When do I break?

I don’t know if you are like me, but if you are you work really hard to maintain a certain “image” – I want to look like someone who has it all together and that I can raise three kids, homeschool them, take them to swimming lessons and Classical Conversations classes, go to school myself, run a mom’s group at our church, go to doctor’s appointments three times a week, make dinner, keep the house clean, pay bills, exercise, spend time with Tom, and have time to write in a blog all without blinking an eye.

Well, I can’t.

Truth is, I’m about at my breaking point. I literally just want to shut myself in my room and come out when my maid/nanny/chauffeur/chef shows up. Oh and I won’t come out until my chronic headaches and neck and back pain are gone too.

You know what I feel like doing? I feel like showing up at all my appointments and classes looking as frazzled as I am. And I feel like not combing the girls’ hair or making sure their clothes match or that their faces are clean. I feel like telling people who ask how I’m doing that I’m doing crappy, thank you for asking. I feel like putting my fist through some walls. I feel like crying and eating a few pounds of chocolate.

Well, I’ve wasted enough time here. I’ve got about 400 other things I should be doing. Thanks for listening.

Too many irons in the fire?

I’m a bit over-extended currently. I’d like to say it’s not my fault, but I guess I am the one signing up myself or the kids for things. Not to mention that when we have a nice day (like yesterday) I want to take advantage and go somewhere like the park or zoo because those days will soon be gone. So if you see me running around screaming with my children trying to keep up, just pray for me – and them. And if my posts are really short and meaningless… well, just cut me some slack. 🙂

Monday, Monday

I’m so tired. I’m not even going to proofread this. Kaylee woke up at 5:30 to go pee and I never went back to sleep. Neither did she.

And today, I had four million things that needed to be done TODAY.

It started with a load of laundry, then grocery list, then groceries. We came home for 20 minutes to put the groceries away.

Returned some books to the library. Returned an empty DVD case, too.

Then it was off to the chiropractor that I didn’t like (calling me pet names and tickling his nurse, kinda unprofessional and a bit creepy) to get the x-rays so that I could bring them to a new chiropractor later today.

After that, I stopped at the ATM to get out some cash for gas cards.

Then to the mall to find Ethan some clothes. At the mall, I had to ward off lots of whining. “I want a gumball. I want a Pillow Pet. (at least I know what I’m getting them for their birthdays) I want to go on the (too expensive and really cheesy) ice cream truck ride.” We stopped in at Children’s Place to look for shoes and boots for Ethan. (Because none of my hand-me-down friends’ boys wore size 13 apparently) No go, all too expensive. Checked at Payless Shoes and found four hundred girls’ boots on sale as opposed to only two pairs of boots in the entire boys’ section. We did find some cute casual brown shoes which was what we were looking for. Ethan insisted on going on the escalator in Sears (so easily entertained) and so we did. It was the girls’ first time going on one without being carried by someone. Ethan went up with no trouble. Sienna fell and started crawling up the stairs, whining and crying. I pulled Kaylee up with me. “Get up, get up, get up,” I told Sienna. I was so freaked that she’d get her fingers caught in the top. I managed to get her to stand up and we all exited safely. We went around to the down side and it occurred to me: Going down with the girls was going to be much much worse than going up. If they fell, well, I didn’t want to think about that. I gripped Sienna’s hand and explained that she had to just step out and then STAND STILL. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha. Ha. Good thing I was holding her hand and Kaylee’s too. Kaylee shared a step with me and I ended up picking up a screaming (with fear) Sienna and carrying her the rest of the way down. Ethan suggested that we go again. Kaylee agreed. I told them if they wanted Taco Bell, we had to leave.

We went to Taco Bell.

I ordered SIX cheese roll ups. Two for each kid. I should know better. Kaylee doesn’t eat more than one even though she asks for more than one. I drove home.

I got an e-mail telling me that Carter’s was having a $5 sale. I shopped for 1/2 hour and bought 1/2 their wardrobe for next winter. (Because we have all the clothes we need for this winter. See, I’m a good girl.)

We got back in the car and went to the new chiropractor who gave me so much more information than the other guy. I found out I have mild scoliosis. I never knew this but it explains the chronic neck pain. I also have a disc in my lower back that is completely crushed. He said it was probably because of a fall or something because the other ones look fine. So that explains the sciatic pain and the lower back pain when I’m bending, lifting, sitting, standing… etc. That took an hour and half. But worth it if it helps.

