The great 'Who Needs It' - Challenge #1

(The WHYs are coming. I promise. I have been thinking about it a lot).

Challenge #1 = Fessing up. Below is my version.

I didn't really know SRB. She was Bunny's friend and left great comments on her blog, but I had not followed her before. But then Bunny posted about the Who Needs It challenge, which meant I clicked over to SRB's site and you can imagine what came next. LOVE. Maybe hyperbolic, but STRONG LIKING.

SRB is inviting us, ever lovingly and peacefully, to join her on a de-cluttering adventure. She wants to start with her house (and ours) and move on to her heart. A woman after mine, I say.

It turns out, I have major issues with clutter. Major. And my husband is worse than me. So, we make a fine pair. The only thing is that he isn't bothered at all by his mountains of disorganized shit, and  I AM (by mine and his). And I have been acutely aware of how much the stuff weighs on my psyche. It's like a glom-filled alien that is sucking the life right out of me (maybe more like a zombie eating my brain). I spend so much time noticing the clutter and zero time doing anything about it.*

So this is my entry, just under the wire, of Challenge #1.

There are several areas of my home that are cluttered. My home is more clutter than harmony. I think I could create the world's most boring blog post if I tried to list everything here. I'll start small, with the two shelves flanking the window in the dining room.

Right side

What you see here: plants, cookbooks, plastic bag full of baby proofing stuff, a hot plate thingy, a soda stream (vital to our well being), a bunch of meds for Chicken that we didn't use hiding behind the soda stream, 2 shelves full of Gummy's formula/eating apparel (bottles, caps, nipples, formula, prunes!, spoons, containers, utensils), random candleholders, cypress oil used at Christmas to make it smell Christmassy, the candle-holder-given-to-me-by-Northern-Lad's-parents-a-million-years-ago-but-oh-my- do-I-love-it. Top shelf has vases, a few candles and a picture.

Left side

On this side, you see: world's messiest basket of teas, crappy coffee maker because our good one broke and mommy and daddy cannot get through the day without brown formula, Music Together Flute CD case, radio/CD player, pot overfilled with extension cords and rechargeable batteries, hot plate holders, wooden mortar and pestle, small bowls/tea cups, 2 extremely worn down teapots, one sauce boat (for people who mostly eat vegetarian at home. Don't ask why I put it on the wedding registry). On the 3rd shelf there is a wine jug that I use to make smoothies, a crystal decanter, 7 of the 12 riedel wine glasses we got at our wedding. On the 4th shelf lives a pottery bean pot given to us by the in-laws, a couple of beer steins that are used twice a year, 2 champagne flutes that my husband got at his high school graduation (1992) that he insists on keeping, 2 small wine glasses given to us by VIA Rail on the occasion of travelling by train for our honeymoon. Top most shelf has a ceramic flower vase and a great pottery salad bowl given to us by Oat's parents.

Phew! Even my description of the stuff is cluttered.

And then, there is this

Our kitchen is a great one if you happen to be a single person who hates to cook. Our family has two adults who like to cook, a cat who likes to hang out in the kitchen and a Gummy Girl who is just on the brink of being on the move. We would love to have a pantry big enough to put our food (we have endless jars of legumes and grains), but we don't. Hence, what you see above. Just 45 minutes ago, Gummy was bum scootching her way over there to inspect those different flours we have stored in bins. It is about to get messy and dangerous. I want all those things to either disappear or be stored on those shelves seen above. And somehow not look cluttered? Right.

To review:

1) The clutter is like a zombie - endangering my life
2) The clutter is tempting Gummy - endangering my child's life

So there's my motivation.

Other areas, in no particular order:

• Kitchen cupboards - all of them
• living room coffee tables
• front hall external closet and hooks
• bathroom shelf 
• bedroom closet

  

  Bunny, if you want to reconsider our
  friendship, I will understand.

