On Multiplying

I know what we would need to do to have a second baby.

We would need to be able to live off one income. We would need to be able to pay for five days a week, full-time child care with a lot of babysitters on the side. We would need to be prepared for some hospital stays. We would need to be prepared to live as a one parent family who nursed a sick relative 24 hours a day.

And that's just the practical logistics.

The emotional toll is high as well. For me it's accepting the possibility of 9 months of disabling illness. Losing my job again. Having every scent in the known world be nauseating. Ruining what's left to ruin of my teeth. For JTS it would be being a full-time caregiver again. For Lil' D it would be not having a mama for 9 months. Or at least not a mom she recognizes.

As more and more of my friends move on to welcoming their second child and as more of Lil' D's school class gets new siblings I'm starting to feel (for the first time in my life)

left behind.

I never cared when everyone started getting married and I didn't. I never cared when people were having children and I wasn't. But this second child thing. Man, it eats at me every day.

There is a 65 - 80% chance that if you've had hyperemesis before you will have it again. But the thing with me is no one knows if I had hyperemesis in the first place or if my no good, horrible, very bad pregnancy was all a side-effect of my uterus making a slow migration to the other side of my body or some kind of horror show combination. And no one knows if any of it would happen again.

"Probably not."

But.

"No promises."

Nothing in the wide world makes me sadder than thinking about when I was pregnant. My nightmares still involve a positive pregnancy test and I can get to PTSD levels of anxiety thinking of being trapped in that sick, very pained body again. I missed out on the happy parts of pregnancy and that makes me sad. I never got to have a baby shower and that makes me sad. I never got to "enjoy" pregnancy or plan for a nursery and that makes me sad. I never got to ruminate on the baby with love and that makes me sad. My only thought ever was "Please God let this end." And on some dark dark days I didn't really care how that end came about. The only thing that kept me going was my weekly ultrasound and that there was an end date. On a hospital calendar.

And at 8:46 am on week 38 your suffering shall end. Amen.

So probably everyone out there is now wondering why in all the hells would I even be thinking about risking this again?

The first, and most obviously wonderful reason is: babies are awesome. If I had known how addictive they were I would have skipped the whole elaborate cake and cafe lighting wedding and just gone straight to the baby.

How can you resist this drooler?

After you get through that o-so-tough first 3 months it's all pretty fun. The smiles, the giggles, the utter silliness. Sure, everyone loves to moan about the bad nights, the crying in restaurants, etc. etc. But when a little pint-sized goofball tries to make a "joke" (in this case, imagine Lil' D accidentally running into a pole, not hard, but then getting a sly look across her face, falling flat on her back with her legs in the air and then waiting with a smile to see if anyone laughs) it's just SO. WORTH. IT.

The second answer is more complicated and has, honestly, more to do with guilt than my true feelings. I will feel guilty if Lil' D didn't have a sibling. I will feel guilty on those Sunday afternoons when she is bored and could be playing with a sibling. I will feel guilty she won't ever have anyone to discuss how nuts her mom is over a latte. Well, anyone who really knows.

And then the mother of all guilt. There is an unspoken code I feel that you don't really count as a mom until you have two. Until you're outnumbered. That somehow you have it easy with this fake, only* child and you haven't yet joined the ranks of mom.

But I waffle.

On difficult days one seems like plenty. On the super happy days I don't know how I could ever love another. When all is well I would never want to diminish the amazing amount of attention I can lavish on Lil' D. She soaks it up. And in all my obsessive research over one child families, only children do really well with all that undivided attention and love.

And of course the very traumatized soul of my pregnant self never wants to go through those 9 months again. And even pretending the next time will be different doesn't make it so.

I don't know how it will all shake out. But I'm feeling really behind. I'm feeling disappointed in my body. I'm feeling disappointed in myself for not having an answer. With every new baby that enters my world I feel a disturbing combination of happiness for my friend and wrenching jealousy.

But I have figured out that's the reason why I've been wanting to get a whole new wardrobe or redo my living room. To take my mind off the fact that I just want something I can't make happen. I want to be a normal woman, with a normal pregnancy. Something to celebrate, not something to dread.


*Side note: What a terrible term ONLY child is. On so many levels.

Mah Nurves

Living on the edge.

I'm looking for camaraderie.

I'm looking for validation that I'm not insane because I surely can't be the only mom out their that finds the crying of their child akin to someone pricking the most tender nerve in their psyche with a sewing needle? Over and over and over again.

Here at the Drawler house we are in the deep ravine of a Wonder Week. Never heard of them? Have a baby child acting out of sorts? Get thee to a library and read all about it. Crazily accurate mood forecasts.

Hello thundercloud of my nightmares.

Basically a Wonder Week is a moment of transformation. Your child makes a leap in intellectual and emotional understanding. It makes sense, then, that this is a scary and confusing time for them. Hearing "No, darling angel face, don't touch the wasp" during a Wonder Week is likely to lead your toddler to a whole morning of tears and tantrums. A video not playing fast enough or a cheerio slightly out of place in the bowl does the same. For Lil' D that means alternating between throwing herself on the floor and kicking or putting her head down on the ground like a yoga pose.

And the tears.
So many tears.

The only saving grace of a Wonder Week is that she is oddly sweeter and more cuddly. She wants to be in my lap or be carried everywhere. Until she doesn't.

A scene from our day:

Scene: Playroom - mom on floor, Lil' D in lap.

1) Wrestles and cries out of my lap like she was forced to be there in the first place.
2) Falls dramatically on floor, rolls on her back, kicks her legs.
3) Tears and putting her head on the ground for good measure. Flinging herself on her chair or dramatically pushing a toy away is also acceptable.
4) "Want to sit in my lap?" I say as she reaches out to me, tears in her eyes.
5) Comes back to lap and gets a hug.
6) Repeat for the next hour.