Kids missed naps, so when we finally got home, they were so cranky. I crammed in the entire week of curriculum for Ethan’s schooling in about an hour and then left for school.

Stopped at the library to return the DVD to its case.

I love my class. I love editing. I hope that God shows me what to do because it makes me so happy.

I met a friend after class to help her edit a story she wants to send into a contest and that lasted a very very long time.

And now I’m home and I’m still up (at the horrid hour of 10:30) because I never really sat down at all today. Blah.

On a brighter note… hmm. I’ll get back to you on that one.

October 30, 2006

I drive with the windows down because it’s 75 degrees and the breeze is soaked with the sun’s warmth. It’s that delicious warmth that has a hint of a chill in it because it’s October and it’s supposed to be getting cold. I always think that nothing bad should happen on such a gorgeous day, but terrible things don’t often pay attention to the weather. When I get to the doctor’s office, I don’t want to go in. The air in there is the opposite of fresh. And it smells like bad news. If I stay outside in this sweet, clear air, maybe what my gut is telling me won’t be true. I go in, though, because if I don’t, I’ll get charged for the appointment plus a fee for not canceling within 48 hours.

As I sit on the cold, uninviting examination table, there’s sweat in the fold of my stomach and my hands are trembling. After waiting in that stupid paper gown for four minutes and thirty-two seconds – listening to the muzak version of “Tears in Heaven” – the experienced obstetrician comes in. After a quick greeting, he gets out the doppler because he knows that’s really all I’m here for. He tries to pretend he doesn’t notice the puddle of sweat that has gathered in my belly button as he puts the doppler probe on my stomach. I want to throw up and my heart is pounding like the bass that rattled the car in front of me at a stop light on the way here. I’m certain that even if there was a heartbeat to hear, it would be drowned out by mine. The doctor is so naive; he’s got that just-wait-until-you-hear-this-it’ll-be-the-most-amazing-moment-of-your-life look on his face as he moves the probe around and listens for the sound of galloping horses. I listen, too – straining to hear even just a trot. I think I must be stupid because I knew before I even came here that she was gone. I guess a mother knows these things.

Slowly, his face gets that I’m-trying-to-look-confident-so-that-you-won’t-know-I-think-something-is-wrong look. “Let’s get you an ultrasound,” he finally says, “Sometimes those babies can hide and we have to find them with an ultrasound.” I look down at my thin frame and the tiny bulge in my stomach. Not a lot of room for a baby to hide. My legs are jelly as I follow the doctor down the hall. I know it’s gonna be bad. I know it. So why the heck am I still hoping? He turns on the ancient gray television screen and angles it down so I can see when he triumphantly points to the screen and says, “There it is!” Only, when the grainy image comes up, he can’t hide the concern on his face and I’ve had enough bad-news ultrasounds to tell that the gummy-bear-shaped blob on the screen is a baby with no heartbeat. The doctor jiggles the probe around on my belly, as if that will make the baby come to life. He measures the baby from head to rump. She measures 9.4 weeks. I’m almost 15 weeks. He is silent, not sure how to break the news, so I say it for him: “My baby’s dead, isn’t it?” My voices sounds thick and devoid of emotion. The obstetrician hesitates and then claims that since he’s not a professional ultrasound tech, he can’t make a positive diagnosis. And he points to the machine and says it’s a really old machine. He leads me back to the exam room and tells me to get dressed. I had forgotten I was wearing only my underwear and a paper gown.

When I re-enter the sterile hall he gives me that gosh-I-don’t-know-what-to-say-but-it-would-be-rude-to-just-say-nothing look. “I’ll have the secretary schedule a D&C for tomorrow,” he says, his eyes fixed on a point on my neck or collarbone. He also has her schedule another ultrasound with a “real technician – just to confirm,” he says, with a look that tells me he knows his pants should be on fire. Then he scurries away, and I’m pretty sure I hear him let out a long breath of relief. I stand in the check-out area and gaze at the women with basketballs for bellies sitting in the waiting room. I feel like drop-kicking them into a large vat of ultrasound gel – because I don’t actually want to hurt them; I just want to do something to ease my agony.