• upstairs hallway linnen closet (the door barely closes) 
• The Study (Oh, the study - it is one inchoate mass of stuff in there, which is why I avoid it like the plague and only dump things I don't know where else to put. To prove this, here's my desk

• 

• And finally, the basement. The basement didn't get to be photographed because it is too ugly down there. If all the other areas/rooms in the house are chapters in a book, the basement is the Encyclopedia Britannica. 

So, I've fessed up. It's hard. I feel like you will read this post and like me less. My house is messy. I don't have my shit together (or my shit has me by the collar). But at least I'm real. I'll give challenge #2 a go in a few days. But I wanted to start here.  

*Because it's all Gummy all the time

Day care days - part 2

(If you want to read part one, go here. )

So, I'm going back to work in 5 weeks.

(I'm just going to let that hang for a second).

Yes, a year of maternity goes by very fast. I can't even begin to imagine 12 weeks of maternity leave. I feel like a cliché, but all that I've heard about how fast it goes is true. I blinked and here we are. But of course, it's paradoxical. There were moments, days, weeks that went at a snail's pace. Like when she had the flu and then had a cold and we couldn't go out for 2 weeks. That was slow. Or when Mr. A was working such long hours in the summer and I had to solo parent for big chunks of time.

I've been in touch with my boss and it appears that I've lucked out in the re-structuring of our department. This isn't true for every psychologist, but it is for me and I am grateful. I am returning to meaningful, challenging work. I am looking forward to returning to work. I've missed it and it feels time to go back already. I am so much better at being a psychologist than at keeping house. I actually suck at it. My house looks like hell and I am only a mediocre cook. I think I am a decent caregiver to my darling girl, but I've sucked at being a wife pretty much from the get go, and having a baby only worsened it. I feel like this sounds awful, but I am looking forward to doing something I'm good at again. My self-esteem is at basement levels these days, and it could use the boost.

This is a two sided coin, of course. I am NOT looking forward to the transition. I know that it will be the hardest part: going from taking care of Gummy one day to driving to work and returning when she's going to bed the other. I will miss her beyond what I can anticipate. I will cry when she takes her first step and I'm not there to see it. It will tug at my heart in 10 000 ways. But just like every difficult thing I've had to do in my life, I will just keep in mind the WHY*.

I like the transition plan we've got. In March, Gummy will be home with Mr. A on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. I asked for every Friday off in March so that I could be with her on weekday per week. In April, she will go to day care 3 days per week, and be with Mr. A on 2 days. I like that I can go back to work for a month without worrying about her adjusting to day care. And I like that she will be home with her dad for at least the next 9 to 12 months. She is a BIG fan of her dad's. (I am too, as it were).

I still don't really like the day care where she'll be going, but I know that it is 'good enough'. I've also just heard this week that the French day care will be accepting younger kids as of September, which means Gummy can go sooner than 2.5 years.

But before this big transition, I plan on enjoying those last 5 weeks. We are still signed up for music classes and swimming, and loving it! And we have one last family vacation before I go back to work. I'm really looking forward to our winter trip up north, which will involve snowshoeing, skiing and teaching Gummy how to make snow angels.


*I started writing what the WHYs were, and realized it had the potential to piss off a bunch of readers and I'm not in the mood to piss people off today, so maybe I'll write about the WHYs another day. 

baby showers = still hard

During those difficult years "in the trenches", I declared a moratorium on baby showers. I made no exceptions. I tried to show women I loved who were having babies that I loved them and supported their entry into motherhood in other ways. But going to a baby shower, however much I loved the guest of honour, cost too much emotionally. I was already near emotional bankruptcy, and just couldn't afford it. 

This approach is not shared by all infertile women, and I respect people's individual choices. I think we each go through different experiences and figure out what we can do and what we can't. For me, a gathering of women celebrating the one big dream I wasn't sure I would ever get to fulfill was too much. That was an automatic no for me, so much so that I stopped being invited altogether. 

