Missing

This is the post that makes me feel like an asshole.

So, let me get this out of the way. I fully understand that what I’m about to say makes me sound like an asshole. I have people in my life – people I really really love – who want what I have and can’t have it. People who just want healthy, happy babies. People who want healthy bodies. People who want happy marriages.

I have those things. Yet, here I am feeling sad about what I don’t have.

I know people will call me an asshole, just know it’s nothing I haven’t called myself.

I want a little girl. I’ve always wanted a little girl. When I was growing up – when I dreamed of being a mother, I envisioned a house full of little girls. I thought a little boy would be fun, but it was almost an afterthought. I would be Marmee with a house full of Jos and Amys and Beths and Megs.

My first ultrasound confirmed what I knew to be true. I would have a daughter.

Well, we all know how that story ended. I wonder now if I would feel differently had I known from the beginning Griffin was a boy. If I wasn’t forced to grief the little girl I named and dressed and dreamed of over and over and over again.

But it doesn’t matter. That’s not what happened.

When I’m tired and stressed and overwhelmed, this is the pity party I throw for myself. I wonder about the baby I lost. I wonder if that baby was the daughter I’ll never have or proof that I only make boys.

But it doesn’t matter. We’re done having kids. It’s hard and expensive and I’m getting too damn old.

It’s over.

The little girl I dreamed of will never be and it breaks my heart.

I do not want to feel this way. I would literally give anything to be a woman who says, “I really never cared if I had girls or boys” and MEAN it. I feel petty and small and ungrateful.

I have to find a way to let it go. I’ve been thinking a lot about what is at the root of my sadness. I know logically it’s not about “missing out” because having a daughter is no guarantee of anything. She could be a tomboy. She could be transsexual. She could choose to remain unmarried or childless or hate all things feminine.

It’s about fear. I’m afraid that my boys will move away and not call. I’m afraid that I’ll reach old age and no one will care. I’m afraid they will marry and belong to another woman and will no longer have room for me in their lives.

Deep down I think that sharing a gender with a child means we will always SHARE something.

I’m afraid that I won’t always have a connection with my boys. I’m afraid being their mother won’t be enough.

What I’m realizing with some sleep (and several long walks on the beach) is that my fear of the future is making me miss opportunities in the present. I’m missing chances to connect with my sons RIGHT now because I’m so worried about losing them down the road.

That has to end.

I have to let go of this fear. I have to grief the daughter I thought I was going to have and let go of that sadness. I have to live the life I have and stop wondering about the one I don’t.

I have to learn about Minecraft and Star Wars and – God save me – even sports because I can’t depend on the shared the life experiences that pass between a mother and a daughter.  

Or maybe I don’t. When I stop seeing what’s missing, I can’t help but notice everything that is there. I was literally writing this post as my friend painted her little girl’s nails only to have Amos join us on the porch with a giant grin because he wanted his nails painted too.

So, I stopped. I painted his nails. I held his little hand and he smiled at me and I smiled at him and we connected.

And nothing was missing.

Nothing at all. 

Until tomorrow,

Sarah

Worth

I can remember the first time someone said it to me. I can remember where I was and what I was doing. I was a summer intern with a Congressman during law school. I had worked on a project until late in the evening and then brought in a freshly baked chocolate cake the next morning.

“You must have more hours in the day than the rest of us.”

I remember how it made me feel. I felt good. I felt strong. I felt special. It must be how some people feel when they do drugs for the first time.

I wanted to feel that way again. I might not always be the prettiest or the smartest but I could be the most capable. I call it hyper-capable and I define myself by my ability to do more, achieve more, be more.

There are worse things to be addicted to I suppose then your ability to squeeze the maximum amount of accomplishment out of every day. Most of the time, it serves me well. With three kids and a husband and a home and a blog and clients, I don’t really have much of the choice.

It works great…until it doesn’t.

During times of transition or exhaustion or illness, I am forced to slow down. As Bonnie Raitt says, “You can only go as fast as the slowest part of you can go.” The slowing down, the saying no, the resting does not come easy to me.

It doesn’t feel like the ebb and flow of life. It feels like failure.

As the mess stacks up around me, I feel so overwhelmed.  As my list of want-to’s and need-to’s and HAVE-to’s gets longer, I lose myself.

If I’m not the girl with more hours in the day, then who am I?

Deep down, my fear of slowing down – of doing less – is about more than my identity. It’s about my worth. I can feel myself striving. I can feel myself desperately trying to prove that I’m worth the time, the energy, the love.

A dear friend recently encouraged me to take the DISC personality assessment and I scored a NINETY-NINE on the I for Influential – aka People Oriented. Not surprisingly, what others think about me is VERY important.

Since acceptance and approval by others is the main desire of I Personality Types, Rejection is their biggest fear.

I strive and I do and I go. I say yes to meetings and “opportunities” and cries for help because the relationships I have with other people – even mere acquaintances – are so important to me.

Meanwhile the relationship with those I’m closest too – and my relationship with myself – suffers.

And 200 more hours in the day won’t fix that.

Sleep

Y'all, I am so so tired.

I don’t remember being anywhere near this exhausted with Griffin or Amos. I suppose I was, but maybe I don’t remember? Or maybe I wasn’t because I wasn’t chasing after two other kids? Or maybe I was just younger and had more energy?

I have no idea. All I know is sleep is important to me and I’m not getting enough.