I wait while the secretary dials the number for the ultrasound appointment. I’m trying to look nonchalant so that no one will know that I’m a walking casket. She tries to be discreet and half-whispers “to confirm fetal demise” to the scheduler on the other end. A pause, then she repeats “fetal demise” a little louder. Pause. “Fetal demise.” Pause. “Fet-al de-mise.” She looks at me apologetically and I feel like grabbing the phone and screaming to the person on the other end, “My baby is dead, you freaking moron!” But I don’t. I just push my lips back into what I hope looks like a smile and swallow the boulder that is lodged in my throat. She finally hangs up the phone treating the receiver as though it were made of fine china. “Do you need someone to come and drive you home?” she asks. I do. I want Tom to come get me. But I can’t stay in this office with its stale air and round bellies and pretend I’m okay until he comes. I shake my head and walk out the door into the sunshine-infused air. There isn’t a cloud in the crystal blue sky. I get into the car and put down the windows. Because it’s October and it’s 75 degrees.

Quacks and snarkiness

I’m not feeling very snarky today. But I love the word snarky. It makes me feel like being snarky. Except today I’m tired and the chronic pain (10+ years) in my neck is worse than normal. And I’m going to a chiropractor for the first time and I typically think chiropractors are quacks. Especially when they tell me that my “energy flows” tell them I’m not getting enough nutrients. I’m really curious if he’ll try to tell me that I need to add some kind of herbs to my diet and he conveniently happens to have some in stock to sell me. I’m ready to be snarky if I need to be. But I’m also really really hoping that he’s not a quack because as much as I like ducks, I just want my neck to stop hurting.

Sometimes I wish…

We just got back from Hocking Hills – which is in Ohio, but doesn’t feel like Ohio. More like West Virginia. Anyway, it’s GORGEOUS this time of year with all the leaves changing colors. We hiked all the trails at the Hocking Hills State Park in the two days we were there. I had been there as a kid, but I don’t remember much of it. The best part this time was climbing rocks and hills that were “off-trail” – not really far off the trail, just not actually a part of the trail. I did quite a few things that were outside of my comfort zone. (Almost everything Tom did was way way way outside my comfort zone.) I absolutely loved climbing the rocks, though. It’s so much fun to figure out ways to brace yourself here or there in order to reach the next hand or foot hold. I surprised myself by only needing Tom’s help one time. I really wish we had places like that around here. I’d go all the time just to get a good workout – but the kind of workout where you don’t even feel like you’re doing work – just having fun.

I love where we live. It’s a nice neighborhood that’s very close to stores and restaurants without having the stores or restaurants in our back yard. But driving down through all those rolling hills made me yearn for the countryside. (Because you have to yearn for the countryside, you can’t just long for it.) I grew up in a pretty rural area. My neighbors were either family, sheep, or cornstalks. It’s so open in the country. That’s the thing I miss most – being able to watch storms coming in or blowing out. Being able to see the whole sky and not just parts of it. My kids keep wanting to see a rainbow but every time we’ve had a rainbow, it’s in a part of the sky that’s blocked by either a neighbor’s house or trees.

I don’t want to live far away from everything, not really. I just want 40 or 50 acres smack dab in the middle of everything. I’d have huge trees and bushes and shrubs for privacy, and our house would be way back in where you couldn’t see it from the road. But it would be in a huge clearing – on a hill and it would have lots of windows. And I’d have natural rock formations like at Cantwell Cliffs where I could go rock climbing every day if I wanted. Oh, and at night, we would be able to see millions of stars like you can when you are out in the middle of nowhere. There wouldn’t be city lights to dim the stars. And as long as I’m dreaming, I’d have a pool with someone to take care of it and I’d have my Saab 9-5 back because that was a sweet car. We’d have the minivan, too – you know, for when I have to take the kids places. But when I went by myself, I’d have the Saab again. I’d have cats that don’t shed and my kids would clean out the litter box. And, well… you get the point.

I look so relaxed, don't I?

This was a gap between two "rocks" (bigger than a house) called the "Fat Woman's Squeeze"

Threes

I didn’t cry the third time I dislocated my kneecap (truth be told, I didn’t cry the first two times either). We didn’t even go to the ER. I just stood there, in agony, crushing the sheets of our bed in my fists while Tom got up the courage to pop that sucker back into its joint. That was also the last time I fully dislocated my knee cap – it popped in and out on its own until I got it all fixed up when I had a tibial tubercle transfer with a lateral release and medial reefing (look it up, it’s kinda fun). I didn’t lie when I told the surgeon that I wanted the operation so I could run again. But the real truth was, I just couldn’t deal with the pain of a dislocation again.

