Quatro

Probably the least revealing thing about the series of posts I wrote in August about whether or not to have another baby was that deep down, I always knew that I wanted to. I was just scared. Scared that we wouldn’t be able to handle three.

Perhaps this was God’s way of making me feel secure in the decision to have three babies — His way of letting me know that we have enough love, enough patience, enough space and enough money.

I don’t have doubts anymore. I know I would like to have a third baby and I know we’ll figure it out.

My fourth miscarriage made that clear to me.

Even though I went off birth control in July, with the intention of trying in the fall, we (mostly I) still had been so indecisive about whether or not it was the right decision.

As soon as I felt supremely confident in the “yes” decision I would exuberantly proclaim the news to my husband, and then the next day, or the next hour I would have doubts.

In the past I’ve said that I’m incredibly lucky that it only takes me a couple of months to get pregnant. And that held true this time; it only took three tries.

And then nine days later I already knew it wasn’t going to work out. I wasn’t even five weeks pregnant yet.

I got a positive pregnancy test on Saturday, November 19 which was only day 24 in my cycle (for those of you not familiar yet with pregnancy lingo and logistics, that’s REALLY early — I had been having very short 26-day cycles.) That Monday, I called my midwife’s office and she had me start hormone testing right away. My first hCG test was 51, which was indicative of a 3-4 week pregnancy. My progesterone level was 19, which was fine, but a little low. HCG levels are supposed to double every 48-72 hours and progesterone levels should increase 1-3 ng/ml every couple of days. These initial values were my baseline and would be used to compare with the results of tests every 48 hours to see if the numbers were rising appropriately. (http://www.americanpregnancy.org/pregnancycomplications/earlyfetaldevelopment.htm)

Flashback

Through early hormone testing when I was pregnant with Bean, my doctor discovered that my initial progesterone level was 28, which was really great. My follow-up test showed that my level had actually dropped to 26, which was still a good number, but your progesterone level is not supposed to drop. My doctor proactively put me on a synthetic progesterone — Prometrium. His theory was that perhaps I was experiencing early losses because my body was not making enough progesterone to support the pregnancy until the placenta takes over and starts making it at 12 weeks. These hormone tests also showed that my hCG level was doubling every 48 hours. While synthetic progesterone exists, if your body doesn’t make the hCG hormone, there’s nothing you can do.

Since I’ve had problems with my progesterone in the past, my midwife had me start taking Prometrium right away as a precautionary measure. My next hormone test was on Wednesday, November 23 and my hCG level was 94. A little concerning because it didn’t quite double. But the nurse told me it was the “gold standard” for hCG to double in 48 hours and that she didn’t think I should be worried. Further research on my own showed that indeed she was right and that as long as the hCG was increasing by 60% in 48-72 hours, the pregnancy was still viable.

The smallest alarm sounded in my head, but I quieted it with optimism and positive thoughts because my God, it was still SO early. My first hCG test with Bean was when I was 4w3d pregnant and that level was 142. Here I was only 3w6d pregnant and my hCG was 94. Doing the math, I figured that my hCG would be 376 by the time I hit 4w3d with this pregnancy — way ahead of the game!

My next text was Friday, November 25. I took time out of my Black Friday shopping to stop in at the clinic. The nurse called me about two hours later with the news. For some reason, I knew it wasn’t going to be good. My hCG was only 113.

I was so confused. In the past, my miscarriages have always been announced by spotting. My negative association with seeing red spotting is so high that even when I’m not pregnant and not trying to get pregnant, just getting my period makes me fearful and feel like my body has failed. And then I have to consciously remind myself, “I’m not pregnant. This is supposed to happen.”

So the fact that I wasn’t spotting and my hCG level was only 113 was confusing. The nurse said that some women can go on to have normal pregnancies, but it didn’t look good.

All weekend I held onto the slightest possibility of hope. I still didn’t have any spotting. I changed my mental outlook — instead of feeling like the miscarriage was a foregone conclusion like I had all the times in the past, I tried the power of positive thinking. I tried to believe in it, to will the pregnancy into existence. I pictured the number 226 in my head, and thought, even if it’s only 200 it will be okay. I prayed.

By Monday, November 28 my hCG was back down to 51 again.

I didn’t start spotting until Wednesday.

My emotions were all over the place.

I was sad, but not devastated. It definitely wasn’t as heartbreaking as my first two losses before I had any children, before I knew if I could have children.

I was a little jealous of all the pregnant celebrities.

I was immensely thankful for the two beautiful children I have here on earth.

I was very grateful that it didn’t happen later. For me at least, miscarriage is emotionally and physically easier to deal with when it happens so early.

Technically, this pregnancy, like my very first pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage, was considered preclinical, or a chemical pregnancy. A chemical pregnancy “occurs when a pregnancy is lost shortly after implantation, resulting in bleeding that occurs around the time of the woman’s expected period. The woman may not realize that she conceived when she experiences a chemical pregnancy.”

In other words, if someone hadn’t been trying to get pregnant and testing and tracking their cycle, they probably wouldn’t even have known they got pregnant and miscarried; they would have just thought their period was a few days late. But I did know, and even though they were chemical pregnancies, they’re still counted as miscarriages.

The Disappointment

Mostly I guess, I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed that this is so hard for me. And hard for everyone, really, who has love to give to a baby. Why is it so hard? It should be so easy. You have love, you want to give love to a baby, so you get pregnant and have one.

Why doesn’t it happen like that?

I’m disappointed because I thought we found the “cure” for my losses. After Bean was born I did a battery of tests that turned up nothing unusual that could be causing me to lose pregnancies. While my doctor could never be 100% certain, we thought my trouble was my too-low progesterone.

So, naively I guess, I thought that taking the Prometrium would mean that loss wouldn’t continue to be a problem for me.

