Yes

     I had a wonderful weekend. I celebrated my first Mother's Day and it was everything that I ever hoped it could be. Over and over again I was reminded of how grateful I am that I get to participate in this amazing adventure called motherhood and as always, my thoughts inevitably drifted to how close I came to missing out. I watch my son, now 10 months old as he crawls, climbs and takes his first tentative steps toward walking and I am amazed by how much my life has changed from the years that I spent trying to get him here. Those days are never far from my memory and that is not by accident. Nor is the day that I finally saw my first glimmer of hope that it was my turn at last.

     Two and a half years into trying to conceive I had all but given up. Well, given up in the sense of a woman still actively trying to conceive in spite of losing all hope or joy in the process. What that looks like is still temping and charting daily, still timing sex but not enjoying any of it and not getting excited anymore at the end of a cycle, even one that looks promising. I had gotten pretty good at predicting when my ovulation was going to happen and pretty sick of sex so Jim and I only did the deed once that month and I was excited to see that it was right on time. I had a beautiful temp drop that month followed by a huge temp spike, which is basically the holy grail of charting. Even so, we didn't feel very hopeful. We had been trying for so long that we just didn't see any light at the end of the tunnel anymore and we hadn't done the baby dance since the month before due to the overall distaste for sex that comes from a long period of time spent trying to conceive. The sperm we used were likely old and dead by the time they even got into the game. I had actually asked my doctor if we should feel hopeful that month due to our perfect timing and was told that, “no, those sperm were likely too old to fertilize an egg.” Better luck next month. So we settled in to wait for the end of yet another unsuccessful cycle.

     By this time, the concept of actually getting pregnant seemed like a distant possibility at best, so on the fringe in fact, that it was no longer a concrete part of our future life plans. I decided to use the money that I had been saving to give myself a maternity leave from work and remodel our bathroom instead. We began the complete and total destruction of our home's one and only bathroom and I started looking at paint and tile options.

     We stayed busy that month attending the wedding of two of our friends and my nephew's second birthday. While there, my cousin announced exciting news. She was pregnant. I was absolutely over-the-moon thrilled for her and her husband. They were going to be amazing parents and I couldn't wait to have another baby in the family. But I would be lying if I said that my tears were purely joyful. In my mind and in my plans, my cousin and I were always pregnant together. We had always been more like sisters than cousins and were so close in age that we shared a lot of our life event's with one another. It had seemed only natural that we would leap into this important life milestone together as well. This was it. The thing that I had feared so much over the past few years was becoming my living reality. I was really going to watch everyone around me have their babies and start their families while I sat on the sidelines just wishing and waiting for my own. It was happening. As much as I wanted to, I honestly didn't know how I was going to sit around and discuss baby names and nursery themes with her. I didn't think I had the strength.

     The Monday following the birthday party I called my doctor. I was finally ready to find out what was wrong with me and deal with it. My fear had always been that they would tell me something really bad, like there was absolutely no hope. How would I handle that? But the tearful car ride home from the party had revealed to me something important. I was already grieving that loss. I was already there. If that is what the tests had to reveal, then I was already living it. I needed to know if there was anything more that I could do.

     My doctor was wonderful. She didn't want to waste any more time. At my age I should have started fertility testing after about a year of unsuccessful trying. We were already a year and a half behind. My husband was scheduled for a semen analysis and I was scheduled for a hysterosalpinogram which is a series of x-rays taken of the fallopian tubes and uterus and a trans vaginal ultrasound. My first test would happen on the day before Thanksgiving. The thought of getting bad news over the holidays killed me. I was terrified about what the test would reveal and I was heartbroken. Absolutely heartbroken. In my mind, all that I could picture was going through invasive, expensive procedures and still ending up with empty arms as so many couples do.

     I was at a point where every single night I would cry while in the safety and solitude of the shower. I would ask “why?” Why was this completely natural act something that I was struggling with? Why was I not worthy to be a mother? I felt completely worthless.

     I contemplated what testing would mean for us. I already knew from my chart that I was ovulating, so that wasn't the issue. I was using my progesterone cream. Often, couples struggling to conceive don't even get answers as to why. I braced myself for the coming frustration of undergoing countless tests only to be diagnosed with unexplained infertility. Tell me something I don't know.

     Regardless, I used my progesterone cream religiously. If nothing else I could continue to work on a good dose for myself. I spotted one day, but just a little seven days after I had ovulated. Implantation bleeding? I felt that familiar pull of hope, but quickly squashed it. I'd been there many times before. Too many times to fall for it again. As the days passed however, I felt my feelings of hope begin to grow without my permission. No bleeding at 8 DPO (days past ovulation), 9 DPO, 10 DPO, 11, 12... I passed the window! For the first time since March I had passed the window! My luteal phase was long enough this month! Implantation was absolutely possible. Could it be? I thought about taking a test, which usually causes my period to start immediately. Nothing... I went out and bought a pregnancy test. This almost always caused my period to start. Still nothing... I decided to take the test on Halloween since it is my favorite holiday and at that point I would be able to get a clear and accurate result.

     I didn't make it to Halloween though. I woke up a few days before and my temperature had dropped. Not a lot, but enough to cause significant concern. If I was pregnant, my temperature should still be high. I ran to the bathroom. Still no period. I decided to take the home pregnancy test that was waiting for me in the closet. If nothing else, taking a pregnancy test ALWAYS made my period start immediately. With tears in my eyes I filled my little pee cup with shaking hands. I had become a real champ when it came to peeing in cups. I could do it with one hand tied behind my back and both eyes closed.

