First
Tahd and I have an ongoing debate about his facial hair. He wants some, preferably a beard of the Amish variety. I think he says that just to tease me, but knowing my husband, I can’t be sure. I find it prickly and uncomfortable and I vote no! To be totally honest, we also have an ongoing debate about his regular hair, too. He wants to shave himself bald. I’m not too sure about that. I did, however, make a bargain with him that if he gets a Facebook page I’ll be on board with his cue ball ‘do. Guess what? No Facebook page. Yet. I keep working on him. It goes to show how much I want him on Facebook. And how much he doesn’t want to be on Facebook.
But I digress.
Last night as he was getting ready to go to bed, he lovingly swept his hand around the back of my neck, pulled my face toward his, and proceeded to mash his sharp, prickly newly-growing goatee into my face. I pulled back and yelped and asked him if he’d be willing to at least shave the mustache part. I don’t mind the soul patch because it doesn’t inflict the same level of pain. He said he’d consider it, but he wouldn’t do it today because he doesn’t shave on Tuesdays – only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
Then it hit me. It must be nice to have my husband’s life – a life when he wakes up every day and knows what’s going to happen. Me? Every day’s a new adventure. I wake up and wonder, What will I do today? The sky’s the limit! That lack of direction usually lands me back on my butt, overwhelmed and on the couch and scouring the Internet for a life purpose or something like that. 
But seriously, even washing my hair is up for question these days. I wake up and wonder, Will I wash my hair today? And I really don’t know. I might not decide until quite late in the day.
Yeah, I aspire to big things!
Second
Poor Gabe. I think he has croup. Again. I thought for sure he was too old for croup. Then he got it in May and we had to take him to the ER. The nurse, before hearing him, alluded to the same thought. Then she heard him cough. Yep – apparently his body hasn’t gotten the memo that croup is for babies.
Anyway, when he’s sick he tends to wake up in the early evenings. Right on cue – 9:45, actually – I heard him wailing. I ran upstairs thinking he might be having some breathing distress and found him crying and writhing around in his bed. I laid down beside him and put my hand on his stomach and asked him what was wrong. He haltingly claimed, “I… want… to…
play the piano!”
Alrighty, then. I promptly moved my hand from his stomach to his forehead. That sounded like fever talk to me. Thankfully, no fever. I have no idea what it was, but hopefully it doesn’t mean we’re in for a long night!
Third
I felt like an awful mom today. Gabe talked back. Repeatedly. He hates everything – the fact that I make him go upstairs by himself, the fact that I won’t let him do whatever he wants whenever he wants, the fact that I won’t let him eat cookies all day. He yelled all day long. If I was upstairs and he was downstairs, he spent the whole time yelling information to me. Not angrily – just informationally. It was loud. Most irritating, though, was the fact that if I was still – and sometimes even when I wasn’t still – he needed to be thisclose to me. And not just touching me – no. Pushing into me with his head, elbows, arms, and legs. And then fidgeting. Endlessly. All because he wanted to “snuggle.”
I should be thrilled that my five year old wants to snuggle with me, right? I should be cutting him a little slack because he wasn’t feeling well today, right? I shouldn’t take it personally that he hates every. single. item. of. food. I. ever. make. right?
But today I just didn’t have it in me. Tomorrow will be better. If I have anything to say about it, tomorrow will be better. I promised myself that. I don’t have a plan yet, but I’m going to find a way to harness our strengths – his loudness, desire to snuggle, and ability to make a mess and my desire for order, spontaneity, and accomplishment – and turn it into something good.
Fourth
Based on the experiences detailed in my third tidbit, I basically ran for the hills when Tahd came home tonight. And by “the hills” I really mean “the bookstore.” It is a little slice of heaven. And I bought three books, one of which I read 150 pages while I sat there. Really, after you read 150 pages of a book while still in the bookstore, I’m pretty sure you are obligated to purchase it. Morally if not legally. But it was a good book – So Long Insecurity, by Beth Moore.
And for now I think I’m going to go to bed where I can read a little more of the book I started several hours ago. At this pace, I might have it finished by morning!