I’m very disappointed that early pregnancy is not filled with joy and happiness for me. When I get a positive pregnancy test, I’m filled with excitement and joy for about 5 minutes. And then the worry, anxiety and trepidation set in because I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Because I know I have to take things one day, one hour at a time — the visits to the lab, waiting for test results, the many ultrasounds.

While I’m thankful for these hormone tests and ultrasounds, because I would rather *know* than not know, ultimately they don’t really help me control anything, which is what I really wish I could do.

The Anxiety

After this last loss I picked up the book To Full Term from the library about a woman’s monumental struggle to bring her son into the world after her first child (a daughter) was born 12 weeks premature, then suffering two miscarriages (one at 13 weeks and one at 8 weeks), and then losing twins at 20 weeks. It’s almost incomprehensible that one woman would be put through so much. Her journey truly is remarkable, not only because it was through her own dogged determination and insistence that doctors listen to her, but because she has now created a resource for other people. A way for women to stand up and fight for their unborn babies and to seek answers after a loss.

I could completely relate to author Darci Klein’s description of getting a positive pregnancy test:

“I should be thrilled. I wanted this. I try to imagine holding a tiny baby in my arms. Awestruck. But my thoughts quickly turn to all those other sticks with two lines, all the thwarted promise.”

In the book, Darci describes how she’s told her husband that she’s pregnant with less and less fanfare.

I’ve been there. Not so much with telling my own husband, but how we tell our closest friends and family members. I still have the digital photo of Monkey at 10 months sitting underneath the Christmas tree holding a sign that says “I’m going to be a big sister,” in a hidden folder on my computer hard drive. We had that photo printed and framed and we gave it out to our parents and siblings as a surprise Christmas gift. Three days after Christmas, at my six-week ultrasound, the doctor couldn’t find a heartbeat.

I started crying when I read Darci’s reaction when she started spotting in her pregnancy with her son:

“‘Don’t panic,’ I say aloud. I repeat the words in my head, but my chest heaves from the familiar threat of bright red blood, just like I saw when I lost my first baby at 13 weeks, and later with my twins.”

It’s an all-too familiar scenario for me.

The Stress

Everyone from friends to doctors to co-workers will tell you to relax during your pregnancy because increased stress can harm the baby. But telling that to someone who has experienced a loss is so counterproductive.

“Multiple studies have confirmed that pregnant women who’ve had a loss experience far more anxiety during future pregnancies than those who’ve never miscarried. After loss, women must push aside the constant whisper that things could go wrong again.”

The Fear

It’s funny how quickly you forget how truly hard it was to bring a baby into the world after you have the baby safely delivered in your arms. When Husband and I were embarking on this latest round of trying, we honestly didn’t even discuss the past difficulties.

Those memories all came rushing back for me the moment I saw the positive pregnancy test and started going for the hormone testing and waiting anxiously for the results phone calls. I remembered again how hard it is. And I couldn’t escape it. Every two seconds I would remember that I was pregnant and it affected all of my decisions (don’t have too much caffeine, don’t take any ibuprofen, don’t have any cold cuts or soft cheeses, how much should I exercise?).

To be perfectly honest, part of me is scared to try again. I’m scared I’ll get pregnant and then lose it again.

I can relate when Darci says she wasn’t prepared for the fear.

“I feel almost embarrassed that I hadn’t anticipated the most obvious risk of all: the gripping terror that I may lose another baby.”

Just last week I tried to convince myself that two kids was perfect. I thought about all the reasons my life would be easier with two kids instead of three:

• No need to worry about fitting two car seats and a booster in a too-small sedan (or the alternative — buying a new car).
• No worry about having enough space in our house. The girls could share a room for a few years so that we could have an upstairs toy room, and then when they’re older and don’t have so many toys, and more importantly, want their privacy, we can move Bean back into the room she has now.
• No more struggles with breastfeeding and the internal guilt of having bottle fed my babies for the majority of their infancy.
• No more diapers since Bean is almost potty trained.
• No postpartum blues and the strains of only getting 2-3 hours of sleep at a time.
• No real worries about having enough money to do family trips (at least not any more than it will be for one kid).
• Not having to deal with one kid feeling left out (as much) because there wouldn’t be a “middle” child.
• Always having an even number of people in our family, which also makes those family excursions easier (because everything comes in a “family four-pack”).

And then a friend posted a picture of her brand new 15-minute old baby, and I didn’t see the diapers, the breastfeeding struggles, the car seat dilemma, the potty training, the money concerns, the space constraints, or the lack of sleep.

I saw this perfect little creature who had just joined their family. A brand new life. And I knew that I still wanted that one more time. I want to be handed my newly delivered baby and relish in that moment again. That moment when we get to meet the new person we created. I want the newborn yawns and the first bath, the itty bitty clothes and the extra cautious drive home from the hospital.

I’m still skittish though. I don’t know how many more times we can put ourselves through this. I am so unbelievably thankful for the two beautiful girls I have. More than anything, I don’t want to try so hard for something and end up disappointed about what I don’t have, instead of thankful for what I do have.

Part of why I wanted to share this very private personal struggle is because I think many more women in my life than I realize have struggled with pregnancy loss. It’s almost never discussed. And my biggest takeaway from Darci Klein’s book was that we must fight for ourselves, fight for answers, not accept the antiquated obstetrics guidelines that most doctors are so quick to offer, and move beyond secrecy and silence. I plan to write a follow-up post in the coming days with some resources that I found helpful.

Believe

I do believe in Santa Claus.

I really do.

I have “Believe” signs sprinkled throughout my house, and while I’m sure they were intended to be Christmas decorations, I keep them up all year ’round because I think they have more meaning than just believing in Santa Claus.

