Stories

I've been reading lots of old stories lately. Ones that I wrote, or friends did, or were joint ventures. Remembering times when I was so much more... Creative. When I had the time and focus to be able to just...create. 

But now, besides the lack of time, other things stand in my way. Exhaustion, fear, self-doubt, lack of audience. 

But I have an audience, and some days I just get too frustrated to notice. A couple months ago, Grace had me making up stories about a jack in the box named Pop. For several days, "tell me another story!"  It was hard. I know I put it off a few times. I did record myself telling a few- I really need to go back and transcribe them. 

It was painful almost. I did it, and the stories weren't too bad. I just... was tired, afraid. 

Monday night I was reading old things and came across one that resonated with me even now. Dragons come in many forms- self-doubt, fear, responsibility... Who am I trying to prove myself to?

I'll make that story my next post.   

Acclimated

So often I tell new/ expectant moms (and others), "It's amazing what you can get used to. Your body can handle so much, and crazy things become normal."  

Like lack of sleep. At the moment, more than 3 hours of sleep in a row feels wrong. Thankfully, that's usually from 3-6 am, so I feel somewhat rested. 

I can do some things better one- handed than two. Sometimes it's better to just do things that way, rather than try to explain what's needed. And my left arm can hold so much more than my right. 

The more you do things, the more it's a habit. The more 'normal' it feels. 

Peter's bedtime ritual includes Vicks on his belly, tylenol, and a humidifier. Without those, he's thrown off. It's his 'normal.'

Last night, Matt went upstairs to check if the heater was on before bed, and found Gracie's sippy cup and towel at the top of the stairs. The towel had several brown spots on it, and there was a small one on the floor as well. She was in her bed, fast asleep. (And clean- I checked.)

The sippy has her pediasure in it, aka "cha," which was obviously what the spots were. The towel had been on her bed- maybe the cup leaked?  Or had she, as she says it, "spilled?"

I had thought I heard her earlier, but since my little drama queen had neither yelled nor come downstairs, I wasn't too worried. 

So this morning I asked. "What happened with your cha?"  "I'm sorry it got on the carpet..."  " I cleaned it up, it's ok. But how did it get there?"  "I spilled." "From the cup?"  She shook her head and pointed to her mouth. 

Gracie has reflux, and takes meds for it, but still randomly vomits. Usually at bedtime. She'll warn me, but there's not time to get to the toilet.  So I've gotten good at catching most of it in a towel or blanket. 

Apparently she has too. 

So now my little melodramatic princess is so blasé about vomiting that she can barf into a towel, set it aside, wash her hands, and go back to bed. 

I'm not sure what to think of it. I'm glad she handled it so well independently. Almost no mess, no noise to wake her brothers, and I ate my dessert without interruption. (Amy's Ice Cream- yums!). 

But at the same time, she's only 5. I should have been up there comforting her. A preschooler shouldn't think of vomiting as 'normal.' And if it's this bad now- what happens when she's 10?  15?  

What will be her 'normal?'

How do you say it

On the way home from a friend's party, Gracie asked me, "Who was the first baby God gave you? Was it Josiah?"

Technically, no, he wasn't. First born, yes. First baby, no. 

The end of October of 1998, we found I was 7-8 weeks along with our first. The doctor wasn't pleased with what he saw on the sono. He had me come back a couple weeks later for another. I sat alone  in that freezing room covered only in a sheet when he came in and coldly reccommended a DNC. I didn't understand. I saw a difference between the two weeks, even a faint heartbeat. So I thought, at least. 

Hurt by that doctor's horrible bedside manner, I made an appointment with another OB highly reccommended by friends. I had to wait to January for my first appointment with him. 

But on December 23, I started bleeding. I called the new dr's office, and they got me in asap. Icy roads had caused lots of cancellations. 

Matt took me to work for a while, then sat with me as the doctor checked me over. It was over. I had had the miscarriage the first doctor expected, it just took longer than he thought. 

The ob said a dnc the next day would be best, lest I hemmorage on Christmas.  He gave us a couple hours to decide. A tearful lunch followed, and we went back to the mall. (I still had a shift to work.). We had decided to make some calls and get some prayer support before deciding. 

When we got to my store, one if those families we were going to call were there. One of those tomes where God's  Hand is evident. They lived far from the mall, and had only come because I worked there. On icy roads, even. 

After crying with them a while, we made more calls. Most importantly to a friend who was an L&D nurse. She seconded the doctor, called him back for us, and set up everything with the hospital as much as she could. 

