Anticipation

You wanna know something? A few weeks ago, when the anxiety attack was looming, I had several thoughts on my mind.

One of the many being "Ansley will be 2 in September. People are already starting to ask. When do we add another?"

I'm not saying that that one thought brought on the issue, but I am saying that one thought has plagued me. For some time.

I LOVE being a mom. More than I thought I would. I love laughing with (and, honestly, at) Ansley. I love listening in on her conversations with her lovie and toy kitchen. And I know that I have enough love to add another arrow to the quiver.  That honestly used to be a fear of mine. I was concerned that I wouldn't love a second kid as much as the first. Crazy, no?

Anywho, I think I've got this parenting thing figured out, and I would go through labor and delivery again in a heartbeat. But it's getting to that point that makes me feel like I'm gonna pee my pants.

I didn't have a rough pregnancy, per se. But I did deliver 5 weeks early. And why? My doc was concerned that I was developing preeclampsia. Are you starting to see where this is headed?

Overall, I enjoyed being pregnant. I loved the baby kicks, and when I remember what that was like, I feel almost ready to throw caution to the wind. When I hold a little baby that snuggles into my neck, and offers one of those early smiles in my direction, I melt.

But, when I remember the fear of that morning when I saw the blood, and the following panic that ensued when my water broke, it's enough to make me want to stop right here, and practice the only 100% effective prevention of pregnancy (hello? I'm an abstinence educator. Remember?) When I remember having to scrub my arms and hands before going to sit by my baby's bedside, and the time that I couldn't hold her, and the first glimpse I had of her all covered in sensors and tubes and tape and an IV in her head, I'm ready to throw in the towel.

Because that was too much for me. And, maybe that's part of why I'm experiencing all this right now. Because I don't know that I really experienced it then. I had to be strong. It was expected. I was too tired to know what the correct emotions were. But now, now I'm experiencing all of them.

And I'm not sure I can go through that again. And I know I shouldn't feel like I have to. And, I don't. Not really. But there's still part of me that knows that people are anticipating the facebook post. Or the announcement at work, or the slight little bulge around my belt line (which, honestly, right now peeps its because I recently had a date with two very old and dear friends I hadn't seen in a very long while. Remember Ben and Jerry? Yeah, we hung out a few nights ago.).

And so, I wait. With the same anticipation. I wait, hoping that eventually, I'll know the right answer. And whatever that answer is, I'll trust that others will know that it is what is right. Even if they think I should have 10 kids.

At least, my primary care doc thinks I should have 10. My OB disagreed. He thought I should probably limit it to 6.

But right now, we're good. With one.

You're probably wondering what it's all about

These lectures on my innards (or, at least, my faith).

After cruising through college and really making my faith my own, it's time to be an adult. I have a child now that I'm supposed to train up in the way she should go, and hopefully she will never depart from the Lord.

When Ansley was teeny tiny (which, really, was only about a day. or two), we decided she would stay in the church service with us. She slept, didn't cry, and we felt (and still do) that our time of worship should be shared as a family.  As she got older, and would fuss, I took her out of the service, and we listened as I stood with her in the back. If she still fussed, we went out further.

Only recently, since about 10 months, did I take her to the nursery.

We get such little time together, that we like to spend what we do have together. So, Ansley gets her cup of Goldfish, a book, a few silent toys, and a chair of her own. And, normally, she's fine. But if she's laughing, or moving around a lot or just loud, I take her out.

I'm part of a young adult Bible study group (I feel that it is important to note here that by "Bible study," I mean watch a 15 minute DVD by Rob Bell and talk about it for about 10 minutes. Deluxe). Unfortunately, it meets during the week, and Paul is unable to attend, which leaves me to fly solo. Which, I'm fine with. I guess. I mean, I'm used to it by this point.

A few weeks ago, I get a text message from a dear friend.

"Speaking of getting under people's skin... I'm not sure how to say this but several people in group have been commenting on how hard it is to concentrate on the devotional dvd with Ansley between them and the tv. I really don't want to seem rude, but they elected me to see if you might mind scooting to the outside or the back of the room or maybe just trying to keep her still and quiet while the dvd is on. I know that's a difficult task with a one year old, but ansley is just too cute not to look at and we really need to be focusing on the message."

And this pissed me off. It wasn't even in a way that ruffled my Mommy-bird feathers.  First and foremost, aren't we adults? Could someone not say "Hey, Tiffany, I can't see around your crazy kid.  Do you mind moving her?" I would have taken that much better than the group talking about it for apparently a few weeks, nominating a good friend to say something about it, and sugarcoating it with "Ansley is just too cute not to look at..."