     I placed one test in the cup, counted to 5 and laid it flat on the floor in front of me. I sat in silence in my bathroom alone, crying and praying. “Please God.” I allowed myself hope for the first time in a year. “Please God, let this be it.” I opened my eyes and saw that my digital test was still flashing the symbol indicating that it was working. I closed my eyes again and continued to pray. My emotions were running rampant. I could never even imagine a positive pregnancy test. It was the illusive, mythical creature that I never expected to catch. It was my Unicorn. My yeti. But as I sat there in my bathroom, walls falling down around me due to the impending remodel I finally realized just how much I actually wanted this to be it. And the feeling was overwhelming. Tears ran down my cheeks. The thought of opening my eyes to anything other than a positive result was too much to take. This had to be it. I never wanted anything more in my entire life.

     I opened my eyes again and through tears, I saw it. A blurry “yes.” A small word but how huge it was to me. I sobbed. I sobbed and sobbed and thanked God and then I used the pee still in my cup to take a second test because I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. Two “yes” results. There are not words to describe my feelings that morning. To this day, it was one of the top two moments in my life, second only to the birth of my son, Archer 9 months later.

     Over the next few weeks I looked back over my chart and discovered that I was actually one day pregnant at my nephew's birthday party. It is ironic that the day that I felt the most hopeless was actually the very day that my luck had changed, I just didn't know it yet. I'm grateful for that experience, however. On that day, my little Bean taught his mama her first good lesson of motherhood... Some day's seem pretty crappy on the surface, but the beauty is in the details.

     Following my positive HPT I promptly canceled my fertility tests and shifted my focus from getting pregnant to being pregnant and regretting my decision to destroy my one and only bathroom right at a time in my life when I needed to pee every five minutes. No matter what else happens in my life, I will never forget my struggle to conceive as long as I live. I allow it to always be close in my memory to remind me to be grateful when I feel frustrated and to be patient when I feel overwhelmed. I'm including my chart from that fabulous month for the other charters out there who like me, enjoy obsessing over someone else's chart. In two and a half years it is the ONLY one I ever had that looked normal, so I'm pretty proud of it. Enjoy, and lots of baby dust to you! I pray that next year, it will be your first Mother's Day that we are celebrating!

 

Filter and Crop

     Social media. Simultaneously my source for news, entertainment, information and my favorite method of staying connected to friends and family. I, like most of society love to just zone out while scrolling through my Facebook news feed after a long day of adulting.

     I often hear people, usually on Facebook, complain about the various different types of social media user. They complain about those who share too much, those who don't share anything and just creep on other people's pages, those who brag, those who complain and everyone in between. I hear complaints about people who “try to make their life or relationship look perfect,” or brag about the good things that happen to them.

     I am absolutely guilty of coming off as braggy. I know this. Especially since becoming a mom. It's not intentional, not meant to show off or anything like that. It's just that I really am so grateful for my life at the moment. I never thought that I would ever get to be a mother, especially to such a sweet little lovie as my Archer and I just want to shout it from the rooftops that I am loving this adventure of mommyhood so very much. I am the Facebook user whose life looks great on social media, but rest assured anyone who is bothered by this, photo filters only go so far.

     While my Facebook page and Instagram are filled to the brim with perfect pictures of a certain handsome gentleman I know, there are a million other pictures in my life that you will never see.

     You will not always see me in pictures, because I usually look like a homeless person when I am not at work. I am a new mommy and on my off days I wear the traditional garb of my people. Yoga pants and hair clips. My hair is rarely even brushed and I refuse to wear make-up or real pants to make a Target run. The pictures that I do venture into are filtered and cropped within an inch of their lives to allow me to maintain what small shred of dignity that I have left in civilized society. This is not to show off, it is to protect the world from the huge bags under my very sleepy eyes.

     While my baby is very pleasant, he is a human infant and therefore can also be pretty salty if the mood strikes. He melts down, I melt down, but you will have to forgive me, those are not the moments in my life that I choose to document. This is not in an effort to look perfect, but because it is tough to take a picture when you are losing your mind and or crying.

     I post beautiful pictures of my handsome baby boy and they appear quaint and picture perfect to the world. But I know that a minute before that picture was taken I was cussing to myself while wrestling a small but very strong little man to change a flimsy diaper full of poop while he rolled it around on the sofa. A minute after that picture was taken he threw a fit because I wouldn't let him pull my hair. That perfect moment between the chaos is the moment that I choose to share... and remember.

     I am careful to angle pictures so that my house looks clean, or at least uncluttered. Cropping often comes in handy for this very purpose. I find that an artsy looking crop can hide a pile of crap quite effectively when used properly. Perfect smile from my baby boy, but a huge pile of amazon boxes behind him? Crop that shit.

     I don't post pictures of poop explosions or pee fountains. This is not in an effort to look perfect but because when you are up to your elbows in human feces you don't think to snap a new profile pic. I don't post pictures of fancy meals because I don't cook any. Kudos to anyone who does. I don't post breastfeeding pictures to support the normalize breastfeeding cause because I have spent the majority of my 34 years on this planet trying to keep my boobs off of the internet. You will not see pictures, beautifully filtered of me hooked up to my breast pump as a huge hornet tries to fly into my open office window.

     You won't see pictures of the times when I really need for my baby to be quiet and he is being anything but. In those moments a picture is the least of my concerns. You won't see pictures of me struggling to eat a meal with one hand while restraining my child like he is a mental patient with the other because I don't have a third hand with which to take a picture. You won't see pictures of when my bed goes unmade or the laundry just sits helplessly in a basket for days because I just can't get around to folding and putting it away again today. You won't see the dust on my counters or the dishes in my sink. This is not to appear perfect, but because in the checklist of my life those things do not register as super important anymore.