While Christmas definitely is a religious holiday for us, and I am thrilled that my girls understand that the true meaning of Christmas is celebrating Jesus’ birthday, I personally find parallels between Santa Claus and Jesus.

Santa Claus is a legend that originated in the actions of a real person, Saint Nicholas, a Greek bishop who had a reputation for secret gift giving and to whom many miracles are attributed.

Jesus wants us to take care of others, especially those less fortunate, to act without expecting anything in return, to be selfless. To give.

For our family at least, Santa Claus and Jesus don’t have to be mutually exclusive.

Amidst all of our holiday merry-making, which has included many of our favorite holiday activities, including several nights of viewing Christmas lights,

Pere Marquette Park, Downtown Milwaukee.

Pere Marquette Park, Downtown Milwaukee.

baking lots and lots of goodies,

Mmmm. Christmas treats.

watching our favorite Christmas movies,

"A toast to my big brother George. The richest man in town."

and even a wrapping extravaganza day,

My wrapping station.

I walked into a 9,000 square foot warehouse on December 13 that quite literally, was overflowing with wrapped Christmas presents. And what I saw was a generosity of spirit. A visual reminder of all that is good about Christmas.

I saw Santa.

I saw people who had given gifts out of the kindness of their hearts, with no expectation of anything in return.

And isn’t that the best kind?

Isn’t that what Santa does?

I went to the warehouse to volunteer. I discovered the Gingerbread House back in September when I was looking for a service project to commemorate the 10^th anniversary of 9/11.

The Gingerbread House is part of the Youth and Family Project which serves Wisconsin families in Washington, Ozaukee and Waukesha counties. The organization, which is dedicated to providing a variety of support, education and counseling services to help reunite families divided by crisis, really struck a chord with me because I think a strong family unit is so core to a child’s development (and ultimately what his/her future will look like).

This Christmas season the Gingerbread House will serve over 600 families. In chatting with the woman who began the project 20 years ago, for most families, the gifts they receive through the Gingerbread House *is* their Christmas. There won’t be any other gifts.

I was overwhelmed when I saw that in some families with three kids plus parents, there were 3-4 gifts for each person.

That is astounding.

Astoundingly generous.

At what other time of year do we see this kind of generosity?

Ironically, when I pulled names from the “giving tree” at our local YMCA I discovered the gifts were for people who had signed up through the Gingerbread House.

And the two boys asked for blankets, and an 11-year-old girl needed shirts. It was so humbling to me to see that these were truly needs, not wants. As I’m piling baby doll cribs, Dora toys and high end vacuum cleaners into my minivan, how could I not get blankets for a 7-year-old and a 15-year-old? How could I buy MORE clothes for my two girls who don’t need any more clothes, when there’s an 11-year-old who just needs some shirts?

Next year I’d like to do more. I’d like to be like the other families who have adopted an entire family and have provided each person 3-4 gifts. I can do better than blankets and shirts.

I think even Jesus would be happy to know that Santa inspires this kind of generosity in other people.

I believe in Santa Claus.

I believe in God and Jesus.

I believe in miracles.

I believe in the power of prayer.

I believe in people.

I believe in laughter and joy and positive thinking.

I believe in life.

All year ‘round, I believe.

And P.S. Who doesn’t love George and Mary? My most favorite Christmas movie, and maybe even one of my all-time faves. At any given point, we can all relate to George Bailey, but as he discovers, it really is a wonderful life.

And if you still don’t believe, there’s this — a mathematical equation that proves Santa is real.

What do you believe in and how will you be celebrating Christmas?

“And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.” - Theodor Seuss Geisel (1904-1991), Writer, Cartoonist, Animator

Unanticipated

I don’t normally feel “old.” But I was especially reminded of my age and impending birthday (the big 3-3!) at Monkey’s first school Christmas program.

I stood there, holding back tears, thinking, “I can’t believe I’m the one holding the video camera.”

I’ve always watched the parents holding the video camera taking videos of the kids, and I was always one of the kids!

Now I’m the one with the camera.

I thought, “I can’t believe I’m old enough for this. I can’t believe I’m responsible for two children.”

I can’t believe I’m the mom.

It’s funny how motherhood still catches me by surprise sometimes.

Monkey looked like she was on the verge of tears when she filed into the room with the rest of the kids. Finally, our eyes met and I could see a look of relief on her face.

Monkey got over her initial shyness and then went on to be su-per loud during this Beatles-esque “Shape” song. Good lord.

Monkey and Bean post-performance with Nana and Mimi.

Incidentally, I guess b*tching on your blog about how people overlook your December birthday really pays off.

A week before my birthday Husband came home with flowers and proclaimed it birthday week. We had a wonderful date on the weekend before my birthday (which honestly made all the difference because we weren’t trying to cram it in on the same weekend with all the Christmas festivities), and even though we both got sick with a horrible stomach virus, the week ended on a high note with a lovely dinner with our families.

Monkey with her Great Grandma, or GG, as we call her. So sweet.

By the time my actual birthday came on the 16^th, I felt like I had already celebrated a marvelous birthday!

And then my cousin-who’s-like-my-sister showed up on my doorstep with a birthday morning Starbucks! And a hysterical card about carrot cake, which is only funnier because that’s my favorite kind of cake and the one my Grandma always makes me for my birthday.

Do you get it? Carrot cake. His nose was a carrot. Tastes like boogers. Sooo funny.

The carrot cake that my Grandma made me.

I couldn’t have been more shocked.

And then my awesome neighbor stopped by with a smoothie!

Plus I got two of the sweetest and most unexpected cards in the mail. Truly, so unexpected, so sweet and they made me feel so special.

I was very humbled. And thankful.