In 2007 I lost two pregnancies at very early stages, and since that time I wanted to find a way to honor and remember them. For the longest time, I planned a tattoo. I’m a little on the fence about tattoos. They’re fine for others but I’m not sure what I think about them for myself. For me, they’d be a little rebellious. I think that’s why the tattoo idea never really settled with me – it felt weird to commemorate pregnancies with rebellion.
Last year – sometime in May, I think – Compassion had sent a group of bloggers to India. I fell in love. I wanted to sponsor ALL the children. Understandably, Tahd wasn’t quite on board with that! I worked my way down from ALL the children to two – two children to honor the two miscarriages we experienced.
It was hard to pick. There were so many children. I literally sat on my couch and cried over all of them. Eventually I settled on two boys from India, both a little older than Gabe. With that, our family started the special journey of loving and praying for two children we’ve never met and may never meet.
Compassion is active all over the world, Haiti included. When Haiti experienced their devastating earthquake, the Compassion children (all the children, really) were some of my first thoughts. They already live in such poverty. That this earthquake could threaten the little source of stability they have seems so cruel to me.
If you feel moved to donate financially to the relief efforts in Haiti, please consider Compassion as a potential recipient of your giving. This brief letter details a (very) little bit about Compassion and some of the reasons I love them. The biggest reason I love them, though, is because they connected our family with two little boys whose letters and drawings to us warm our hearts and put smiles on our faces more than we expected or deserve.
That’s what I am – agitated.
Nothing is bad. I’m living in peace. With a reasonable schedule. And a house full of healthy people. Who have enough money to pay the bills. And nothing awful looming on the horizon.
And yet, I’m agitated.
I read this post (great girl!! xo) and felt resonance. I’m in the in-between. And I don’t like it.
We’re waiting for our tax return.
We’re waiting to register Gabe for schools.
We’re waiting for Gabe to start school.
I’m waiting for my newly-started antidepressants to kick in.
I’m almost done with my final year as the MOPS coordinator.
We’re waiting for the right time to go away for our anniversary.
We’re waiting for the perfect time to take Gabe to Disney.
We’re waiting until the right time to do ivf.
I’m trying to embrace life as a family of 3.
I’m trying to figure out how who I was fits in with who I am while I identify who I want to be.
I’m thinking about going back to school.
We’ve knocked out half our credit card debt. We have the other half still to go.
It’s agitating, this sense of everything and nothing being settled. I can’t figure out what to say about it because everything is topsy-turvy and everything is normal. It’s a dichotomy I can’t quite understand. Not yet. I wonder if I’m just so out of touch with myself that I can’t figure out what I think or feel. It doesn’t feel that way, but maybe it’s true.
What I do know for sure is that it’s 11:30 and Gabe has been waking up early and if I want to have some degree of sanity in the morning, I had better run to bed. Maybe tomorrow the elusive will stop evading me and I’ll find some certainty during the in-between. Or maybe I’ll get the laundry done. If I can’t figure out the meaning of my life, maybe I could at least take care of our dirty clothing.
If I was a betting person, I’d bet on the whole elusive thing. Because if I know one thing for sure, it’s that my forte is most decidedly not laundry!
I took Gabe to his 5-year exam yesterday. Let’s not mention the fact that he turned 5 about 2 months ago, mkay?
While there, the doctor asked him TONS of questions. He was practically climbing the walls, and I think she asked him extra questions to help keep him focused on something other than deafening me by crawling all over the crisp white paper cover the exam paper. Seriously. My ears will never be the same. That stuff is LOUD!
Anyway, at one point she asked him what he has to do when he gets in trouble. She asked him if he had to go to time out or sit in his room.
He interrupted her and said, “No, I have to sit on the steps or go to my room or mercy.”
Mercy?
What the heck?
I had no clue what he meant, but all I could imagine was a gruesome movie where a prisoner cowers in the corner begging for mercy while the guard beats the snot out of him with some sort of torture device. I was beyond horrified. Mercy? Who uses “mercy” as a discipline technique???
Apparently my husband, that’s who.
I relayed this story to him when he got home last night, and he nearly dislocated an arm patting himself on the back for the great job he’s done in disciplining Gabe. When I pressed him for an explanation, he said that sometimes he doesn’t give Gabe any consequences and he explains to Gabe that he’s showing mercy for not giving Gabe the punishment he deserves.