     You won't see pictures of my son's beautiful nursery, cluttered with pirate crap in preparation for his birthday party, or the multiple bags of pump parts that are constantly falling out of my kitchen cabinets because in almost 10 months I still haven't come up with a more efficient way of storing them.

     You won't see pictures of when I am too exhausted to read my son a book, or when I get stuck at work late caring for someone else's child instead of being at home with my own. You will very rarely see pictures of tantrums, his or my own because in those moments we don't need pictures, we need comfort and I prefer to hug Archer than to document him when he is upset.

     You won't see pictures of my kid with his shoes on the wrong feet... again... Or of him trying to eat clumps of cat fur off of my carpet that needs a good vacuuming. You won't see pictures of me trying to balance my son in one arm while I try to pull a fancy dress down over my fat ass with my other arm after feeding him in a small, dirty bathroom stall at an event. You won't see pictures of me picking toys up off of the floor and giving them right back to my son because he is going to throw them a million more times and I have given up on cleaning them every time. The germs won.

     I don't take pictures when my boobs get bit or when they leak in public. I don't post pictures of struggling to retain some of my modesty when I try to stay covered while feeding him and he will have none of it. I don't post pictures of my broken heart everyday when I leave him behind to go off to work.

     I choose to document the fun days instead of the days when I take him for blood work and he gets stuck in both arms because the phlebotomist couldn't find a vein in his chubby little arms. I don't choose to document how I left the hospital in tears that day too because it just broke my heart to have to hold him down while they tried to get blood.

     What you will see however, is a smiling, happy, beautiful baby boy. This is not to be fake, or to pretend that my life is somehow perfect. It isn't perfect. But it is to celebrate the fleeting moments of my life that are.

     I refuse to complain about my child's worst days because he isn't old enough to explain or defend himself and he never throws me under the bus when I fall short, which is often. I also would never want him to do a search of his mommy's past posts and think that I was anything other than thrilled to be his mommy, even when things did not go smoothly or as I had hoped or planned.

     I smile when I see the posts about how some people try to make their lives look perfect, because I don't think that any of us are trying to pretend to be perfect. We are pretending to be sane. We are embracing the fact that our little ones are only going to be little for a short time and we are proud of each and every accomplishment that they achieve, even if today that accomplishment is just being stunningly adorable.

     We all do it. We all try to show our best face to the world and to be honest, what's wrong with that? What's wrong with sharing the positive and putting that vibe out into the universe as opposed to something negative or ugly? As long as we give each other that little wink from mommy to mommy that says, “You're really a mess? Okay. Good, me too. Here, take my picture by this organic farm. Use a filter.”

Nine Month Check-in

     On Monday my son had his 9 month check up. It's always so exciting to show my little guy off and see how much he has grown since his last visit. Upon entering the crowded waiting room, the office staff asked me to complete a questionnaire focused on my son's milestones. Can he pass a toy from hand to hand? Can he bend down from a standing position to grab a toy from the floor? It amazed me how much my little love has learned in nine short months. To see him evolve from a tiny newborn with no control over his arms to the little gentleman that I see before me is astounding. But he isn't the only one who has new skills under his belt. Mommy has learned some lessons too.