She was even there before us the next morning, even though it was Christmas Eve, icy, and she had family plans that evening. Our pastor was there early, too, and both sat with Matt a while. When Matt's patents got there- they lived on the north end of town, the pastor led them to the waiting room. 

Truthfully, I have little memory of that day- or the next. I went around in a kind of fog for a month. I remember a couple coming into the store one day just glowing, looking for baby name books. I was happy for them, as much as I could be, as I showed them the only two we had on the shelf and offered to order another. 

They got angry over the small selection, and insisted that I was just not showing them all of the books. They even asked for the manager. In tears, I went to the back room and sputtered out the situation. That was the one time I ever saw him show some backbone. 

I stayed in the back room, on my knees bawling. They told him I was unhelpful, and he told them off. He knew I'd treated them with a smile, even heard me joyfully congratulate them. So he told them I had every reason not to. They left with insincere apology. I recognized them next time, and overdid the cheerfulness, and they avoided me. 

I would walk around the mall wondering why all these girls who didn't want babies had them, but not me. 

I don't know if the baby was a boy or girl. To help me, I gave it a name. Aeryn. 

So no, Gracie, Josiah was not the first baby God gave us. Aeryn was. 

(This is the first time I've written all of this down.). 

Opinions

I went to the store with the littles this morning. As we were checking out, the lady ahead of us stopped, came back, and approached me with an, "I just wanted to tell you..."  

I braced myself, thinking over the past hour. We'd passed this lady in the store several times. Would it be a comment on Grace being in the cart?  Peter's Darth Vader jacket that sometimes covers his face?  Did one of them do something they shouldn't?  Did I?

"I just wanted to tell you these are the best behaved kids I've seen in a long time."  She smiled and tickled Peter.  She said hi to Grace as well, but the little miss put her head down and turned away. I apologized for her shyness, but the lady pointed out that in most cases, at the store, that's a good thing.  

I almost hugged her and felt tears in my eyes. The tension that built so suddenly as she approached was gone. 

On the way home, I thought about it. Why did I brace myself?  I knew they- we- hadn't done anything wrong. I don't think I've had any complaints in public for either of them. (Cuteness helps.) 

But I remember. I remember when Josiah was little, and even not so little. Going to the store when he'd had a full day of school and therapy- so exhausted that anything could trigger a meltdown. Trying to keep him calm in an overwhelming place. Explaining things to him for the millionth time while we both fight tears of frustration. 

He never saw them.  Still doesn't. The looks of disgust and condecension. The huffs of annoyance, the eyerolls. People taking thier kids to another aisle to avoid being around him. The whispers. I still hear them. "What a brat!" "He needs a beating, not a hug!" "Why can't she control him?" "Why are they even out in public?"  The ones who approached me were a little better. Them I could educate a bit. More than once I saw someone start to aporoach us in the parking lot as we left, only to turn away when they saw the Autism Awareness sticker on the car. 

Because he's high functioning, his autism is not as obvious as most.  People are less likely to consider it a possibility, and jump to conclusions. 

So it still makes me defensive when someone approaches my kids and I in the store. With that background, how could I not be?

I'm extremely proud of all three. They really do quite well in public. It can be a challenge, and I may not always agree, but they are little angels. Most of the time. ;). 

Dance it out

To live

 https://youtu.be/DHdkRvEzW84

Me

"I want my Mommy!"  She says it while I'm standing right next to her, sitting in the room with her, or even holding her. 

I know much of it is jealousy, since I'm carrying around baby brother so much. So many times it's after we've had a 'duscussion' about something. (For the 87th time.). 

I started pausing when she says it. Had I lost my temper?  Was I more frustrated over the situation than it called for?  Was I not being the mommy she wanted- needed. Was I not being... me?

I admit, the answer has too often been yes.

We snuggle, we apoligize, we talk calmly, and we go on. Will the same issue happen again?  Maybe. But hopefully Mama will pause too. 

I've lost so much of me the past two years. I have to fight to keep what is left- to not be afraid of it, really. 

The only ones whose opinions truly matter want me- the real me. Need it, even. 

Five minutes.

If only, some days. Five minutes. 

I had a poem in my head two weeks ago. I tried to write it down several times. Even typed up much of it on this app. Then someone needed me and it didn't even get saved. 

It's nice to be needed, but still...

One day I'll have five minutes to do my own thing again...