Then I got pregnant (again) (and this time for a longer time and it resulted in a living baby). 

My dear, lovely, generous friends wanted to have a gathering for me. I politely declined. I could not bring myself to go through with that, for many reasons. I felt guilty for not having shown up at so many baby showers, and not having supported many of my friends through early motherhood. I felt like at this point, I had grown to HATE baby showers and so why the fuck would I want one. I wondered if I needed to believe I was going to have a baby to have a baby shower, and unsure of the answer, I had to  forgo the experience. 

I don't feel like I missed out. 

(but tell me if you think I did)

I went to a baby shower this afternoon. My first one in....shit....I can't even remember. It was a lovely gathering of women for Lianne, this great woman I know a little bit and like very much. I wanted to be there especially because she has struggled psychologically with some aspects of expecting a child and turned to me for support. In turn, I wanted to show my support by joining in the gathering. 

It started early last week. I found myself complaining, complaining, and complaining some more to Mr. A about ALL the crap I had to do for this stupid shower. Bring cheeses and crackers. Bring a photo. Bring a bead. Bring a fucking affirmation. 'This is too much', I thought. 'The excessive meaningfulness is going to make me vomit' (and I did vomit, but that was because Gummy gave me the stomach flu by vomiting on me twice). 

But last night, as I was flossing, I thought "Augusta, what the hell is up with all your complaining about this shower?" I had to admit to myself a few things: 

1) I still felt anxious about going to baby showers.

2) I had nothing to offer a woman about to give birth on the topic of birth. 

3) I was scared for Lianne. In my mind giving birth is still scarier than meeting the Yeti. 

It was good to have an honest conversation with myself about these things. I could check my fears at the door today, and try to make this experience about Lianne and not about me. 

I went to the shower and it was mostly uncomfortable. The excessive meaningfulness did make me want to vomit at times, but I could also find it meaningful and sweet. Of course, when it came time to read affirmations, people had all these lovely wishes for the mother-to-be. I, on the other hand, pulled out a quote from psychoanalyst D. W. Winnicott* and sobered the mood right up. 

There was a game of trying to guess whose were the baby pictures on a board, and people talked about wether their babies looked more like them or their husbands. Always an interesting one for a DE mom. And then I tried talking to a friend I hadn't seen since April and she wouldn't even look at me. There were other parts too, good parts, but I left feeling like I just had been at a gathering of ornithologists and all I know about birds is that blue jays are blue.  

I'm not ready to reinstate the moratorium, but I would say these darn baby showers are still hard. I've got a few more coming up, and I probably need to spend less time complaining to Mr. A and a little more time shoring up the necessary inner resources to attend. 

 

*"I would rather be the child of a mother who has all the inner conflicts of the human being than be mothered by someone for whom al l is easy and smooth, who knows all the answers, and is a stranger to doubt."

Disposed

"You can get rid of those needles, Mom. I'm here now!"

Merry Christmas

I am a known disliker of Christmas. It usually involves going back to my home province, either driving on the dreaded highway 401 at the worst time of year or taking a couple of trains down the Windsor - Quebec City corridor. Neither options enchant me (although option 2 absolutely delights Mr. A). Then there is invariably my mother's craziness to contend with. In large fucking doses. I can usually manage two days, but inevitably, we visit for about five days, which is two and a half times my limit.

Last year, I made it clear to my mother that we would not be travelling with a baby. It did mean missing Christmas with her family, and not seeing my dad at all, but the thought of travelling with Gummy Girl at this point makes me want to insert sharp lead pencils into my eyeballs.

Hence, we are home.

And so far, it is a brilliant Christmas.

We declared the 24th and 25th days to ourselves, and so there is just the three of us. I have dreamed of this for years. A peaceful, simple Christmas at home with my husband and my baby.

We decorated the potted Norfolk pine and made pain au chocolat for breakfast. Later, I will make boeuf bourgignon. We might go for a walk in the snow. We'll listen to carols. We'll finish the Globe and Mail crossword. It's perfect.