1. I am only barely stronger physically than a nine month old child. It is amazing how easily he can knock me over from a sitting position or how difficult it is to get objects from his tiny, steel grasp. If I need him to straighten one of his thick, chubby legs I must ask him to do so and wait. Even with all of my might I cannot force those little tree trunks straight. I have learned that mommy needs some serious arm work.
2. Baby boys discover their pee bugs early and once they do they never stop checking to make sure it's still there. I'm not sure where this fear that it has disappeared stems from, but I am certain that they never outgrow it. I have learned that in some ways, men never change.
3. It's super exciting when your baby learns to roll over. That excitement lasts for about five minutes until you are forced to change the diaper of a rotating child. While I am always excited for milestones, I have learned to appreciate the wait.
4. I have learned that most milestones are followed pretty quickly by tears. Example: “Oh my God, look! Archer is holding his sippy cup on his own! Oh, he hit himself in the face with it” and “Oh look! He's standing! Awwww, he fell into the couch on his face.” I have learned that growth is pain and babies are an excellent example of this.
5. A plastic Tupperware bowl is more entertaining than any five star rated toy on Amazon. I have learned that you are better off saving your money and time. Just invest in as many of these plastic miracles as you can get your hands on. They are endless fun and relatively difficult to injure yourself on.
6. I have learned that Archer can, in fact hurt himself with a Tupperware container.
7. The witching hour is real and it will kick your ass every night during whichever hours your child deems to be unbearable. I had never heard of this phenomenon until I had a child but it is true, babies lose their shit every evening for no apparent reason and nothing can comfort them. I have learned that at times like these, you just remind yourself that this too shall pass and it does... eventually.
8. Breast milk poop stains everything. I have learned to soak soiled clothes as soon as possible before washing.
9. A baby boy can shoot urine completely across a room and can hit and follow a moving target. In Archer's case, for the first few months it was literally every time his diaper was removed. I learned to immediately cover that thing with a washcloth and lived to regret it anytime that I forgot.
10. Yes, your boobs can always hurt worse. I have learned to respect the boobie.
11. Baby toys are equipped with the most irritating songs and phrases on the planet. You will learn them by heart and sing them when your baby isn’t even around. I have learned to accept the phrase “It's learning time” into my internal dialogue. It's a part of me now.
12. Bedtimes are negotiable and I'm not above letting Archer stay up later at night so that we can sleep in a few minutes longer in the morning, especially on weekends. I know that this practice may be frowned upon, I have learned that I don't care.
13. Babies will crawl directly to the most dangerous thing in the room. I have learned to anticipate death traps before putting him down.
14. You can do almost anything with one hand. This is not true for eating cereal, soup or steak. I have learned to identify one hand friendly foods and gravitate toward them. On the plus side, a wine glass only requires one hand.
15. Your baby will never be smaller than he is right now. Cuddle him every single chance you get. I have learned to be grateful even when it has been a very difficult day. Someday he won't care to spend every moment on my hip and I will long for these days again.
16. The hardest times end without you ever even realizing that they have passed into history. There are so many different things and milestones that I remember stressing over and looking up online to see when they get easier. These trials have come and gone. I rarely look things like that up anymore. I have learned that being a mom never gets easy. You roll with the punches that day. Tomorrow is tomorrow.
17. Breastfeeding does get easier. The books and websites are correct. It takes about six weeks to stop being so difficult, then around the three or four month mark it gets easy and by six months it is second nature. And then they get teeth. I have learned that nipples are tougher than they look.
18. A nice new outfit and an important place to go is a poop explosion waiting to happen. I have learned to always pack a second “nice” outfit unless you want your kid dressed in mismatched pajamas for pictures.
19. Sanitize as long as you like, but germs always win in the long run. The sooner you accept this fact, the sooner you can get on with your life. I have learned that germs are a part of the family.
20. Clothing sizes by age are worthless.
21. I have learned that I have a great deal of control over some things and no control whatsoever over others when it comes to my child. Both are okay. By fighting to control everything you set yourself up for failure and only succeed at taking away from your enjoyment of life and your offspring's childhood. I am learning to embrace the areas of motherhood that I have no control over. This also frees up time and energy to really fixate on the things that I can control.
22. The time literally goes by in the blink of an eye. I have learned to cherish every moment.
23. I never knew that I could love someone so deeply and while it is a little bit terrifying and makes me feel unbelievably vulnerable to have someone in this world who I adore so much, it is the most amazing thing that I have ever experienced. I have learned that my weakness for him is a strength to my soul.
24. And the number one thing that I have learned in my first nine months of motherhood... A piece of advice that was given to me by a very dear friend that I repeat in my mind about ten times per day, never try to make a happy baby happier. This advice has served me well many times over these past months.  When I would see my son, laying quietly with his thoughts, I would find myself mentally playing with fire thinking, “I'll bet he would like to sit up.” But then this excellent advice would pop into my head and I would stop myself. I have learned that if he is happy, for God's sake let him be.
    
    

     So, these are my personal milestones of motherhood, which I have acquired over the past nine months. I laugh when I look back to how I expected motherhood to be. It is absolutely nothing like that. It is messier, crazier and more exhausting than I could have ever imagined. But I am also a million times happier now that I am his mommy and I can't wait to see what lesson Archer has in store for me next.

Cesarean Awareness Month

     So it turns out that April is Cesarean Awareness Month and while the actual goal of this campaign is to reduce the number of these procedures through education, I prefer to utilize this time by simply informing other women of my experience. There are so many things about a c-section that I did not know about or expect as I was being wheeled into the operating room nine short months ago.

     As my due date approached, I found myself preparing for the most anticipated event of my thirty-four years. The birth of my son. It was not an easy road to get here, but my pregnancy had been shockingly simple. I avoided so many of the usual pitfalls of pregnancy. I was as big as a boat, but my skin was better than ever, I was still rocking my regular shoes, no ankle swelling or accidental peeing. I was good. I stopped viewing my reproductive self as a handicap and began looking toward the future with a renewed positivity that I had not felt for years. I was going to have a completely natural birth. I didn't know if I could manage without pain medicine, but I sure wanted to try.

     So I focused my preparation and researched on having a perfect, natural birth. That was my plan. I considered looking up information on c-sections, but I didn't want to jinx myself. I wasn't going to need that information. I was having a natural delivery. Well, as it turned out, aside from ending up with a baby, my birth plan was absolutely nothing like Archer's actual birth.

     He ended up being two weeks late, so I was induced and after more than a day of labor and an hour of pushing my little bean still refused to budge. With that, I joined the ranks of the c-section mommies. Looking back, I should have explored this option more. I went into the operating room with no clue what was headed my way and let me tell you, the surprises just kept on coming.

     So in honor of Cesarian Awareness Month, I would like to make the other pregos out there aware of what may be in their future as well... be it a part of the original birth plan or not.

     I guess the first thing that surprised me about having a c-section was that it was suggested at all. Even though my body was not progressing fast enough, it was progressing. At the time that my doctor wanted me to start pushing I was only 9 centimeters dilated. We waited another hour after to see if I made any more progress but I didn't, so he recommended a c-section. At the time, I was exhausted and just ready to be done with this whole situation, but looking back, I believe that if I had been allowed to wait longer I would have been able to avoid a c-section. I'm not a doctor, but I deal with insurance companies everyday and I know how the game works. Time is a factor. Money is a factor. Archer's heart rate was perfect and he was in no distress; I think we were just rushed along. But honestly, by that point I didn't even care. I just wanted to hold my baby.

     My next surprise and event that I wish I had known to expect and mentally prepare for is that your arms and legs are tied down during a cesarean section. This was unwelcome news to me because I am a tad claustrophobic and not being able to move my arms and legs taps into that anxiety and threw me into a full on panic attack in the operating room. I actually cried and forced them to loosen my arms for just long enough for me to regain my composure before allowing nurses to tighten them again. Had I known to expect this practice, I would have prepared myself prior and been fine. Well, at the very least not a raving lunatic.

