Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Growing Pains

Growing up is painful. How do I know this? I am the mom of an 18 month old boy which officially makes me an expert.

It starts out innocently enough. Climbing up on bigger and bigger furniture, beaming about his accomplishment. But does this ever end well? No, no it does not.

First it was climbing into the fireplace. It was not enough to climb up on the bricks, that's too easy. No, for this kid, it's getting into the fireplace, grabbing a fistful of rocks and shoving them into his mouth before I can grab him. Then he started climbing on the sofa. He starts out sitting there, so proud that he's up in the big furniture, but he quickly stands, jumps then lands on his butt. He never stops laughing and I swear that he's laughing because he knows I'm about to have a stroke! And just the other day he started climbing from the sofa onto the side tables. The wobbly, not mean to be stages, side tables.

It's so hard to let him play and not try to save him. He's my baby. I try to sit back and let him be, but I am nervous by nature and this is pushing my nervousness to the limits. I've watched him run into the kitchen table probably 1000 times this week alone. He doesn't realize he's a few inches too tall to make it under the table, so he often runs full speed ahead until...BUMP. The amazing thing is, he gets up every single time. He rarely cries. Sometimes there's a little whimper (meh, meh), but mostly he grunts and keeps going.

This should make it easier for me. He's not a crybaby, he's a tough boy. I shouldn't worry so much because he has it all under control.

Not so much. I think I worry more because whatever the stunt is that stops him is going to be bad. Really bad.

But for now, I just suffer from the growing pains.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Not The Post I Wanted To Write...

Pretty much from the moment I found out I was pregnant back in February, I thought about all the funny, sweet, crazy things I'd say in my blog when I was safely into my second trimester. I wanted to tell you about the day that I found out I was pregnant. I took the test (tests-I took 3) in the morning before my little boy woke up but after my husband had left for work. I got 3 (faint) positive tests. Of course, I was thrilled. I took my son to the playground to celebrate and gave him ice cream for lunch. Even though he didn't really understand what was going on, I kept telling him he was going to be a big brother.
When my husband came home from work, I told him that my hunch was right. He was thrilled too! Here we were-a happy family of 3 and a half. We told the rest of our family and our closest friends over the weekend. With my son, I waited to tell everyone "just in case", but I was too excited not to share our good news. We went car shopping that weekend and my husband even told the salesmen.
We spent the next week talking about which "family car" we'd buy and what baby name goes with our son's name. I like Madelyn Beatrix for a girl (so does my husband) and Sawyer James for a boy (my husband does not). I looked at baby bedding and started stalking the babycenter message boards. I don't know that we could have been happier.
Our happiness was short lived. Only a little more than a week after I found out I was pregnant, I woke up with cramping and bleeding. God works in strange ways. I don't usually get out of bed until after my husband leaves for work, but that morning I did. I called the doctor who told me to be at the office when it opened. They would see me right away.
There was no heartbeat. There was nothing to see. Just a dark emptiness. My doctor did blood work and told me to just rest for the weekend. She told me it was possible that we didn't see anything because it was too early in the pregnancy. She told me the bleeding could be nothing.
But I knew.
I spent the weekend in bed, trying to stay calm. I would fall asleep and wake up in a fog. I kept forgetting what was happening, but then it would come crashing back. I cried. I cried some more. And just when I thought I was okay, I cried even more.
When Monday came around and it was time to go back to the doctor, I was doing okay. When she told me that yes, I had lost the baby, I was okay. I didn't cry during the exam. I didn't cry when she asked me questions. But when she told me that it was possible I had a fertility problem and that it was unlikely my husband and I will be able to get pregnant again and carry to term without some kind of intervention, I cried. I don't know that I cried from sadness then as much as from shock, but it seemed like I had an endless supply of tears.
For the next month, I was in denial. I think I was trying to convince myself that the doctor was wrong and I was still pregnant, but again, I knew.
She was right.
So instead of sitting here telling you my happy, silly pregnancy stories with my laptop resting against my thirteen week pregnant belly, I am sitting here trying to work through the last two months in my head.
Today we received a bill from the doctor. It was for the ultrasound that confirmed my worst fear. Today my heart broke all over again and tonight I am grieving for my angel baby.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Letting Go

I am tired. Last night as I laid here in bed not sleeping again, I made a promise to myself that I was going to let go. For my health, for my sanity, and for the sake of my husband and son I have to figure out a way to let go and move forward.
I have to stop clinging to the what if's. I have to let go of the fear and uncertainty. I need to figure out a way to let all of the joy and happiness in my life fight off this sadness that has crept in. Somehow I have to find the strength to understand that this is God's plan. Maybe I don't like it and maybe I don't understand it, but there is nothing I can do to change it. God doesn't make mistakes. In my head, I get all of this, but it feels like my heart is ignoring everything my head is saying.
As I wait for my sweet little boy to wake up this morning, I am making a vow that today I will let go. For him. I will enjoy every laugh. I will cherish every tantrum. I will kiss his sweet face and I will hold him tight. I will celebrate the miracle that he is. And when my husband comes home from work today I will thank him for this life we have because it is quite wonderful. I will tell him I love him. I will hold his hand and he will know that I've let go of some more of the sadness. Every day I'll let go a little more and I'll understand God's plan a little bit better.
But I will never forget.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

The Little Moments

Last night, my son completely melted my heart. The fact that he had spend a large portion of the day beating me in the head with a ravioli spoon was completely forgotten. We settled in to read a book before bed (Sammy Goes to Ocean City, New Jersey) just like we do every night, but he was just extra snuggly. I finished reading the first page and started to turn to the next page and that's when it happened, he leaned in for a kiss. Adorable. I got to the end of the next page and he leaned in again. He did this over and over until the book was done. I wished, of course, that I had chosen a longer book-like Gone With the Wind. But for the 15 or so pages, he just made my heart melt.
There are so many moments like this that he and I share. Sometimes I take it for granted. It's just a part of our day. But when I tell the stories to other people, I get a chance to step back and see how funny and sweet these moments are. He's a quirky kid! When we change his diapers, he wants to see what character is on the diaper. He loves when it's Elmo or Cookie Monster or Big Bird. He really would rather we not put him in the Ernie or Grover diapers. Why? Who knows! But it's very clear to me that he has a preference.
His newest word is "gotcha". Where did he learn it? Oh, not from Mommy who gives everything in the house a name and feels sometimes like she is a crazy person talking to herself all day. No, of course not. He learned "gotcha" from a talking fly swatter that he's been playing with. It's hysterical! He will go around the house saying, "gah-cha" to everything. He has no idea what it means, but I think he likes the way it sounds. The poor dog can't stand it!
I do think that my little boy is going to be a chef. His favorite thing to do is watch the "cooking show". No, not the Food Network. He likes to watch me cook. If I turn on the mixer, he starts yelling "ooh, ooh, ooh" from wherever he has been playing and he runs over to see what I'm making. He wants you to pick him up so he can watch what's being chopped, cooked, mixed or baked. The other night he didn't like what I made for dinner, so when he got down from his high chair, he went to get his play pots and pans and some play vegetables and he showed me what he really wanted for dinner. He is a riot.
So here I sit, waiting for him to wake up and wondering what adventure is in store for us today.