I had my third laparoscopic surgery for endometriosis when the familiar pain told me that the endo was back. They informed me that it had progressed to stage 3 out of 4, which was just peachy. I knew I had it before the first surgery, but they have to see it to believe it, so there it was. The wonderful doctor put me on Lupron after my last lap surgery, and for three months, I was a woman in menopause – and it was wonderful. I didn’t lie when I told the nurse giving me the third and final injection that I liked being on Lupron because I didn’t have PMS anymore. But the real truth was, I just couldn’t deal with the pain of the endometriosis again.

My third child was born one minute after my second child. Tom was sure they would be our last kids. I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe I’d want more once the twins were a little bigger. But after suffering for months from what I now realize was most likely postpartum depression, I told Tom that I was done having kids, too. I hated that the depression made me resent my kids and my husband and hate myself. I wasn’t lying when I told him it was because I wouldn’t want a newborn until the girls were at least four or five and by then I wouldn’t want to “start all over again”. But the truth was, I just couldn’t deal with the pain of postpartum depression again.

I had my third miscarriage while I was pregnant with my twins. They were triplets, at first. Three babies tucked safely in my womb. Except that my womb wasn’t safe. And it didn’t acknowledge when my babies were dead. I had a D&C a week after we knew that we’d lost the first baby. We didn’t even know our second lost baby was gone until I was almost 14 weeks along. But she had died four weeks earlier. I had a D&C for that one, too. I guess it was a good thing that my body didn’t know that a baby with no heartbeat was hidden between the two healthy ones; I might have lost them, too. When we decided that we didn’t want to “try” for another baby, I was desperate to find a form of birth control that was 100% guaranteed. I didn’t want to lose any more children. When the doctor told me a hysterectomy would be the best route to get rid of my endometriosis (that had returned again), I told him that I would be sad because I could never get pregnant again. But the truth was, I just couldn’t deal with the pain of a miscarriage again.

I’m not sure why I never noticed before how many significant things in my life happened in “threes”. But now that I see it, I wonder if there’s a reason for it. I mean, in the Bible, the number three is significant. (Just google “three in the Bible” and you’ll see what I mean.) So call me crazy, but I think that maybe this is God’s way of showing me that, even in the painful times of my life, He was there – and that those times were intertwined with His perfect plan for me. I might have more “threes” in my future, but I also have a God who did handle the pain so that someday – after this life – I wouldn’t ever have to handle any pain again.

I’m a Mom of triplets

I joined my local Mothers of Multiples club when I was pregnant with my girls. We never told anyone that we had lost a triplet baby because we didn’t want people to feel bad for us when we had two healthy girls to rejoice over. Consequently, I never mourned her death – like I mentioned in an earlier post (http://www.mommyinthemirror.com/?p=469). I guess because I never truly acknowledged that she existed, I didn’t considered the fact (and it is a fact!) that I am a mom of triplets.

A wonderful mom I know from my local Mothers of Multiples club came up to me this weekend and said she read my blog and didn’t realize that I was a mother of triplets. At first, I was really confused because I’ve never considered myself a mom of triplets since I didn’t give birth to all three babies. But I realize now that she’s right – I am a triplet mom.

I don’t know why that seems so significant to me. I guess it’s just because I’m finally admitting that I actually did lose a third baby.

So do you want to know something weird? For the first time in my whole life I actually want to get a tattoo. In memory of my three babies in heaven, because I have three children here and because I’m a mom of triplets – I want to get the Celtic knot that symbolizes the trinity. I think I want it on my wrist because you know that verse I put in my last post? “See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.” I just want something small “engraved” (I like how the amplified version says “tattooed”) on my “hand”. I don’t know if I will, I haven’t even really talked with Tom about it – he’s not keen on tattoos just because they are permanent and you can’t change your mind once it’s done. He might read this before I get a chance to say something, and that’s ok. I’m gonna bring it up soon – when we finally have a chance to talk about it. In the meantime, I’m just so glad to finally feel like I have closure on that chapter in my life. Maybe I won’t tell everyone I meet that I had triplets, but I’ll know. I am a mom of triplets. Thanks for the reminder, Deb.

I am loved, even when I have PMS

I want to write something exceedingly deep and meaningful today. It’s there, in my heart somewhere. But I’m PMSing and everything is blown out of proportion. I’m in one of those “I’m not good enough” moods, too. So today, I’m just going to put into writing a little reminder that I am loved – just for me.

“See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands” Isaiah 49:16 (NIV)

“Behold, I have indelibly imprinted (tattooed a picture of) you on the palm of each of My hands” Isaiah 49:16 (Amplified)

See? I am loved.