     They actually do this to keep patients from putting their hands into the surgical site during the procedure which sounded insane to me until my medicine ran out while I was being closed up and I was actually grateful that I was tied down because I would one hundred percent have tried to leap off of the table and away from them had I not been restrained. I wouldn't have been able to stop myself. My guts would have been all over that floor. So I get why they do it. I just wish I had known to expect it ahead of time.

     I was also surprised that when you throw up in the operating room, which I did because I literally threw up in EVERY room that they put me in while having my baby, they don't untie you. This gives the sensation that you are going to choke on your own vomit since you are laying on your back and is exceedingly unsettling.

     The actual procedure was very similar to what I had seen on television and in movies. They put up a large sheet to block your view completely and honestly, while my medicine was working I had absolutely zero pain. In fact, I was so exhausted that I nearly fell asleep until I heard the sweet cry of my little one from behind the curtain. It was the most beautiful sound that I have ever heard in my entire life.

     After a cesarean birth, the father usually will not be asked to cut the cord, which is something that I didn't know until I lived it. You will get to see your baby right away, but you won't get to hold him for a while. My hospital was wonderful. They did allow my son and I to have skin to skin contact immediately after birth, which was very important to me and they did allow him to try nursing, but both of these things were done with a nurse holding him. For me, missing out on that time right after his birth was the worst part. You want that reward of getting to hold and snuggle and bond with your baby as soon as he is born and it feels very lonely in recovery afterward when it is just you by yourself, no husband or baby in sight. I ended up being in recovery for two hours. I will say though, it didn't feel like two hours because I fell asleep for the majority of that time.

     I was shocked at how quickly I was able to move around after surgery. The hospital will have you up and walking around your hospital room by later that same day. While just the thought of this will be terrifying, I promise you that it does not feel as bad as it sounds and the sooner you stand up straight and walk around, the faster that you will start to feel much better.

     I was also amazed by the process of going to the bathroom afterward. I had assumed that by having a c-section I would at least get to avoid that whole process. Well, it turns out that skipping a vaginal delivery does not mean that you get to skip any of the maintenance after having your baby. You are going to continue to bleed for a long, long time and you are going to get to spray bottle your bits and pieces just like the lady next to you who had a vaginal delivery. So consider yourself warned.

     Word to the wise: Take as many of the mesh panties as you can get your puffy little hands on. Just the thought of real underwear over your incision is going to make you cringe for a long, long time. Hoard that shit. You will be glad you did.

     I was shocked by how swollen my feet and ankles became in the days after I returned home from the hospital. This is a normal reaction. Just wearing flip flops and walking hurt. Try to elevate your feet as often as possible, especially when you are sleeping at night. This helps a lot.

     You are going to be very constipated for a long time after your c-section and you are going to have more people interested in what is going in and what is coming out of your body than ever before in your life. They will give you worksheets to fill out regarding your intake and your um... output that a nurse will collect every night. They will want you to measure it and identify the color of it and every other aspect of it that you could ever imagine. It will feel ridiculous, but make sure that you do it. They are trying to make sure that everything is still functioning properly in there and the last thing you want is to end up with a newborn and a serious complication all at once. Just do your worksheet and be glad for the attention. You're a mom now. This is probably the last time it is going to be all about you for a long, long time.

     You are going to be told that you can't drive for six weeks after your c-section and you are going to scoff. Listen to them. You will be amazed by how difficult even riding in a car is after surgery. Until I left the hospital, I never realized how much a person actually uses their abdominal muscles in a day. Everything becomes incredibly difficult. Especially getting up from a laying down position, which you will need to do constantly with a new baby. A step stool by the bed is incredibly helpful in these early days.

     I remember the first night that we had Archer home and he was sleeping in his crib while Jim and I were asleep in our bed a room away. The baby monitor crackled to life with Archer's tiny cries and I struggled to sit up while Jim jumped up with terror in his eyes next to me. “What can I do?” he asked, with an expression that would have been more suitable if the house was on fire. “Just help me up” I said. With that he grabbed my arm and flung me up and out of the bed. I kid you not, I looked like one of the improperly buckled babies in the car seat video they make you watch before leaving the hospital. I don't think my feet touched the ground. It was terrifying, but effective. I was up and running. Moral of the story, prepare your partner ahead of time for what help you will need. A gentle help up from bed will be necessary often since you will be physically unable to sit up on your own.

     Healing from a c-section isn't easy. I ended up with a small infection two weeks after giving birth that slowed things down a bit, but we got through it. I think that is the most important thing to remember. You will not feel “normal' for a while, but you do get through it.

     I am currently 9 months post c-section and I am still surprised by things. Currently, my incision is still numb yet it itches from time to time, which are an odd set of sensations to combine. I still get pain at my incision site, but it is mild and fleeting and from what I read, completely normal. You will have a scar, but you may not mind it as much as you expect. It is very low and most underwear and bathing suit bottoms completely cover it. Only now can I finally suck in my gut again. This is a skill I welcome back into my repertoire with open arms.

     There is a great deal of discussion surrounding cesarean births. If they are overused, probably. If they are actually a “real” birth, of course they are. But I am less concerned about that and more interested in informing other ladies out there on what to expect. I know that I would have had an easier time had I known what was in store for me and Lord knows mama's deserve anything that can make our day even a little bit easier.

“When are you...?”

