE.

It’s Georgia’s fault

I had every intention of creating my first blog post tonight.  I really did.  Got the basics of the blog up and running.  Ready to create my first post.  But my two dogs are laying outside of my office and one of them (Georgia, I suspect because that’s just like her) has terrible gas.  The smell has run me out of my own office.  What a classy start to this blog.