Does this strike anyone else as wrong on so many levels???
Grace, maybe, but mercy, no. You have to think ahead to the things your child might say. In public. To others.
I suggested this terminology change and he began to look a little chagrined. He agrees, too. Perhaps using the term “mercy” when disciplining a preschooler isn’t quite appropriate.
So thanks, Tahdie, for what may have become one of the most mortifying moments of my life. There’s a chance I may never be able to show my face at that pediatrician’s office again.
Every day Gabe gets bigger and older and more grown-up. And every day I get sadder.
I noticed this trend sometime during the last year. He was no longer a baby, no longer a toddler. He was hardly a preschooler and was turning into a boy. A real little boy with independence and humor and curiosity. He had moved beyond the crying and the “whys” and the hitting (mostly). It was an unavoidable observation. For the longest time, calling him my baby made him my baby. But not any longer. I call him my baby because he’ll always be my baby, but he’s most certainly a baby no more.
And I? Keep getting sadder.
For the longest time I thought it was because with each passing day his lack of a sibling grew more obvious. His alone-ness was more pronounced. And it was. For me. For entirely unselfish reasons, I want a sibling for Gabe. I always have, save for the first two months after his birth when I alternately experienced new-mother-infatuation (i.e. could never imagine sharing my love) and new-mother-sleep-deprivation (i.e. could never imagine voluntarily doing something that would deprive myself of so much sleep). My husband grew up with a sibling and I grew up with several. It is a relationship unlike any other, one without which I would feel incomplete. I want to give that gift to my son and to our family.
I realized, however, that this sadness has a more selfish root. It was only recently that I was ready to admit it to myself. It is also responsible for my quietness here (except for my septoplasty stuff). I’ve hardly been ready to think it, let alone write about it.
The root? I’m not ready to be done being a mom.
I know – he’s only 5. There are miles to go before we sleep, and even then I’ll still be his mother and he my baby. But there’s a point at which the “mom stuff” becomes less needed, or at least needed differently. It’s already happening to a small degree.
And I’m not ready.
When Tahd and I decided to start our family we did so for the “noble” reason – we wanted to share our love and our lives with a child. Or more accurately some children. But for both of us – me especially – becoming a parent meant the fulfillment of a personal dream, a dream I’d held since childhood. I can’t begin to recount the endless hours I spent playing house, the gaggle of dolls/children I dragged along behind me. For me, becoming a mother was a dream. In fact, it was The Dream. I remember a “School Memories” book my mother purchased for me when I began kindergarten. Each year, I filled out an identical questionairre to chronicle the changes in myself, my life, and my interests. At the bottom of the page was a list of potential roles I might have as an adult. The one I checked most faithfully? Mother. For the others, I rotated between things like teacher and flight attendant and nurse. We’ll have to talk about gender stereotypes another day.
In some senses, I think parenthood is an inherently selfish dream. To become a parent I must, by definition, have a child. There’s no way around it. It’s a different need than the way a doctor needs patients or a teacher needs students. A doctor needs patients but can still be a doctor if nobody gets sick. The doctor doesn’t have to go around a la Tonya Harding clubbing people’s knees to get patients. But the woman? She must have a child to be a mother. She must physically create and bring into the world another person (excepting for adoption). So to me, the dream of parenthood can have some selfish undertones. And that’s okay with me. That’s the way the system works. I get it, and I think there’s enough love and maturity in the equation to make the experience positive for everyone. But at it’s root, the dream of parenthood contains an element of selfishness, and it is this selfishness I’m struggling with now.
I struggle especially because when we decided to start out family I had read it could take many months of trying have success. Being the planner I am, I felt we should start slightly before we were quite ready so that when we were ready we’d have the system down to a science. Also, given some of my former health issues there was some thought that I might struggle to get – or stay – pregnant, and I didn’t want to feel the rush of the self-imposed clock.
Imagine our shock when our first month of trying led to my very first (and second and third and fourth and fifth and sixth) positive pregnancy tests! We were ecstatic.
And I was overwhelmed.
And giddy.
And scared.