     “When are you going to get married?” This question. My most hated question to date when I found myself in my late twenties, in a committed and happy, yet ringless relationship. I answered this question on average once a week for at least 4 years of my life. Why do people ask this question? What are they looking for? It's an extremely personal question, if you think about it. It's a loaded question. There are a million different answers to this question, very few of which are happy and positive. “We don't believe in marriage.” “Half of all marriages end in divorce; we just don't like those odds.” “We don't love each other enough.” “We can't afford a wedding.” What are they looking for when they ask this awful question? I never did come up with a good answer. The real answer would have made people too uncomfortable and would have made me feel too pathetic. “I want to get married more than anything in this world. I found the man that I love with all of my heart who I want to be married to but he doesn't want to marry me... yet.” Yet. That word. My most hated of all words. It's the word that dangles your future out in front of you like a tease. You know you want me. But you can't have me... yet. Unlike myself, my husband hadn't had the good fortune of seeing many happy marriages in his life and for him, love just didn't require paperwork. Marriage just wasn't something that he associated with happiness. I, on the other hand knew what a beautiful thing a happy marriage could be and couldn't wait to call him my husband.

     I guess looking back, it was a fair question on which to speculate. My then boyfriend and I had been together for 5 years, living together for 3. We were very happy. We owned a home. We had good jobs. That's the next step, right? Why weren't we married? It felt like an intrusive question with no acceptable answer and all the while I was attending wedding shower after wedding shower for friends wondering when it was going to be my turn. I myself asked my boyfriend this same question a million times over. Sometimes nicely, other times less so. I got various different crappy answers, but after 5 years, countless tears and an ultimatum (with an extra month tagged on for good measure) I did get a ring.

     And it was a beautiful ring and a year later we had a beautiful wedding. It was a brisk day in early November and in the back of my mind I relished in the fact that I would never have to answer that horrible question ever again. I breathed a well earned sigh of relief and settled down to live happily ever after. We lived in wedded bliss for 6 months before the masses decided we were resting on our laurels. “When are you having kids?” The questions started yet again.

     At first this question was simply a mild irritant. If you think about it, it's an extremely personal question. Again, I'm not sure what answer people are looking for when they ask. Do they want to hear that we don't like kids, or that we want them more than anything on Earth but can't have them? Do they think that we don't know that kids are an option in life? What? We would laugh politely and simply state that we weren't ready... yet. And to be honest, at that point in time early in our marriage that was the truth. We were newly married and figured we would just be husband and wife for a minute before expanding our little circle.

     But the questions persisted. “When are you guys having kids?” Again I was faced with a frequently lobbed question with no acceptable answer. And this one was worse. Once we had been trying for a while with no luck and began to consider the reality that we may really never achieve a family of our own, the pain behind this question became excruciating. To this day I will never ask anyone this question. To start, it's none of my business but more than that, I know the pain that this seemingly innocent question can inflict and I would never want to cause another human being that kind of hurt. I assume that people who ask this question had their kids very easily and must assume that if you don't have kids it must be by choice. Which by the way, would still not be any of their business.

     Again, I found myself at a loss for the right answer. I hated to tell the truth. “We would love to have kids and we have been trying for a while but it just isn't happening” because inevitably what followed was awful, often rude advice that I had not requested. I ended up learning to just give the answer that was the safest, “Someday,” to which most people would kindly remind me that I was not getting any younger and each time I would die a little inside.

     I remember one morning in particular. I was selling old junk at the flea market. I love the whole process of yard sales and flea markets. I love getting rid of old clutter and turning it into new, cold, hard cash. Well, paper cash. I usually go with my mother but on this day my husband came with me instead. We were selling our crap, making some money and a man with a beautiful little girl in a stroller came up to our table. She was absolutely adorable and as always, looking into her bright blue eyes tucked behind perfectly chubby cheeks made my heart sting a little. What I would give for a perfect little baby of my own. The man browsed our table, picking up an item then laying it back down. Even through our sunglasses he noticed both myself and my husband admiring his little one, and he smiled proudly. “Do you guys have kids?” he asked. “No,” we both shook our heads.

 

     “Someday,” I said in my standard, knee jerk answer. “Well don't wait,” he said. “It's the best thing I have ever done in my life.” And with that he walked away. I felt that familiar heaviness in my chest. That feeling like a hand has reached up into your ribcage and is squeezing and twisting your heart with all of it's might. I looked up at Jim and was taken aback. His expression said it all. While I was used to this type of surprise attack, he was completely blindsided. People ask men the kid question, but I get the distinct feeling that it is fewer and farther in between. He hadn't seen this one coming. “Really?!” he said in disbelief. “Welcome to my world,” I said, getting back to straightening my table. I felt the all too familiar burn of tears wrap around my eyes and was grateful in that moment for my sunglasses. Then, like so many other times I pulled my broken self back together and continued on with my day. Readying myself for the next blow, which I had come to expect as a normal part of my life. People can be unintentionally cruel. But that is the trick. To remember that it's unintentional. They don't know your struggle and even if they did they would have no clue what to say to make it better. There is nothing to say.

     I often get asked if I think that Jim and I will have more kids. My standard answer now is the most honest that I have ever given. “I would love to have as many kids as we are blessed with.” Most people now know that we struggled to have our first and seem satisfied with this answer. We are married with a child. The masses are happy. Nothing left to do now but die. I don't mind the question anywhere as much as I used to. I guess because Archer's birth healed so much of my pain. Holding him, I feel only gratitude. If I never experience having another baby I'm still the happiest woman alive.

     I know that this blog has caused some people to feel like they have nothing left to say in conversation. Anything can be hurtful, regardless of the intention of the sentiment. What can you say when you are just trying to make small-talk? What's left to converse about? The truth is, you can't live like that. You can ask people about work and learn that they just lost their job. You can ask people about their spouse and find out that they recently separated. That's life. It is what it is. I guess my goal in sharing my experiences is not to scare you about asking anyone any question, it's just to remind you that their answer may not be what you expected and in those moments it is important not to pry, or offer advice or try to fix their problem. All you really need to do it listen. If possible, validate what they are feeling. If people feel able to give more honest answers, then the questions don't sting quite as much.