It made me realize that I need to put my money where my mouth is and make sure that I’m following through on making birthdays as special for other people as I expect it to be for myself.

Cheers to another year!

December Birthday Diatribe

I’m part of a club. A club I’d rather not be a part of. But a club nonetheless. I had no idea how many of my friends in my extended social circle also are part of this club until I was looking at the “Upcoming Events” section of my Facebook page. Even when I meet people on the street, this club gains me instant sympathy and nodding heads. I’m part of the December birthday club. And I don’t like it one bit.

Naturally, I blame my parents.

Here's me - nine days old on my first Christmas. It's a girl. In case you were wondering.

But in defense of my parents, (they didn’t plan it this way) they always did a really good job of making my birthday special. I got a party every year (not like the extravagant parties that are common today, but a cake and some girls for a sleepover), and they never really gave me a combination gift (I can’t even think of one right now).

In fact, I don’t think my contempt for my December birthday started until I got older. Maybe a teenager, or a college student? I don’t know exactly when.

Here’s the thing. I love Christmas. LOVE it.

We loooove Christmas in this house.

I love listening to Christmas music while doing pretty much anything holiday-related. I love picking out the tree and decorating it. I love wrapping gifts. I love watching my favorite Christmas movies by the glow of the tree. I love baking lots and lots of cookies and other goodies. I love the magic of the season and the spirit of generosity. And I especially love the extra emphasis on spending time with family and loved ones.

Both Husband and I are pretty big Christmasers. While we’re not super psycho crazies, we both have big expectations for Christmas.

I’m also a big believer in birthdays. I think birthdays should be celebrated for a minimum of a weekend, and I prefer to celebrate them for a whole week. I think birthday people should be given lots of extra attention and be made to feel super special. There always should be cake, a card and a gift, and extra points for balloons or flowers if you’re over 16. Birthdays are a big deal to me and I make them a big deal for my loved ones.

I guess the reason I started disliking my December birthday when I got older (as opposed to when I was a kid) was because other people didn’t “respect” the birthday as much as my parents did. They didn’t make it as special (and I don’t mean my dear husband; he has always been excellent at making me feel extra special on my birthday).

I’m not exactly sure why this happens. I can’t really think of a good reason why people think it’s okay to combine birthdays with Christmas when, as my cousin J said, “Everyone with a birthday in spring, summer or fall doesn’t have to ‘share’ the day they were born with a holiday. I don’t know why it should be any different at Christmas.”

Don’t get me wrong — I don’t think anyone was ever trying to purposely be rude. I mean, after all, these are people who love me and are giving me gifts. Maybe it’s because Christmas just becomes so ubiquitous that they’re not thinking when they give me a pine and red berry flower arrangement for my birthday? I get it. It’s seasonal. But it’s my effing birthday! Where is the pink and the purple!?

What not to get someone for their birthday.

This is a "passable" flower arrangement for a December birthday. It's got ornaments, but at least it's not red and green.

THESE are birthday flowers.

Extra points for creativity.

And don’t even get me started on wrapping my birthday present in Christmas paper. If you want to see my head spin around and pop off, just try giving me my birthday gift in Christmas wrapping paper. Why, why, why!?? It’s too much trouble to go out and get birthday wrapping paper so you’ll just use this Christmas paper you have lying around? At no other time of year would this be acceptable.

This is not birthday wrapping paper!!

You have no idea how tempted I have been to wrap other people’s birthday presents in Christmas paper in May, August, whatever. Just to prove a point.

IT IS MY BIRTH-DAY. THERE SHOULD BE NO RED OR GREEN OR HOLLY OR SANTA.

I may give you a pass on a snowman. Maybe.

My poor brother-in-law. He is awesome and so great and I love him dearly. He has experienced firsthand my hatred of the Christmas paper for birthday gifts.

I don’t know why, but for whatever reason we went through a period where he kept wrapping my d@mn birthday gifts in Christmas paper! And this was after celebrating many birthdays with him!

The first time it happened I gave him a lot of crap. So then the next year, before my birthday, Husband reminded him “NO CHRISTMAS PAPER.”

So that next year, he wrapped my birthday gift in (drum roll please) … silver paper.

And while he protested heartily that “IT WAS SILVER,” clearly it was Christmas paper. And that would have been okay except that he used a CHRISTMAS GIFT TAG to address the gift to me (we were at an extended family Christmas gathering where lots of gifts were being exchanged).

Nope. Definitely don't put this on a birthday gift.

When I pointed this out he looked at me with a genuinely confused look on his face and said, “Well how else were you supposed to know that it was for you and not someone else?”

I gave him a hard look back and said, “How about a birthday card.”

His eyes got really big. “Oh. That’s right. I forgot about cards.”

And that, my friends, is what happens to gift givers around Christmastime. All common sense goes out the window.

And while this is a tongue in cheek example, it really is disheartening when you want your birthday to be a day all about you and you’re constantly being reminded of CHRISTMAS, CHRISTMAS, CHRISTMAS — and as I said before, I do LOVE Christmas — but it’s my one and only special day!

The next year he gave me my gift in birthday paper. With a card.

Balloons, stars, cake ... good. If it says HAPPY BIRTHDAY, even better!

Honestly, I think the biggest reason I don’t enjoy a Christmas birthday now that I’m older is due to time. There’s just not enough of it this time of year.

Husband’s extended family has now firmly established the weekend closest to my birthday as the weekend of the family’s annual holiday gathering. It also happens to be the same weekend that my parents do their annual Christmas party. So inevitably, I don’t get a weekend to celebrate my birthday with my family and friends the way I want to. Instead we (and all of our family members) are running around all over the place celebrating Christmas.

And now that I’m an adult with a family of my own, and want to do the Christmasy things like baking, shopping, wrapping, Christmas card sending, etc. — things I genuinely want to do — it just leaves little birthday time.