It is regretful to me now how torn I actually was. It wasn’t that I didn’t want the baby. I did. Greatly. I was just so surprised at how quickly it happened. I thought we had more time. It happened before I could even imagine what it would be like for it to happen. So I felt nervous and a bit ambivalent and conflicted.
Looking back, I wish I hadn’t. If I had known it might be the only time, I think I would have felt differently.
I feel the exact same way now as I look forward. Except now I know what it feels like when your dream feels like it’s happening quickly. I look at the previous five years and gasp with a little bit of horror because I can’t fathom how five years can go so quickly. I’m not ready to leave it all behind, to wholly become the things a mother of only school-aged children must be. I thought I had longer. I thought I had more sleepless nights and more diapers and more chances to nurse a wee one off to sleep. I thought I had more first steps and more first words and more swings in the baby swing. I thought there’d be more.
It’s not so much that he’s growing quickly – it’s that this stage of my life is ending more quickly than I had ever dreamed. It’s like the apex of my childhood dreams has happened, and now it’s ending sooner than I thought it would end. I spent 26 years hoping and dreaming and planning for the time in my life when I could become a mother. It took several years into our marriage before it finally dawned on me that I could have a baby any time I (more technically we) wanted. I had the power to make my dream come true! It was a magical, exhilarating realization. Growing up, I loved babies more than anything and had always planned to have several that could be all my own.
Realizing that it was an illusion all along – this power to make my dream come true? Depressing. As time marches on and I more fully internalize the fact that what I’d always hoped for may never happen and I’m powerless to change it, I get sadder.
It’s like when Gabe was younger and we were outside blowing bubbles. He’d want to catch the bubbles and then take them over to me (or inside to Tahd) to show us. But the bubbles didn’t last that long. He wanted to hold them longer but they were too fragile to survive his frantic excitement or the edges of the breeze. They’d burst, and along with it so would his enthusiasm.
I wanted to hold this longer, these early mothering years. To experience them more fully. To adapt and adjust to life while holding the “bubble. “ But in my naivete, I didn’t realize how fragile it really was and it burst, almost before I knew I held it.
It just feels too soon.
After 10 days, my nose finally stopped bleeding Wednesday night. I still felt really swollen internally. It was hard to breathe, and I was really looking forward to my splint removal. I had absolutely no idea what to expect – pain? Discomfort? Relief? Pain?
Thankfully, there was really no pain involved. I’m not entirely sure what happened. The doctor turned on a light at least as bright as the sun and positioned it directly over my eyes. Thanks. Next thing I knew he was fishing around in my nose. It didn’t really hurt. I *think* he removed some stitches. That was the most discomfort I felt, and it really wasn’t uncomfortable – just pressure. Then he did something else. I’m not sure what. It felt like there might have been two things in my nose and he removed the lower one from each nostril. Don’t quote me on that, though, because I’m not really sure what happened. Then the splints.
Splint removal was weird, reminding me very much of giving birth. Totally bizarre! It felt like he was pulling my insides out of my body through my nose – but not in a horridly uncomfortable way. It felt good to get it out. Just very much like delivery. Through my nose.
My first breath after the splint removal was heaven! Amazing! My breathing was so free – both in comparison to breathing with the splints in but also in comparison to breathing before the surgery. Apparently it will continue getting better for a number of weeks. You have a fairly good idea what your nose will be like a month after surgery, but you can still have healing and a decrease in swelling up to 3 months after surgery. I am not breathing through my right nostril as well as I am breathing through my left nostril, but this may change as I continue to heal and I’m also breathing relatively well through it even though it’s not as good.
Most of my pain is gone and the splint removal didn’t cause me to bleed again. They told me not to blow my nose and asked me to come back next week for a quick check.
Overall I’m pretty pleased with the results, at least so far. I’m not sure that all the suffering was worth it. If I had been dealing with a severe breathing obstruction or chronic infections I might feel differently. Also, I think the recovery would be easier for someone who is used to breathing primarily through his/her mouth. Of course, that wouldn’t change the pain or drippiness, but it would make breathing less of an adjustment. However, what’s done is done and I will certainly enjoy my “new nose.”
I am tired. Really, really tired. Like my insides are tired. My soul is tired.