     My goal is to inspire you to think about how your questions are worded and maybe consider the replies that you offer back when you do get an answer that indicates some struggle in that area of their lives. Maybe people don't need you to remind them that time is ticking, or that they will regret missing certain milestones in their life because odds are, they already know. If someone doesn't have kids, then they don't have kids. Maybe it isn't your business why. You may be curious, but it may be a subject that is deeply painful for them. Maybe your curiosity doesn't trump their pain in that moment. I don't want people to stop having conversations, but those conversations can be greatly improved with just a small dose of empathy. In the end, the goal should always be to leave someone feeling better than when you found them. Questions can be the gateway to that, if you are actually willing to listen and offer comfort in exchange for the answers.

Putting Baby in a Corner... Office

     I love my job. I love my job more than most people love their hobbies. I have absolutely found my niche in life. The only thing I love more than my job is my family and being a mommy to my sweet little boy. In theory, combining these two parts of my life should be heaven on Earth, right?

     Working outside of the home is hard, working within the home is often harder. But for me personally, the hardest days are the ones when I combine both of these endeavors. The days when I decide that I really want to play hell and really half ass both of the things that I love the most in life. While always the result of an either ill or otherwise occupied grandmother, I never take babysitterless days and choose the more logical decision of just canceling my sessions for the day. Instead, I always decide that a take your baby to work day is more appropriate for whatever reason. Actually, the reason is a paycheck and the fact that if I cancel, my client's are set back about three weeks for the next available appointment. These days are few and far between and I absolutely cherish the fact that I have a wonderful boss who will allow this practice. But that being said, it is a long freaking day!

     Don't get me wrong, I adore the days that I get to have my little intern by my side. But heaven... That may be a stretch. The fact is, babies are unpredictable and even though I have been blessed with a very, very good baby, he is like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. He will not be ignored.

     On paper, the idea looks great. I keep my schedule as it always is, except that my pumping breaks become nursing breaks and time for Archer and I to just relax a little and play in between sessions. When I know that my son will be in tow, I always contact my clients in the morning to let them know. That way they can choose to reschedule if they like. I also cancel any intake appointments that I have scheduled, due to not wanting a new client's first impression of me to be me sitting on the floor changing a poopy diaper. In addition, I cancel any clients who may be bothered by having a baby present, like clients who have lost children and any EMDR sessions that I had scheduled due to the nature of that particular technique. To this day, when I learn that I am without a babysitter I get an equal mix of excitement at the prospect of having my little guy with me all day and terror at the prospect of having my little guy with me all day. It is the proverbial mixed bag.

     In the early days before Archer was mobile, I used come to work equipped with a super plush blanket and some toys to lay out on the floor of my office for our off hours to relax. Now that my boy is rarely satisfied to sit in one place for too long, the Pack n Play has become my favorite coworker. On nice days when we get a break, we get out the stroller and walk around downtown for some fresh air and a break from the same four walls. Last time we made an exciting trip to CVS for more tissues and made a stop across the street to my dentist's office to schedule a cleaning. I thank God that Archer is still too young to realize how lame these outings are. I must admit though, for me, I will shamelessly take any chance to show off my little guy. I glow walking down the street with him.

     I have had situations, like when my sister was having her second baby when I knew that Archer would be coming to work with me ahead of time. This is not always the case, however. On most occasions I discover that I am going to have an intern when I am just about to walk out of the house. One hundred percent, knowing ahead of time is better.

     Work attire is a big consideration on days when Archer accompanies me to work. No earrings or other jewelry will survive the day, nor will skirts or tops with flimsy necklines. Archer is now old enough to have a general idea of where I keep my boobies and he isn't shy about asking for them and by asking I really mean pawing relentlessly at my shirt. On the flip side, I do need to have access to them to feed him in between sessions, so that is another consideration when getting ready.

     I remember the first time I began planning for a day at the office with my son. “Ooooo! I won't have to carry my breast pump that day!” I thought with excitement. Yeah, while there is no need for my breast pump when Archer is with me, instead I get to carry about four times as much crap and on top of that stuff, a wiggly human. Quickly I longed for my sleek little breast pump bag again.

     I have learned a few lessons over my time bringing my son to work. One tip that I can offer to other mothers considering this option, is to take a change of clothes. Obviously for the baby, but for you as well. It's an easy tip to blow off. It's a huge pain in the ass to pack additional clothes to carry. But you will thank me.

     On the first day that I brought Archer to work with me I was sitting in a session with a young guy in his twenties who had no experience with babies at all. We were discussing his recent losses, which were significant and had led to the symptoms that resulted in him seeking treatment. With the very serious tone of the session, I was proud that Archer was sitting quietly on my lap, playing with a cardboard book. I watched as my client's eyes began to tear up discussing the death of a close friend. His pain was palpable in the room. I held my breath as my heart just broke for him. And then, with timing precise enough to work for NASA, my son let loose an epic toot that sounded like it could have come from a grown man and this was not a quick toot. This thing lingered. It just went on and on and on. My client was very kind and only laughed politely before continuing with his narrative. I was mortified, but regrouped. Hoping that that was the worst of it. A few minutes later the smell wafted up to my nostrils and I took a quick glance down at my love, still playing quietly on my lap. My eyes grew wide with horror as I saw it. The enormous, yellow seeping ring of poop that covered my son's back and the entire front of my own white tunic. My poor client sat talking and I didn't have the heart or the nerve to interrupt him. Nor did I even know what the hell to do. So there we sat, my poop monster and me, wallowing in the feces explosion that would mark his first official work day. When my client rose to leave that day, I held Archer in front of the spot on my shirt and escorted him out, telling my next client that I needed just a minute before bringing them back. I finished my workday in a tank top that still smelled of poo while my tunic sat soaking in the bathroom sink. If you take nothing else away from this post please remember this: Bring extra clothes for baby and mommy... Always. If nothing else, at least don't wear white.