Celebrating my birthday last year. Note the Christmas tree at the restaurant.

2010 birthday cake!

Of course I’ve always been bummed that I couldn’t do fun outdoor activities like have a pool party for my birthday, but to be fair that’s not exclusive to December. My cousin L’s birthday is in March and for the last 20 out of 25 birthdays it’s been cold, gloomy and rainy. So there’s really no exclusivity when it comes to crappy weather. I mean, I guess rain generally doesn’t cause event cancellations, but you get my drift.

So yeah. The general consensus after polling my Facebook friends is that December birthdays (and even early January birthdays) kinda suck. Most of us have differing reasons for why we don’t like it (although combination gifts was a big complaint) the bottom line is we feel kinda cheated.

I will say that having only known a Christmastime birthday, I do like how the trees and lights and Christmas music remind me that my birthday is coming soon.

I’m thinking I might start a tradition of celebrating my semi-half birthday with my husband whose birthday is in July …

Barbecue anyone?

P.S. I will say that I think parents tend to be more sensitive to making their December birthday kid feel special, and they have the kid’s whole lifetime to remember to do that. Whereas other (non-December birthday) people (like my brother-in-law) are just unaware. So again, I’m not calling anyone out, I think they’re just not aware of the sensitivity because they haven’t had to be.

What about you? Do you have a December birthday? Do you hate it or do you love it? Alternatively, is your birthday around another holiday where you have to “share” celebration time with holiday time?

(No More Nuky) WOW OH WOW!

On November 9 we made a big move in this household — it became NO MORE PACIFIER DAY!

We finally exhausted all the reasons to let Bean keep her pacifier — her eye teeth (aka canine teeth, aka cuspids) came in, she had her tear duct surgery, and she wasn’t sick.

I finally got Husband to agree to set a date. And we did. And we did it. And it was fine. (Husband had been more reluctant than me to ditch the paci mostly because it meant knowingly committing to more nightly interruptions and less sleep for him; which is totally valid because he regularly gets only 5 hours of sleep every night.)

And, let’s be honest, the nuk is a fast and easy way to calm your child. Even though Bean only got her nuk during naptime and bedtime, it also was a crutch in church, in the car, and when she was unusually belligerent.

We had tried to get Bean to give up the nuk in March when she was 13 months and it didn’t work very well. She just wasn’t ready, and since we had teething and surgery issues, I didn’t care enough to push it. In retrospect I’m glad we waited, if only for the surgery alone. I think it provided a great comfort to her, and helped quell her hunger.

BUT, as soon as she turned 21 months (3 months older than Monkey was when we got rid of her nuk), and her surgery was complete, I was anxious to ax it because I know the next major transitions are just around the corner: big girl bed and potty training.

I’m going to keep Bean in her crib as long as I can to cut down on the inevitable frustration of her having total and complete bedroom freedom — it was somewhat of a disaster with Monkey, probably because she was only 19 months old, but I can’t help it that she took a flying leap out of her crib. But, I know that moment could come at anytime, and I was going to be d@mned if I was going to be searching a big girl bed, and sheet, and comforter, for a dang nuk in the middle of the night. It was annoying enough to do it in her crib with no flat sheet or big comforter.

And sometime either before or after the big girl bed comes potty training. We were able to train Monkey in three days when she was 23.5 months and I have no idea if it will be that easy with Bean, but I’m sure we’ll give it a shot.

At any rate, I didn’t want Bean to be going through three major transitions in her life, so the nuk had to go!

I knew we would have to go a different route than just cutting off the tip. When we tried that in March it didn’t work AT ALL. As I’ve mentioned, Bean can sometimes be difficult to console. And she was P*SSED. In fact, she was downright furious.

I happened to be on Twitter about a week before we were planning to pull the plug when I stumbled across some Sesame Street You Tube videos about giving up the pacifier. Apparently, November 4 was NO MORE PACIFIER DAY, and Elmo had a series of cheeky videos about how kids could give up the binky in preparation for the big day (i.e. give it away, make an exchange, use a sticker chart, have a visit from the pacifier fairy, etc.) How fortuitous.

Elmo putting down his binky.

Since Bean was a little older, I thought she would understand the whole “give the nuk to a baby,” trick and settled on that as our main tactic. About a week before the big day, I started telling Bean that she wasn’t a baby anymore and that we were going to give her nuks to her baby cousin C. Every time I asked her if she was going to give her nuks to C she replied with “No.”

We watched all NINE Sesame Street videos multiple times over the course of that week. On the morning of the big day I took Bean to the store and bought her a brand new baby doll in exchange for her nuks. That afternoon, before her nap, we gathered up her four remaining nuks, put them in a box and I again told her that I was going to mail them to her baby cousin. The next day, Bean’s Nana did the same thing.

We also stopped referring to her as a baby and really amped up the “big girl” praise. For MONTHS, Bean has referred to herself and any other child, larger or smaller than she, as a “baby.” Initially after giving up the nuk when we asked her if she was a baby she would respond enthusiastically, “Uh huh!” But it only took another week and she would respond, “Noooo, mama.” I think she loves that she’s a big girl now like her sister.

That first night Bean cried half heartedly on and off for about 30 minutes. We went in a couple of times and patted her back and eventually she fell asleep. She then proceeded to wake up about 5 times. I’m not gonna lie. It sucked. Husband and I were switching off going in and patting her back (but giving in was never an option). Finally, Husband fell asleep in the chair in her room.

Luckily for us, the next night went smoother with 15 minutes of half-hearted crying and only waking up once during the night.