When Felix was a newborn who just slept all day, I was feeling pretty good. However, once he transitioned to a more adult-like sleep cycle, the situation got real. One middle-of-the-night feeding became three. My sweet newborn became a cranky baby who wanted to hangout on my boob morning, noon, and night.

In a fit of desperation, we decided to sleep train Felix a few weeks ago – MONTHS earlier than we had trained our other two and with no bedtime preparation to speak of. We were ill-prepared and went cold turkey on the swing and swaddle leading to a disastrous couple of nights with everybody in tears.

Our lack of preparation and the wretched result left me in a full-on guilt spiral.

In the middle of the night, everything seems worse. In the middle of the night with a screaming infant, everything seems downright tragic. I just lay in bed and cry - feeling like a failure if I pick him up and reinforce bad sleep habits and failure if I don’t because I’m letting my baby cry.

And - for some inexplicable reason - I find myself crawling into bed either to go to sleep or to go BACK to sleep only to find sleep won't come. 

I'm suddenly wired and scrolling endlessly through Facebook where everyone else's happiness feels like a million micro-aggressions.  Or I lay there in the dark and the quiet on edge - my heart racing - waiting for the baby to start crying again or for my mind to just. shut. up.

Plus, I’m not exercising. I gave up yoga and running when I got pregnant and despite the occasional morning walk, I haven’t done anything with regularity.

I feel bad about my body but don’t have enough energy to do much but feel bad about my body.

Everyone says I have a five-month-old and sleep deprivation is part of the deal and I get all that. However, I think there’s more to it than that. I got pregnant one month after I lost our last baby. As a result, I’ve been in some type of extreme hormonal phase since November of 2013. Not to mention, I had two pregnancies and two years of breastfeeding in the four years before that.

Let’s do the math.

Over the past seven years, I’ve only spent 21 months NOT pregnant or breastfeeding.

I’m rafting a raging hormonal river and trying to do it with no sleep.

I’ve also been struggling with post-partum hypertension, which I didn’t even know was a thing until my blood pressure sky rocketed a week after Felix was born. Now, once a month, my blood pressure shoots up and I have a terrible headache for two days. 

What makes it even harder is I was basically in the best shape of my life before I got pregnant in 2013 so the difference between then and now is hard to ignore. When I look back at pictures of myself, I don’t feel forgiving or grateful. I only feel frustrated and impatient. I know how good I can feel and look, which puts the current terribleness in starker contrast.

I know all the things I should do, beginning with showing gratitude for the amazing journey my body has been on over the past seven years.

And maybe I could find some space for gratitude if I could just get a little rest…

Until tomorrow,

Sarah

In defense of the fat baby

Fat Felix. 

"You poor thing!"

That's the response I get most often when I tell people how much my babies weighed.

Felix was 9lbs 6 oz. Amos was 9 lbs 11.5 oz. Griffin was 9lbs 7 oz.

That's over 28 pounds of baby!

People assume my boys were difficult births. I've even had a few people make references to tearing. But guess what? Don't feel sorry for me and my chunky monkeys. I'm hear to clear some things up, especially for all you preggos living in fear of anything over 8 lbs.

Fat babies are where it's at.

First of all, my births were not difficult. (Well, I wouldn't describe Amos's birth as easy but I don't ascribe that to his weight.) I progressed naturally, was able to manage the pain, and had minimal tearing. Now, I won't say their birth weights had anything to do with my easy births. However, I will argue that a high birth weight doesn't mean you will automatically have a difficult birth.

I'm not an Amazon. I'm only 5'5" and while I do have some pretty major birthing hips, you wouldn't look at me and assume I have huge babies. I simply don't think we give our bodies enough credit for what they can do. We would be a weak link in the evolutionary chain  if we regularly grew babies that we couldn't give birth to. Sure, we have better access to prenatal care (and McDonald's) but I know plenty of petite mommas who gave birth to anything but petite babies.

So, if you're pregnant, breathe easy. Big babies come out just like little babies. And believe me when you're pushing those little buggers out  you're not exactly thinking, "I bet this would feel SO much better if this baby weighed a few pounds less!" Giving birth hurts. Period. No matter the weight.

Second, in my experience, big babies are easier once they get here. My mother-in-law (and mother of five) has famously said that once a baby reaches 10 lbs they should be able to sleep through the night. And I have to say that has been my experience. Griffin was sleeping from 10pm to 7am at about one month old with one night time feeding about 3am. Now, you can't ask for much more when it comes to newborns. I thought maybe he was a fluke but Amos and Felix - although a very different babies - have  followed suit. 

And let me just state the obvious - when they come out weighing nine pounds, you get to ten pounds A LOT quicker.

I can't begin to imagine how often a five pound baby eats or as a result how little they sleep, but I'm pretty sure if I had one I would strap that little sucker (no pun intended of course) directly to my bare chest and leave them there.

Now, I have nothing against tiny babies...except the self-control it takes me not to gobble up their teeny little fingers and toes. In fact, I think I would really enjoy a newborn that actually cuddles as opposed to my boys who come out holding their heads up and ready for pre-school.

Alas, I think I am destined for giants. Although they DO SAY that girls are smaller...

Happy Fourth of July

I'm taking the next couple of days to soak up some summer fun with my family and friends. I hope y'all have a wonderful weekend and I'll see you next week!