I decided it would be good to attend the early church service at Mr. A's church last night (despite it overlapping slightly with Gummy's bedtime), and I was surprisingly choked up with emotion during the service. I thought about the grace symbolized in the birth of this special child, Jesus to all, and Gummy to me. How blessed we are.

I also feel like I am holding in my heart a very special place for those spending the Holidays with infertility as your constant, unwanted companion. I think of my friend Veronica, and of dear Suzanne who has just received very tough news. And Conceptionally Challenged, especially, who grieves for her beautiful daughters. May the years ahead bring you babies and happy Christmas morning.

Merry Christmas to all of you. May there be many moments of peace and joy for you during this time.

the fertility clinic waiting room: part 2

(see part 1 here)

I went back to the Fertility clinic a few weeks ago on December 5. The last time I was there was for u/s # 2 in August 2012. Earlier this fall, I called my RE's secretary to book an appointment. I needed to ask him some questions about my hormone replacement therapy and also, get his take on the birth and what he thought would happen with a potential second pregnancy.

I gave a lot of thought to the visit beforehand, starting with the waiting room. Was I even allowed to bring my baby to a fertility clinic waiting room? I asked the secretary, I called the nurse, and by all accounts, it was a-ok to bring Gummy Girl. But you know me by now. I still felt awful for the women/couples who would be waiting there and have to be subjected to the sight of my living, wiggling, super-cute reminder of their childlessness.

I also thought about how I would probably loose my shit and start bawling. Did I ever tell you about the phone call I made to our dear fertility nurse a month after Gummy was born? I got her voice mail and just said that I had given birth to a baby girl and....wah, wah, wah (I was unable to finish my message and just hung up, hoping she would understand). I found a parallel to the advice of not texting/phoning anyone while inebriated: Don't call your beloved fertility nurse within 6 weeks of giving birth. But now Gummy was 9 months, so more time had passed. Except that I would see my nurse and my doctor in person. So, I had real reasons to be concerned about lots of public crying on my part.

The three of us trekked down to Fertility Treatment Town on what happened to be a beautiful, warm late fall day. Gummy looked awfully cute in her green corduroy jumper with a mouse on the pocket. My heart was filled with pride and joy: I was taking MY daughter to meet the people who helped usher her into existence.

The fertility clinic where we've been treated used to be located at another hospital in FTT, but moved in the spring of 2012 to a different hospital in the same city. The funny thing about the new location is that it is directly 2 stories above where my office was as a resident. So going there brings back all sorts of memories. Overlaid are the memories of the early ultrasounds when I was pregnant with Gummy.

I got myself worked up about it all. As I do.

I stood outside the waiting room with Gummy after checking in. The nurse made a huge deal of how beautiful Gummy was and made us feel welcomed. But the waiting room was packed and my heart hurt for those couples. At the same time, I had a legitimate appointment for a legitimate reason. And the waiting room is where we would be fetched. Not the hall. So we went in, the three of us. I took Gummy to the end of the room, where there was a Christmas tree, and did what all good fertility patients do in the waiting room: avoided eye contact with anyone.

And it occurred to me: I was that woman.

That woman who brings a child to a fertility clinic waiting room.

But I couldn't/can't apologize for Gummy's existence. I am blessed beyond words by her precious life. I am just am sorry that there isn't a different, smaller, perhaps painted in brighter colours and filled with toys, waiting room for people who have kids and still need to go to the fertility clinic.

Strangely, I also could almost see myself sitting in that waiting room in years passed. At times hopeful. At times completely beaten down by failure. At times worried sick. And now I was sitting in the waiting room showing my daughter the Christmas tree ornaments.

A nurse called us in shortly after arriving to our seats in the waiting room. We got to see our dear nurse who was pleased to meet Gummy, and happy to see us. We waited a long time to see dr. RE. As always, I could hear the prosody of his speech, muffled through the walls of the exam rooms and knew he was taking the time he needed to consult with the couple in the other room. Hearing the sound of his voice through the walls always helped me wait. I knew when our turn came, he would give us the time we needed.