And that was that! It’s been almost three weeks now and while it does take her longer to calm down at bedtime and fall asleep — meaning that she’s not crying, but that we’re having to go into her room a million times after we put her to bed, although this could have more to do with the fact that she’s had back-to-back illnesses — it’s really been easy breezy with minimal night wakings. I don’t know what was easier — cutting the tip for Monkey or doing an exchange for Bean. I guess it’s all a matter of finding the best method for your kid.

Check out who’s a big kid now!

Elmo helped Bean celebrate putting down the pacifier.

Gratitude

For me and many people, the month of November is a time to reflect on what we’re thankful for. A time to count the blessings that have been bestowed upon us over the last year. Something about THANKS-givin’ (as my friends from the South would say) does that to a person.

There are moments, okay some whole days, where I’m just so frustrated with my kids’ belligerent behavior, sassy attitudes, the mess, the lack of organization, the mounds of laundry and the overall list of things to do.

And then I remember the premise of a book that my BFF recommended, which is, this is the life I asked for. This is the life I wanted. I wanted a house I could call my own. I wanted a big yard with room to run. I wanted a husband and children. I wanted a family. And I got it. AND, those things come at a cost — yard work, lawn mowing, home improvements, spending money, and oh yeah, RAISING kids.

Kitchen table or craft table? Don't forget the baby and its bottles!

Two coats, four gloves, two pairs of boots, a backpack, a scarf, a hat and a piece of play broccoli!

Books, books, babies, books, baby clothes, books.

Just more typical mess.

For the past 12 months when I feel like I’ve reached my limit I try to remember to take a breath, pause and remember that this is what I wanted. And I’m grateful.

I am thankful for:

• Girls pulling each other’s hair
• Girls pushing and hitting each other (usually the small one hitting the big one)
• Girls pile driving one another (usually the big one pile driving the small one)
• Girls fighting over toys
• Girls shrieking, screaming and making the most annoying mouth noises (gah, where do they learn that!??)
• Girls invading each other’s personal space
• Cleaning food off the floor after EV-ERY meal (uugh, I think this is my most hated parenting task)
• The utter disaster of my living room
• The utter disaster of my older daughter’s room
• The mad rush of getting two lazily playing, daydreaming girls dressed, fed and out the door on time
• The annoyance of realizing you bought the next season’s clothes in the wrong size (Why didn’t I anticipate Bean would be in 3T winter clothes when she’s been in 2T since last spring!!?) — and then having to switch over her entire wardrobe. Again.

I am thankful for all of these things because they mean that I have two healthy children and a happy home. It’s so easy to get overwhelmed by the minutia; by things that don’t really matter. But when I do that, I lose sight of that fact that all of these things mean that I have what is most important to me.

And I am grateful.

A Different Kind of Terrible

I started this post over two months ago and I never finished it. Initially I entitled it “Way More Terrible.” And it’s about Bean. And her terribleness compared to Monkey’s. But rather than being way more terrible than Monkey’s foray into the terrible two’s, I’ve realized that she’s already mellowed some after only two months, and that she’s really not way more terrible. She’s just different.

Monkey is high energy. I can handle high energy. I can do high energy all night long standing on my head. I rock high energy.

When Monkey was in her “terrible twos” I remember thinking she was pretty terrible.

In retrospect, she wasn’t that bad.

Because Bean is high energy. Bean is busy, busy, busy, combined with extreme willfulness and independence. Emphasis on extreme.

She’s just not easily distracted. She is unusually focused and determined. And we could see that about her even when she was a little baby.

As an infant she could be very difficult to console. While it took awhile for her to get worked up, when she did, she was MAD. She was just very intent on being really p*ssed off!

I distinctly remember being totally bewildered during these intense crying fits as she continued to scream her head off even after I picked her up, shushed her, swaddled her, bounced her and showed her a stunning and magical array of blue elephants. Finally, I would be like, “Dude, I’M HOLDING YOU. Do you SEE ME, holding YOU?” Which didn’t work either.

Honestly, she’s been like this since the SECOND she was born. Literally. She was born, she screamed, I got to hold her for a minute during which time she was stunned into silence … and then commenced screaming again. And then the nurse took her to clean her off and she SCREAMED the entire time. I think it took that nurse like 20 minutes to do the APGAR, handprint and footprint her, and then even after I got her back, she continued to cry and cry. Major. Stress Hormones.

So yeah. The whole introduce a new toy to distract her from the toy you just took away? Didn’t really work for her. Needless to say, the whole introduce a new activity to distract her from the activity you don’t want her doing works equally well. That sofa she’s bouncing on? That chair she’s climbing? You’re gonna have to physically remove her from the room and lock her up somewhere. Because when you ask her nicely to stop what she’s doing, she looks at you and nicely responds back, “No.”

And that very specific toy that she’s looking for? Well another pink plastic toy pacifier will just not work. She doesn’t want the HARD PLASTIC one, she wants the SOFT PLASTIC one. WHY DO YOU KEEP SHOVING THIS CLEARLY INFERIOR HARD PLASTIC TOY PACIFIER IN MY FACE? Excuse me while I lay crumpled and sobbing on the floor.

I’ve learned that I just need to let her go. When she’s reached that point I don’t try to console her because the more I try to talk to her, the more angry she gets. She’ll just continue shouting “NO!” at the top of her lungs. If I try to empathize with her? Forget it. If I offer her a hug when she’s angry? She doesn’t want any of that either. She’d rather turn her back than look at you.

Monkey in general was (and still is) more amenable to compromises, and hugs and empathy. And reason.

She is doing less hitting and throwing when she’s angry. I think timeouts and ignoring her has really helped. Thank God too, because it’s the awesomiest thing when we’re in a public place and she starts hitting you.

Her ability to listen and follow directions is still up for debate. Some days she’s great. Other days? Not. At. All. Sometimes I feel like trying not to tell her what to do because I know she’ll just do the opposite of what I want.