I know what you're thinking. But, honestly, I'm not the I-think-my-kid-is-perfect-and-never-in-the-way-and-if-she-ever-is-everyone-can-just-get-over-it-because-I-let-her-do-whatever-she-wants kinda momma. I never moved her because no one ever said anything. Period.

Secondly, as adults, shouldn't we be able to control our attention span for 15 minutes?? We apparently can't carry on a conversation based on the Bible, or even a book. Instead, we use the most attention grabbing form of media, and still can't keep from getting distracted. I've found myself in this place. Please don't get me wrong. But it's only been until recently that I said, "You know what, those little girls that do ballet in place while we sing during church? It's my problem that I'm distracted. Not that their parents are bad parents." And I control my attention.

And, there's more to the story. But I think it's best if I stop here. Because my fingers are kinda tired.

A bit harsh.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that my post about my bad day was a bit harsh, and did not paint a truthful picture of said family member.

So, for that, I appologize to all my readers. As a woman, I tend to let my emotion fuel me. Paul pointed out that no matter how hurt I was, it did not give me the right to harm another's feelings.

If you're reading, I am sorry. It was not a mature thing to do. I, obviously, am not much of a person.

Yesterday sucked.

Yesterday sucked stunk (I have to remember that I am still a lady).

It wasn't the typical run-of-the-mill bad day. Ansley was an absolute joy, and very easy to handle, going down easily and briefly waking about 3:30 for her paci.

I didn't lose my job, or bounce a check. I didn't get a ticket, or even stub my toe (though I did drop a very heavy coffee mug on my foot that got me dangerously close to saying a very not nice word).

I didn't burn dinner, or have a huge argument with the hubs. But I did cry my way home.

I normally don't use this blog for such negative purposes as complaining about people, but it's my blog, so get over it.

Growing up, I spent much of my free time with an older cousin. I pretty much lived at her house during the summers and school breaks. This was how it worked, up until about 7th grade.

We normally had a good time, but moments would come when my aunt would have to send me home, because we had obviously spent way too much time together and were getting on each other's last nerve. But, we had fun, and I have some great memories.

My first trip to Disney world and Sea World was with her. My first major-league baseball game was with her. My first trip to the Atlanta Zoo was with her.

I have some bad memories too. Like when I made her mad and she dumped a cherry slushi on my head at the Atlanta Zoo. Or when she showed me these awesome, HUGE, long cotton stickers that her mom used, and had me stick them all over the living room walls (ok, they were pads and that was actually pretty funny). Or when she told me my parents only got married because I was born.

She was an only child, and we were pretty much like sisters, even though she's about 6 years older than me.

I hit middle school, and started to turn into my own person. I would spend my summers with friends, and started to go out on my own. I started traveling, and seeing things for myself, all while she seemed to look for love in all the wrong places.

There was never really a huge falling out that I can trace our problems back to. No argument, no name calling, nothing. But somehow, I became the focus of her distaste.

She has always loved kids, and after much difficulty conceiving, she found herself pregnant with twins thanks to IVF. When I announced my first pregnancy, and discovered my little one was due just a couple weeks before hers, I was excited about having someone to share my experience with. No congratulations, only a cold shoulder.

And when I found out that I lost the baby, almost half-way through my pregnancy, no comforting words from someone who had experienced similar difficulties.

Maybe I'm just dense, but I didn't really think too much of it until last summer. Some of our family had ventured down from Indiana and over from Arizona. Despite being so far apart, we can have a great time when all together.

I was pregnant. Very pregnant. They were only in town for a few days, and we were planning on going out to dinner one evening. She called to ask how many reservations were needed, and once she realized that my mother and I were planning on attending, the plans were canceled and dropped, as far as I knew. I found out from my sister that everyone was getting together at my cousin's house.

Maybe I shouldn't have invited myself, but I did. And I showed up. And my aunt from Arizona was all about me being pregnant, talking about babies and feeling over-active Ansley playing soccer with my organs.

Several things happened that day. She would not be in the same room with me. And when she was griping that no one would go pick up the pizzas, leaving her to do it, she did not even acknowledge my multiple offers to go pick up the pizza. So, I left. I took my sister, brother-in-law and brother and left.

Fast forward to last night. Same family is in visiting. We are all enjoying our evening at my grandparents, spending time with cousins and second cousins.