Do you ever get like that?
It’s not depressed-tired, although there’s an element of that. It’s not physical tiredness, although there’s some of that, too. If you go to bed too late and wake up too early (*too* is relative here – I realize that), you’ll be tired. No, I am tired. Heidi. Who I am. My spirit. The main culprits – the primary things that have gotten me here – are the first surgery, the ivf process, gearing up for several ministries at my church, being sick and the second surgery. It has been the succession of stressors, one after the other, with not enough regrouping between each one.
I’m not looking for sympathy. I consider this something that just happens sometimes. It’s a season. It will pass. What I’m more interested in is knowing how you renew yourself when you’re tired. What do you do? How do you handle yourself? Your family? Your priorities? Your life?
Of course, I’d love for my solution to be a week of solo vacation coupled with regular spa treatments and dates and girls’ nights out every week when I return. But that’s not realistic. Especially in a financial sense. I’m particularly curious about how you refresh yourself when resources are slim and you have to maintain at least some of your regular responsibilities.
What makes your soul feel happy? What makes you sigh a happy sigh? What habits bring energy into your life rather than eat up what little energy already exists for you? Where do you go that makes you feel peaceful? How do you treat yourself? What makes you feel most joyful?
Finally. Two whole days without a drip pad! It is a sweetness I thought I’d never know again. lol It definitely feels good!
Monday began with almost a complete cessation of the bleeding. If I recall correctly, I hadn’t slept with a drip pad, either, so I was quite pleased. Tahd had accidentally woken me up when he left for work. Apparently when you have a 12 day vacation from work, your wife – who you normally kiss each morning while she sleeps – will have become deconditioned enough to awake in terror, convinced someone is preparing to assault her. Go figure. Anyway, in spite of this wake-up call, I felt relatively rested and ready for the day. It was a good feeling.
It continued throughout the day, too. We laid pretty low, but I felt okay. My breathing was extremely congested – especially out of the left nostril – but I was able to manage with tissues as long as I didn’t walk around too quickly. Doing too much still leaves me feeling quite breathless.
I felt well enough, even, to go to the grocery store! It took me a long time and I felt like the store was huge – really, it was a bit too much walking. By the end I was absolutely wiped and my nose was bleeding a little more, so I guess it was a bit too much. Tahd carried the groceries in from the car while I crashed on the couch.
When I crashed, I opened my computer and checked my emails. Unfortunately I received an email last night saying my acupuncturist had unexpectedly died on December 31. I am heartbroken about it! She truly was the only person I felt was helping me, and she was helping me on several levels – physical and emotional for sure. She diagnosed me with something that is extremely uncommon in Chinese medicine, and once she began treatments for those issues I started noticing rapid changes. For the first time in approximately 4 years – and for two months running now – I have had no spotting before my periods. This is miraculous! I’m devastated that she’s gone and am not sure what I want to do now.
Anyway, all that to say I started crying. I couldn’t help myself. It definitely contributed to the congestion and complicated the nose blowing situation. I can tell today. My left nostril is bleeding more. I’m trying to be as ginger as possible with it. It’s not bleeding enough to need a drip pad, but definitely enough to make me want to keep tissues handy because I look like a soul when it’s running.
Random asides… the area between the bottom of my nose and my upper lip has been swollen, as have the gums by my upper front two teeth. That subsided for most of yesterday but came back while I was in the grocery store. It lessened today, but it’s still swollen.
My face/nose feel tight. It is a little awkward to smile broadly. I feel like it doesn’t look right. However, from about Wednesday through Friday last week it even felt awkward to talk due to this (and the upper lip thing) and it doesn’t feel that way now. So I think it’s getting better.
I slept fully reclined last night. I don’t know if this was a little too much pressure on my nose and that is contributing to the additional bleeding? I might try propping myself up again tonight and seeing how that goes.
There is a VERY sore spot and the bottom of my left nostril. I think that’s where some stitches are. Oh MY, it hurts!
I woke up this morning breathing through both nostrils. Granted, I had taken some Afrin last night before bed. The crying did me in and I felt I had no other choice.