And when we try to pick her up and make her do what we tell her to do — like don’t run away from me during Monkey’s school performance, don’t run away from me in the library, don’t run away from me down the hall —  she usually cycles her legs and flails her arms all around in an effort to get us to put her down.

Maybe I should just let go.

That “Okay we’re leaving now,” trick where you walk out the door and leave her? Yeah, that totally doesn’t work with her. She’s completely unphased.

Two weeks ago she didn’t want to leave the neighbor’s house so Husband, Monkey and I walked out the door and stood there watching her through the window as she continued to play. She didn’t even look around for us after we left. After a Christmas parade last weekend we started walking away from her on the sidewalk and she just turned around and walked the other way. And when we were leaving my cousin’s in-laws’ house (people Bean literally sees 2-3 times/year) we said, “Okay, we’re leaving now. Are you staying here?” And she said, “Uh huh,” and started unzipping her coat.

Little sh*t.

Monkey definitely seemed to listen more. And that leaving trick TOTALLY worked with her. Hysterical sobbing usually would ensue with Monkey. Monkey’s still shy and Bean generally is not.

Monkey also is more prone to emotional outbursts. She’s a more emotional person. So while we had more frequent, but shorter tantrums with Monkey, we have fewer, but longer ones with Bean. Not necessarily more terrible. Just different.

I think the first four months of Bean’s life were so peaceful and easy because God knew how terrified I was about having a Toddler Tornado and a newborn.

Guess we were in for a surprise. I can’t wait to see how these traits manifest themselves in future years.

I Love This Face

Runny nose and her crooked smile. Love it.

I just love this face. I am truly, madly, deeply (thank you Savage Garden) in love with this face. The love I feel for Bean is so intense and so deep and that makes me SO happy.

(Especially because I didn’t feel that instantaneous deep connection with her like I did with her older sister. When another blogger told me she felt the same way with her younger daughter, and pointed out that it was almost impossible to compare the love you have for someone you’ve only known for a few months versus someone you’ve had a chance to love for years, it made me feel so much better. She was totally right.)

Bean has an opinion about fashion.

She pushes away shirts and socks she doesn’t want to wear, and when I hold up pants she says, “No, mama. Jean.”

Whaaa!? What 21-month-old doesn’t want to wear an Elmo shirt and has a preference on what elastic pants and multi-colored socks they want to wear!?

Her hair is finally, FINALLY starting to grow longer. It’s definitely in an awkward stage, just barely peeking out from behind her ears, and when it gets pushed forward (instead of swept to the side) it covers her eyebrows and she looks like a crusty old man.

Are these not the tiniest and most adorable pigtails you've ever seen? She *insists* on having her hair done like her big sister.

When she wants to show me something that she knows I’ll find exciting or surprising she runs to me with this priceless look, eyes wide and mouth open like an “O” and then waits for my reaction. I’m guessing she’s modeling that after me. She also says “Ta da!” OMG. Cracks. Me. Up.

She seems to understand humorous things better than Monkey ever did. If she’s watching Sesame Street she’ll laugh at the funny parts. Monkey’s just starting to get that stuff now. Either Bean just gets humor better, or she’s learning from her older sister.

It’s so interesting to me to see how these two children are affected by birth order. For example, we purposefully spent time teaching Monkey her colors, the alphabet and how to count to 10. With Bean, I’m a little ashamed to admit that it’s kind of an afterthought. Yet, the other day I started counting with her and asked her if she could say “One,” and she immediately replied “Two!” So she knew it, but probably because she observed it and not because we purposely taught it to her. In some ways Bean seems “smarter” than Monkey was at this age, yet her language is not as developed. I think it’s because she spends a lot of time copying her sister and less time talking.

One of her most adorable phases as of late is that we’re seeing less and less of “the pout” and more and more of the “CHEESE” face.

Classic pout. Or stink face as we like to call it. Copyright McManigal Photography

As soon as the camera comes out she starts saying “CHEESE” over and over again, many times without even actually looking at the camera. After I took pictures of her yesterday she also set up her baby for a photo shoot, saying “Cheese, baby.”

CHEESE!

She was trying to make a cheese face here, but I think it turned into stinky cheese.

I can’t believe she’s almost two.

The Kid is Alright

This gallery contains 8 photos.

Bean’s surgery went just fine on Tuesday. Thank you all so much for your prayers, kind words and warm wishes. She was a happy little camper during the whole pre-op process. She was goofy and silly and running around. She only asked to eat once. The whole procedure was only supposed to take about 20 [...]

One More Time, With Feeling

So … I guess I never officially updated everyone regarding the outcome of Bean’s tear duct probe in April. It didn’t work. Gah.

The local ophthalmologist advised that we should see 100% improvement in three weeks. I was supposed to call him if things hadn’t completely resolved, at which point he would refer us to a pediatric ophthalmologist at Children’s Hospital. I think I waited like seven weeks before calling. I was really, really, really hoping that she would just magically wake up one day and it would have worked.

So what happened, right? Well, the local ophthalmologist, Dr. H., advised us the morning of the surgery that if the probe “got stuck,” meaning he got to a point where he couldn’t pass it all the way through, that he would stop. He didn’t feel comfortable trying to push it through. That sounded reasonable.

Well, that’s what happened. He got about 75% of the way through and stopped. Not being able to pass the probe completely through dropped the success rate down closer to 50%. Double gah.

In June we moved on to a consult with Dr. R, a pediatric ophthalmologist at Children’s Hospital. This man has a wonderful reputation for being extremely skilled. He and his associate are also in great demand, which is why I waited 45 minutes after my appointment time to see him, and then the appointment lasted about an hour longer than it was supposed to. They failed to tell me that they would have to dilate Bean’s eyes (AGAIN. THIS WAS THE THIRD TIME!), which takes 30 minutes to take effect. Oh for the love. And why they don’t have toys for the children to play with, in the waiting room at a Children’s Hospital clinic, is beyond me. It was a really long appointment.