I'm not sure what happened after that. It involved her not even looking at me, and going from room to room to make sure she wasn't near me, ignoring anyone who played with my kiddo.
And, so I left. And I cried. All the way home.

And it kills me. Because as much as I want to shrug it off and simply say "Oh well, her loss," I know it isn't. It's my loss too. And it's Ansley's loss.

My parents have always told me it's a jealousy issue. Which I find ironic since she grew up getting everything she asked for, while I enjoyed her hand-me-downs and toys from Goodwill. It's also been described as sibling rivalry, but I've never experienced anything like that with my sisters. We fought like sisters do growing up, but we are all extremely close now, and we even say "I love you."

I've bent over backwards to try to make it better. And sometimes it seems like it is, but I know it isn't. And it hurts me. Because I can see Paul's family get together, and all the cousins gather round, and share their funny stories. And laugh together for hours. And that doesn't happen with me or any of my cousins.

If you made it to the end, good for you. I left a ton out, but didn't feel I wanted to completely air out my dirty laundry. And I thought about not even writing this, since it is a public blog, and my cousin could find her way here. But, I'm ok with that. Because from everything I've seen, since it has to do with me, she'll steer clear.

The grass is always greener

I am a working mommy. And I love my job. And I also love my kid, in a completely different way. I don't feel like I'm a bad parent because our lifestyle requires two full-time jobs. I've never felt that by working I am not providing for the personal needs of Ansley.

But, sometimes, it sucks. Sometimes, I think it would be so much easier if I just stayed at home. And, sometimes, I even think that SAHMs have it easier than working moms.

Yes, I said it. Before you fill up the comment section, hear me out.

This is an age-old debate, one that I've participated in before. And, I'm not just stealing the topic because I have nothing better to write about. The past few weeks, the difficulty of our position has really come to light.

Normally, the hubs works second shift. Since I work first shift, it leaves about a three hour span- at most- for Ansley to be at the sitters. And, typically, that's only 3 days a week.

Recently, however, a shift change has put us needing a sitter for about 5 hours a day, 5 days a week. And it isn't fun.

Our sitter is great. She has two small children of her own, and she's wonderful. But we aren't able to pay as much as even a 13 year old would expect to make babysitting. And she says she doesn't mind, but Ansley can be a lot of work. She's high maintenance, sometimes. Other times, she's so easy, but she's unpredictable.

And, then there's the problem of sickness. Just like any daycare, we battle the sickness that is present at the sitter's. Normally, I try to keep Ansley home if she's sick, or if the sitter's girls are sick. But that is a whole other problem because then we have to result to a back-up sitter.

Which normally means I am texting or calling people nonstop trying to locate a sitter. And, sometimes that doesn't work. Which means Paul has to take off, or I end up taking off. And, sometimes, I end up bringing Ansley to work with me.

And, that is fun, most of the time. But forget getting anything accomplished. She is sitting up now, so she's plays a lot better on her own, but this kid is already dependent on technology. If there is a cell phone nearby, she has to have it. If a computer keyboard in clicking anywhere close to her, she wants to be pounding on the keys. Which means, on days I bring her to work, I get very little accomplished because she is always pounding on the keys. Cute, until a project you're working on ends up getting deleted.

And then, I have to deal with the fact that Ans is starting to get a little personality, and is starting to show likes and dislikes. All in all, it is a neat thing to watch, until I pick her up from the sitter's and hold out my arms and she decides she doesn't want to come to me. Yeah, that hurt. Big time.

My work day isn't finished when I get off. I don't get to nap while she's napping, and my house has recently been named a local disaster area. I know SAHMs are busy, and many have more than one kid at home, and some even opt for homeschooling, which I know doesn't make things any easier. But I have two full time jobs. Especially with Paul working in the evenings. And once the baby is in bed, that's finally my time to eat dinner and try to clean up the house, all while doing laundry and trying to get stuff together for the next day.

I do know that I am extremely lucky. I know that some working moms don't have any other option. I know that some SAHMs have very busy and trying schedules. And I know that much of this is a result of decisions I've had a part in making, but it still stinks.

So, working moms, know you are not alone is your frustration. And SAHMs, know that you are respected, because very few are able to juggle and balance as well as you manage too. And those of you that are trying to decide which is the best option for you, just wait to have kids until you win the lottery. Then you can stay at home, and pay other people to take care of your house while you sit and play with the kid all day. And eat peanut butter cups.

Now, that's the life.