So that’s where things stand now. I doubt I’ll update on the septoplasty stuff again until after I get my splints out. Which is on Thursday. In 2 days. Less than 48 hours away. No more sucky blue splints. But I’m not excited. Not at all!
It has been a hard 10 days at our house. First was Christmas – and we decided to leave for Tahd’s parents a full 24 hours than we had originally planned due to weather. Can we say stress??? Then we drove home Christmas night and finished our last-minute things (the things we would have done before Christmas during the 24 extra hours) to prep us for my family’s Christmas celebration. Monday morning we woke up bright dark and earlyto head to the hospital for my surgery. Since that time Tahd has been waiting on me and caring for me and generally trying to nurse me back to health. Raw deal for his vacation, huh?
Tahd is very much a worker – he is constantly working on projects, doing chores and making lists and getting things from said lists completed. He hasn’t been able to do that this week (he’s been off since the 23rd), at least to the degree he’d normally prefer. Corralling Gabe and keeping me sane have taken a good chunk of his time. This lack of productivity has equaled a great deal of inner angst on his part. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that a small part of me is glad he’s going back to work today – not because I want to do this myself (AACK! So. Not. Ready!) or because I don’t enjoy his company, but because if he doesn’t get something done he is going to eat himself from the inside out.
For my part, I don’t think I’ve been the easiest patient. I can’t sleep during the day because I have to arrange everything just so – including my medication schedule – and it is too much to coordinate during the day (i.e. requires more medicine that I think I should take). Sleep requires some sort of decongestant so one nostril is slightly clear – but not so clear that it burns – and then requires enough pain killer that not only is the pain gone but I also don’t care that I can’t breathe very well. It’s a fine line, I tell you. Anyway, I’m tired, extremely uncomfortable, have been bleeding pretty much nonstop, and have gauze pads strapped to my face. Can we say cranky?
All that to say it’s hard to make a cranky person happy. The one thing on Tahd’s “to-do” list for the past 7 days has been to keep me as happy as possible. The fact that he has been unable to keep me even near the neighborhood of happiness has come off to him like a big fat fail on his part and has only increased his personal angst. And then I get irked at him for being irked in general and it turns into a big fat argument. I snort and snarl during these arguments, but that’s mostly due to the nose surgery. Mostly.
I want a Christmas break do-over!
Anyway, even though I haven’t been a happy patient, Tahdy, all your efforts have made me happier than I would have been without you. Except for the pink containers. But I’m going to let that go. You got it right – from getting me endless boxes of Puffs (seriously – we’ve purchased 19 boxes in the last 7 days) to running out for macaroni and cheese when I had a craving to sleeping on my parents’ couch – not even one of their spare beds – for several nights without complaint to cleaning up all our (copious) Christmas gifts without a moment’s protest – THANK YOU! You take good care of me.
I love you now and always! xo
We’ve definitely turned a corner. The bleeding in my left nostril is beginning to subside. I still have the drip pads, but they’re due to the fact that the amount of snot coming out of my nostrils could fill a bucket many times a day. I am very discouraged by this. It feels like the worst cold I’ve ever had – complete with grogginess, headache and a sore throat – but with the addition of blood and throbbing nose pain.
A strange side effect relates to my eye. The tear duct on the side with the bleeding nostril is sore and occasionally releases a whole bunch of tears at once even though I’m not crying.
I’m more discouraged today because I didn’t sleep well last night. Rather than taking Afrin I took some Sudafed which doesn’t seem to shrink swollen nasal passages as much. Also, I didn’t take pain killers. It wasn’t that I had a lot of pain – that’s actually why I didn’t take them. But at night pain killers seem to relax me enough not to care that my breathing isn’t great, and that’s something that keeps me up – the feeling that my breathing isn’t very free. They also tend to make me very sleepy. I don’t think I went to sleep until at least 4:30 this morning.
At this point my only question is when it’s going to end. It’s clear that I’m moving in the right direction, but snottiness can stick around for a long time. Am I going to be toting around my personal box of tissues for the next month? Longer? Will my splint removal make me feel better? When I can finally blow my nose (hard) will that help matters?
I’m still of the opinion that I should have stuck with Breathe Right nasal strips. Yes, they were annoying, but nowhere near as awful as this. I still think this was a bad plan.