It's 11:30am here and I'm ready to go to bed. Naps are erratic, lunch is on the floor, and usually loved toys are thrown.

The dulcet tones of screaming do not phase JTS one moment. He sings or talks back with a silly story or ignores them altogether. They strike my mom heart with a bleating cry to DO SOMETHING. DO ANYTHING to make the crying stop. Snacks! Water! Naps! Cuddle! Weird dancing! Old MacDonald Moo Moo's! Anything!

The dog feels me. He is always trying to get out the door.

I try my Janet Lansbury calm sportscasting. I try my Love and Logic "So sad! Guess you need some crib time." In my not great parenting moments (i.e. trying to parallel park whilst reading google maps in a not safe area because DAMMIT I'm trying to take you to an art fair in the 95 degree heat so you might smile) I've yelled sternly. I always regret that one.

"You are right mom! Shaved ice is delicious," she meant with
the screaming that took place directly after.

But I know that damn Wonder Week app is right. Nothing to do but deep breaths and taking one day at a time. According to my app only a mere 29 days until my happy babe comes back to me.

FPU Night 2 - Relationships and Money

Your intrepid reporter, Ms. Drawler, has returned from night #2 of FPU.

I wasn't supposed to be going to this class. I was supposed to be in Virginia enjoying family, friends, and mountain views but alas Lil' D is sick and we had to cancel.

While I'm not happy Lil' D is sick I was glad to attend an important night. This class wasn't so much about the HOWS of saving money or getting out of debt faster or how to best plan for retirement. It was more about getting on the same page with your partner to achieve serious maximum life results.

It seems so simple (duh! of course you talk to your spouse about money!) but I've found that taking the time to have a real conversation about something in a marriage is more difficult than when you were dating. When you are just boyfriend/girlfriend or even engaged everything is such a light and dreamy discussion. Of course we want to TRAVEL! Have a nice HOUSE! 3 KIDS! 2 CARS! 7 DOGS and a PIG (ok, that might just be me)!

Smiley faces all around.

I remember driving around Crozet, Virginia with JTS, the autumnal breeze blowing through the windows, beautiful yellow leaves fluttering to the ground, holding hands and throwing out dreams like thought bubbles. We were smiling in our sweaters. We were practically out of a catalog or a Sofia Coppola movie with some amazing light filters.

Oh Virginny, I miss you.

Five years later I realize that to bring those thought bubbles down to earth our conversation has to be more down to earth too. Around a table. With a thought-out plan and a budget. Not as romantic (and we certainly don't look romantic this week with a sick baby and bags under our eyes) but exciting to me in that we are actually taking concrete steps to make our airy, romantic dreams come true.

I can't wait for next week when we get to the nitty gritty of budget planning. As Dave pointed out this week the number #1 reason for divorce is disagreement around money and a well-discussed budget takes away ALL of the arguments when everyone agrees and sticks to the plan.

We also discussed how men and women think differently about money (generalizations, sure, but whatever). Money represents self-esteem to men and security to women. I would agree with that on my end. And I had never thought about it that way. Looking at money as security really puts your purchases into perspective. Will this stuff make me feel secure? Or will cash in the bank make me feel secure? Good to remember when I want to dress Lil' D up as a baby fashionista.

As for religion:
I kept my mouth shut when the group discussed tithing. Because my giving is currently less than 10% of my income. And it goes to the local NPR station.

P.S.
Speaking of fashionistas, you should check out KarlaReed on Instagram. Seriously inspirational thrift and vintage store outfits. I've let that side of my personality, how shall we say, slide a bit since those lovely fall days 5 years ago and she makes me want to kick it back up a notch.

Here's to working moms

As I type this it's 7:30 am.

Lil' D is back in bed.

Woke up at 6:30 with poop in her britches (what a terrible way to greet the day!) and she wasn't a very happy camper. We know something is terribly wrong around here if a strawberry gets flung to the floor instead of making it directly into her mouth.

Why is this situation a problem?

Because instead of sleeping/crying in her crib we are supposed to be getting ready for school.

I'm lucky because I work from home so I can allow for this and take her in late. But man, my heart feels for those moms that don't have such luxury. Taking a crying, miserable toddler to day care is what I now know to be the worst feeling in the world.

On the one hand you have forked over big bucks to this institution to take care of your child. On the other you, the momma, know just what she needs to make the day better for her.  This terrible feeling could only be compounded by having a boss that you must answer to.

Heart. Strings. Pulled.

Here's to my G&T at the end of the day. Wish I could treat her teachers to one too. It's gonna be a long one for er'ybody!

A story in pictures.

Hi all-

Forgive my extended absence. Let me tell you all about it.

I was busy celebrating this:

And then this:

Easter Basket posed no challenge

Dada and daughter

Who's this guy?

And then two weeks later a different bonnet:

Birdie and the Godparents

Great grandmother enjoyed the festivities.

Serious business around here.

And we stopped by the ole Strawberry Patch:

But momma should have brought a professional photographer

And we spent lots of time here:

Splash Pad!

Most days it felt like I was:

Sisyphys (1548–49) by Titian

And Lil' D multiplies like this:

Needs! First year molars! Tantrums! Needs!

And I'm all:

You aren't even two yet!?

But now.

Breathe.

Lil' D has started school:

First day. Tears all around!

And besides the extreme guilt I feel dropping her off all of the three days she attends(which she maximizes by dropping to the floor and then crying so so loudly with her arms outstretched in my direction). I feel like I'm finally going to get some things done around here.

Hellllooooooooooo this:

#463030957 / gettyimages.com