I Must Be Crazy

If we wait for the moment when everything, absolutely everything, is ready, we shall never begin.- Ivan Turgenev, novelist, poet, playwright

This quote spoke to me on a number of levels. As a writer, it reminded me that I need to just sit down and write, or I'll never get my stories out of my head. As a mother, it reminded that life isn't going to wait, it's going to carry on with or without me. 

Yesterday, I was cleaning out Danger Baby's closet, packing up the outfits she has finally out-grown, and getting some of the warmer clothes moved to the front to prepare for the shifting seasons. As I sifted through the tiny dresses hanging in her closet, I came across the one her sister wore home from the hospital more than seven years ago. 

A white and pink sleeveless dress with little tiny pink rosebuds embroidered on it. I remembered waiting in my hospital room for my husband to return from the store with something for our little girl to wear. His mother was concerned that I was letting him chose our daughter's outfit, but I had complete faith in him. He didn't let me down. The Angry Midget had her hospital mugshot taken in that dress, and wore it several times once she was home as well. Fast forward a few years, and I had another little girl to share that dress with. Danger Baby wore it a handful of times and looked just as cute in it as her sister did all those years before.

When I packed that dress up the first time, I was a little sad because my baby was growing up, but I carefully put it away with the intention of getting it back out in a few years for my next baby. When I folded up that little pink and white dress yesterday, it was with a much heavier heart. I didn't pack it away with the intention of seeing it again in a few years, I packed it away in a special box for long term storage. 

When The Angry Midget was little, every milestone was greeted with joy and excitement. I was a little sad that my baby was growing up, but I knew that there would be more babies, and that I would get to enjoy the stages that were being left behind all over again with another little person some day. After six years had passed, and we were still a one child home, I brought myself to terms with the fact that that was all the more we were ever going to have. Relief was among my primary emotions at this realization. The birth didn't go well, and I was, quite frankly, not looking forward to ever going through that again. 

I had a hard time with Midget's first day of Kindergarten. She really wasn't my baby any more. I had a pang of regret that I hadn't focused more on her milestones, and really enjoyed and reveled in them. I regretted my "First of Many" attitude. Even if we would have had more, each child is different.

Then in March of last year everything was turned on its ear. I was pregnant again, and I was less than thrilled about it. Eventually, I came around and now I have not one but two beautiful little girls that I talk about all the time. That pregnancy was the best worst thing that ever could have happened. It brought my husband and I closer together. It strengthened our relationship. It helped him realize that I needed him to step up his parenting game and help me out a lot more. 

The birth of my second daughter also helped heal some of my own wounds from my first daughter's birth. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't exactly how I wanted it to be, but it was still wonderful and I'm glad I had the chance to try again. I'm also very sure that I don't ever want to go through that process again. So sure in fact, that R and I have been discussing permanent pregnancy prevention (I'm of the opinion that since I've had two surgeries, it's his turn, but he's not convinced yet.) 


At lest I thought I was sure.

Now that Danger Baby is growing up, and reaching all her milestones, I'm trying to just live in the moment and enjoy every stage as she masters it. Unlike last time, I know this time that she is our last baby, and I'm really sad about that. So sad, that I'm actually considering another baby. 


Yes, I think I may in fact be crazy. I'm considering another baby. But if we have another, I would want to wait about four more years. This poses a lot of problems. My age as well as R's age primarily. Four years from now I will be 37 and R will be 49. That's pretty old to be having a baby. Of course, it's probably just hormones making me think I want another baby, and who knows how I'll feel next month or next year, much less four years from now. 


For now, I'll just try to enjoy every moment with Danger Baby and The Angry Midget, because as I've already learned, you never really know where life is going to take you, or what it's going to give you along the way.

The Man, The Angry Midget and Danger Baby

Priorities

It has been several weeks since I’ve posted on either of my blogs. A lot has gone down in that time. Easter weekend, my little brother was in a car accident. He suffered a traumatic brain injury that resulted in his death, but his passing was not in vain. His wish was organ donation, and through his gift, others will have a better life.

I’ve had a hard time dealing with this, and have never wished more to be closer to my family. You see, they live in Pennsylvania, and I'm way out here in Iowa. That’s three states. Nineteen hours by train. Twelve hours by car. Five hours by plane. An eternity if someone is hurt.

I haven’t posted about this for “so many reasons”.
Jeopardy is on.
I'm too busy.
It’s too late at night.
Letterman’s on.
Craig has Eric Idle tonight.
Makaya has her dance recital tonight.
Mum’s in town, have to spend as much time with her as I can.

All the while, I was unwilling to face the main reason.
If I don’t talk about it, it never happened. I can push it to the back of my mind, and pretend it was a dream.

Denial.

Pure as fresh snow.

There have been dreams. Nightmares really.

Doubts. Did we make the right choice? Did we act too soon? Should we have given him more time?

Unanswered questions. Did he know what was going on? Did he know we were there? Did he know how much we all love him? Did he suffer at all? Was he scared? Who will care for him? Is there a heaven or hell? Why did it happen to him? Was there someone else involved? Why now when he was so young? What do we say to his girls? Did he know I love him? Did he know how sorry I am?

There are ok days where I only think of him in passing and the loss doesn’t fully register.

There are not so good days where I cry without realizing it, and have to answer my daughter’s concerned questions with vague assurances that “No, Mama’s not hurt sweetie.”

Then there are the bad days. The days where I have to hold my self together, wrapping my arms around my body. I have to squeeze tightly because I'm afraid I will shatter into a thousand tiny shards if I don’t. The days where I sit in bed and rock myself in an effort to soothe an injury that refuses to heal. The days where my heart quite literally aches, each beat a painful reminder of the one that is now forever still.


Those are the reasons why I haven’t posted.