Dr. RE was pleased to meet Gummy, but wasn't really all that focused on her. It was the most striking thing about our visit: neither our nurse nor Dr. RE were all that focused on Gummy. Their attention was on Mr. A and I. They were happy to see us smiling, see us having become parents. It seems that when you have a child, everyone's focus turns so sharply to the baby, which is so wonderful. It really is. I'm saying that the contrast in this instance was noticeable.

It was a full appointment. The short version is that Dr. RE confirmed my fears that complications would be expected with a second pregnancy. He flat out said it would be a high risk pregnancy and I would need to be followed at the large University Health Centre nearest to Pleasantville. While I am worried about placenta accreta (what I had last time) or increta, Dr. RE went straight to worrying about percreta (where the placenta invades not only the wall of the uterus, but the adjoining organs). He did nothing to help me want to get pregnant again.

Despite that, I did agree with him that running some investigative tests right now while I'm on mat leave would be a good use of my time. He posited that my uterus might be in rough shape after what happened, and thought that I may end up needing one or two hysteroscopies, but that we should start with an u/s and a sonohysterogram. We also talked about interim and long term HRT strategies. I fell in love with him all over again. He's the only doctor whose ever really understood what's going on in my reproductive system.

He convinced me to come in for an u/s the following Sunday at 8 am (which means leaving my house at 6:30am). I did agree to it, and drove down that long highway at the crack of dawn like the good ol' days.

And just like that, on CD21 using my regular HRT regimen and nothing more, my lining was at 8mm. What. No coaxing? No del.estrogen shots? Just fluffed up to 8mm after 5 days of prome.trium!

That was a surprise. Crazy what having a baby can do.

I'll book a sono for the new year, and we will see how things look in there. But beyond that, I'm not looking to work up to a FET anytime soon.

I'm just thankful that we have one amazing little girl to call our own. And so grateful to everyone who helped us welcome her into our lives.
 

November

It appears I missed posting in November altogether. I squeaked one post in at the beginning, but then I had to temporarily abandon this blog and spend time writing elsewhere. I wrote a novel in November, thanks to NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). I could have stopped in to write about the experience of writing, but there was no time for that. Every time Gummy napped, I wrote the novel. And I made it to 50 000 words by November 30. I'm not sure how.

Well, actually, I do know how. I focused on the quantity instead of the quality. I had an idea of the plot and characters, and made a rough plan ahead of time, but then during the month of November, I just wrote. I did NO editing. And I stuck to that rule, which is why I got to the end of the month with my 50 000 words.

But let me be clear: the novel I wrote is a few neighbourhoods south of Terrible.

Seriously.

I don't think the grammar is even something recognizable as English (I know what you're thinking: that's not a far cry from these posts, which I do try to edit before posting. But at least I have the excuse of being an ESL person).

I did this to reclaim some of the pieces of my identity I felt have been far out of reach since Gummy's arrival. I needed something just to myself. Something contained, achievable, confidence-boosting, fun, engrossing. And it was all that.

When I asked Mr. A in October if he would support me in doing this, however he was able, he said yes. And he mostly did that. There were a few frustrating moments when I wanted to write but he couldn't take care of Gummy, but that's par for the course. He also pointed out when we talked about it in October, that doing NaNoWriMo might make me feel better than sitting on the couch watching shit TV every night. He didn't say this in a blaming or condescending way. He just wanted me to do things that make me feel better about myself.

He was right.

I like shit TV, but I like writing even more.

So, I'm trying to figure out the balance between relaxing while watching Girl (what a gem that is) and using what little free time I have to a) get shit done and b) pursue my interests. I figure I'll feel somewhat happy about my balancing skills the day before I go back to work from mat leave, and then I'll have to start over.