     That was the worst of our incidents, however. Usually it is just a bit of an oddity having an infant in therapy sessions. I try to make eye contact and look professional as best as I can as a small human is jumping wildly on my lap, twirling, talking and blowing raspberries in my face. Archer is well into his hair pulling stage. It is a bit of a challenge to focus and convey concern while a little man is pulling on a huge chunk of your hair with all of his might. My son is a huge flirt. It's the Italian in him. He tends to sit and just smile at the ladies in my office. He charms them all with the twinkle in his eye. I write my notes during his naps and send faxes and make copies like I do everything else in my mommy life... With one hand.

     My clients have all been incredibly patient and welcoming even when my son, just discovering is voice box went through a phase where he would smile brightly and scream at the very top of his lungs for no reason. I have conducted numerous sessions while standing when Archer prefers it and even had one session where a very sweet client who has raised two kids of his own offered to bounce my son while standing just for nostalgia’s sake. Archer adored him. I considered just paying him to stick around with me all day and console my child.

     On days when I sit at my office and he isn't here I long for the exhausting days when he is, when I only have to look as far as my lap to see my little buddy, working right alongside me. My copilot navigating my day with me.

     To say that it is exhausting is like saying that raw cookie dough is “good.” It isn't good. It is like kissing the feet of God himself. I'm not exhausted after a day at work with my son. I am a mere shell of the woman I once was. I am a scattered, mentally blank, physically disheveled walking zombie. I practically forget my own name. I often wonder how long I will be able to continue bringing Archer to work with me. I usually say that it will need to stop when he starts talking well and repeating, but a few days ago I had a mother bring a twenty-one month old in during her session. After that hour I am sure that I will stop before twenty-one months...

     I feel very fortunate though, to be a mother at this time in history. We as women have so many options. We can work within the home, work outside of the home or any combination of both or neither. While none of these choices are easy they are still choices and that is such a blessing in and of itself. As women we really do have the option of having everything. The hard part is just deciding what “everything” is going to look like for you. For me it often looks like a yellow ring of poop on my crisp, white tunic soaking in my work bathroom. And I love that.

#theotherdaywhileiwaspumping

     So many parts of trying to conceive are difficult. Trying not to fixate is difficult, the advice of others is difficult, forcing yourself to be excited for other people is difficult, figuring out what is wrong with you is difficult. But for me, as time passed, what I found to be the most difficult part was simply remaining hopeful. I kept up the motions of charting and temping and trying, but in my mind I struggled to keep the belief alive that someday I would actually get to see that magical pink line on a home pregnancy test. It felt like seeing a unicorn. I would imagine it, but it never seemed like a real possibility. I just couldn't picture it anymore after a while. It ceased feeling like a real option for my life.

     At times where I felt my hope slipping away I would search for stories online that I could relate to. As month after month of my own struggle ticked by, I frequently found myself searching phrases like, “success after two plus years TTC” praying that I would find something, anything to give me hope and the strength to keep trying. Stories of other women, around my age, who became pregnant without the help of expensive fertility treatments that I couldn't afford. It was slim pickings... But there were stories out there and the amount of hope that those personal accounts gave to me was immeasurable. Even when I found myself reading the same ones over and over again it gave me a reason to believe, to keep trying, to get up again tomorrow and take my temperature and start a new cycle's chart for the 30^th month in a row.

     I was someone who looked online for much of my support and I was often left disheartened by the lack of success stories out there. People tend to post until they get pregnant, but then they just disappear. I assume that they want to put the pain of infertility behind them and move on to the next adventure in their lives, but it can be difficult to be the one left behind. You never hear about what worked for them or see the long awaited happy ending for the people that you have been rooting for. In a weird way, you almost lose the hope that their success stories could have offered to you. Instead they just sort of vanish. You don't know if they are a happy mother out there somewhere or if they just gave up.

     When you are living with infertility, all you see are pregnant bellies and happy babies around you. You don't realize how many of those same families also struggled to be. Since starting this blog, I have been overwhelmed by the number of people who have shared their own stories with me and I am absolutely honored to hear about their journeys. It brings me so much joy to see the faces of their children and to know how very much they were wanted and loved before they even existed. This brings me to an exciting new feature that I have added to my blog.

     In the spirit of inspiring hope and celebrating these special little people, I have added an Instagram feed to my homepage. I encourage anyone who would like to share, to add a picture of their little one, with a caption stating how long you TTC using the hashtag, #theotherdaywhileiwaspumping. The photo will then appear both on my Instagram page as well as directly on my blog.  Share as much or as little of your journey as you like.  All methods of fertility treatments or approaches are welcome.    

     I do respectfully ask that only people who have dealt with infertility or miscarriage share their photos, however. This is not meant to exclude anyone, but is simply due to the nature of the feed. It is my hope that anyone who is currently struggling to conceive and is having a bad day can look at those images and see that success stories do happen every single day. As wonderful as a surprise baby is, or a baby conceived on a first try, it is not super comforting to someone who is struggling. Our goal is to show that after darkness comes the light and after infertility comes lots and lots of baby dust!