Basically, I advised Dr. R that while I had seen some improvement, the issue was definitely not completely resolved. He thought it seemed reasonable to give it a couple more months to see if it would continue to improve on its own before scheduling the second surgery, which involves placing a silicone stent in her tear duct to keep it open. Dr. R said that sometimes as children age and grow, their face structure changes and these things can open up on their own.

So we waited three months. And nothing really changed.

I finally called in September to schedule the surgery when I realized that Bean had already met her deductible for the year and was only $1,300 away from meeting her out of pocket max, and there ain’t no way that surgery is costing less than that. Suddenly I was in a mad dash to get that sh*t taken care of before Dec. 31, 2011. Plus, guess who gets sick in the fall? EVERYONE. Especially kids. Especially kids who have older siblings who are now IN SCHOOL.

And they don’t let you have an elective surgery, with anesthesia, when you’re sick. Something about your lungs and making it harder to breathe and ending up with pneumonia and OMG don’t even mention anesthesia and fever in the same sentence. It’s grave. Very grave. It involves serious and grave things like dying.

So I call in September and Dr. R only does surgeries on Tuesdays which put us at …. oh … November 22. Seriously. Prime sick time, and leaving basically no time to reschedule before the end of the year if Bean happened to get sick. I told Dr. R’s LOVELY assistant L, that if there were any cancellations to PLEASE CALL US and that we would DROP EVERYTHING to make it work.

She called Tuesday. WHOO POO! Bean is scheduled for next week Tuesday, November 1.

After I accepted the new, earlier date on Tuesday, Bean woke up with a gunky nose and a slight cough on Wednesday. My instructions for surgery said to call to reschedule if they developed any sickness, including a cold.

I just looked up and said, “You’ve gotta be joking, right?”

But I called L and she said as long as she doesn’t have a junky cough (meaning in the lungs) or fever, it would be fine. “These anesthesiologists don’t even think twice about a cold.”

So Bean had her pre-op physical yesterday and her pediatrician concurred that she was perfectly fit for surgery, and that if anything came up I could bring her back in Monday for one last check.

So I am praying that Bean stays status quo (NO FEVERS) until Tuesday morning at 6:30 a.m. when we have to be at the surgery center, very far away from our house. It’s gonna be an early morning, folks.

Because, seriously, you know they already gave away that November 22 date, right? So if for some reason she does end up getting really sick we’re totally screwed in terms of rescheduling it yet this year. (You might be thinking that I’m overreacting a bit to the whole rescheduling because of being sick thing, but we did actually have to reschedule Bean’s initial tear duct probe because she got sick.)

Not to mention we had to practically move heaven and earth for Husband to get the day off of work to come with us, and Monkey has to spend the night at her Nana and Grandpa’s house on Monday night, and her Mimi (my mom) has to pick her up from school on the Wednesday after Bean’s surgery when I have to truck back down to the clinic for her post-op follow-up appointment. It’s these moments where I really feel for my friends who have to regularly move heaven and earth to accommodate frequent trips to Children’s.

In retrospect I wish I would have asked more questions of the local ophthalmologist, Dr. H. about the steps for Bean’s treatment.

I was under the impression that if a probe didn’t work and we would have to move to placing this stent, that we would also have to schedule a follow-up surgery to remove the stent. As it turns out, likely not. Dr. R said that he usually just pulls the stent out of the patient’s nose in his office at a follow-up appointment. So no second procedure (=anesthesia) required.

Also, what Dr. R usually does, and what he’s planning to do with Bean, is try the probe first. Unlike Dr. H, who is not a pediatric ophthalmologist, Dr. R does feel comfortable “pushing it,” and may be able to get the duct to open, and no stent would be required.

However, if he can’t, he’ll just go ahead and place the stent. So basically, Dr. R could have done what Dr. H did, except better, plus he’s capable of performing the second procedure, whereas Dr. H isn’t (at least with a kid). So if we had asked for the referral to Children’s right away, Bean would only have had to undergo anesthesia once, and we would have only had to pay for one surgery.

Ugh.

I really wish we would have just asked for the referral right away. Which is nothing against Dr. H — I really like him and he was super nice — I just think that if given the option of choosing a “pediatric” provider again, we’ll probably just do it because it likely will save us time and money in the long run.

Live and learn.

On the upside, I’m not nearly as apprehensive about the procedure this time based on how absolutely uneventful her initial procedure was. It was almost like a joke how fast it went. They took her back for surgery at 7:30 a .m. and within 10 minutes the doctor was coming out to tell us how it went. We were home by 8:20 a.m. No joke.

Overall, Bean handled it beautifully. Before they took her from us the nurse gave her Versed, which is like an amnesic drug that relaxes you and makes you a little loopy. The nurse said that she wouldn’t remember being separated from us (so no screaming and crying as they took her away, as I had envisioned). And when the anesthesiologist came to carry her (not wheel her away strapped down), she didn’t cry one bit. I guess she did wake up crying and wouldn’t let any of the (female) nurses hold her. She only allowed the (male) anesthesiologist to hold her, which all the nurses thought was wildly funny. By the time we got to her, she really wasn’t crying at all anymore. She was perfectly fine the rest of the day and since Husband had off of work we picked up Monkey, went out to lunch and went to the park!

I’m hoping that next Tuesday goes similarly.

So … that’s the scoop. I’m extremely grateful to anyone who might take a moment to send up a quick prayer that Bean stays healthy for her surgery, and that it goes well, and that it works!