A really really not so good day

I know, I know, this is going to sound incredibly vain and trivial, but it's been weighing on my mind recently that I'm just not cute anymore. I used to be cute. I used to feel cute. I used to get hit on. Hell, I even got hit on while I was pregnant. But now... I'm a mom. And I feel like that's the image I project, even when I'm not holding Solomon, and no matter what I wear. Even though I lost all the pregnancy weight relatively easily, I just feel... old. I feel like I'm not looking or living like I should be in my 20's. I feel like I'm 40. I try so hard to still dress cute and wear makeup, but it doesn't seem to do any good. I'm feeling lost.

I've wanted to dye my hair for a while now. But I didn't want to, being as I was trying to get pregnant. I've resigned to the fact that this just isn't in the cards, at least for now, so I bit the bullet and dyed my hair. Hoping for some sort of change, some sort of new vibrancy. Gerard didn't even notice. Even though I told him I was dying my hair that night, he still woke up and spent the morning with me and didn't even notice. So, fail. Even when I called him on it, he sputtered around and said something about the shade, but not anything remotely resembling that it looked nice. Double fail.

Not helping matters, Solomon's having one of those days where he's just screaming for no reason. When he has everything he wants, and I'm holding him and offering him the moon and stars, he still just wants to scream. I've been on countdown all morning until naptime, so optimistic because he only napped for an hour yesterday, and slept poorly last night. So I knew he was due for a really really good nap today. Because he's exhausted and terribly cranky. It's been right under an hour now and he just woke up crying. I think I might cry, too.

Poop and Rainbows

I came in this morning to get Solly out of his crib. I say 'good morning,' and he announces 'PooPoo!' while grabbing his butt. Yes, I'm aware. I do have a nose.

On the way in to work/ daycare there was the most amazing rainbow. I've seen several in the past two weeks, but this one you could see the full arch, and none of it was obstructed by clouds. I was bummed I couldn't point it out to Solomon, who is still rear facing, so when we parked at daycare we walked about a block to get a good view of it away from a bunch of trees. Keep in mind I'm always in a rush in the morning, and it was drizzling so a walk-long block was doing a number on my hair as well as my time. I point out the rainbow to Solly, who stares at it for maybe half a second. 'Bye bye' he says, with a wave, which is Solly-talk for this is lame. peace out. He then turned around and started heading back into daycare, calling out for Aston, his BFF.

I know where the rainbows and I stand...

Potty Time

So, for those of you who don't know, we've been doing the lazy man's potty training since Solomon turned 1, which basically means I sit him on the toilet a couple of times a day and hope he figures things out eventually. We get pees pretty frequently (although his penis is always out of the potty because he's playing with it, so he just pees on himself and me) and sometimes even poop. But anything in the potty is one less diaper for me to wash, so I'll take it. Now the problem is Solomon is a little nerd and obsessed with books, which had been our motivator to keep him on the potty for a few minutes. But now he wants to read every single book that we keep in the bathroom and throws a tantrum when I want him to get off the potty. So now I don't even like letting him get on the potty because I don't want to be stuck in there for 30 minutes.

But, that isn't the point of the story. The point of the story is today Solomon gave a grunt, and I gave him my silent what are you doing face? and he said 'Poopoo!' I was amazed at his revelation, so I yelled 'Poopoo in the potty! Poopoo in the potty!' So we ran to the bathroom and I was surprised to take off his diaper and find no poop- we had made it in time! He sat on the toilet and let out a massive... fart. Ah well, but we were so close! And I'm still proud of him!

Similarly, this past weekend he was having naked time in his bedroom. I left the room momentarily, and he came running to me saying 'Beebee!' I wasn't sure what this word meant, so I followed him back in his room, and he lead me over to where he had been playing and pointed on the floor where he had just peed! I didn't know he even knew that word, and I was surprised he cared enough about his accident to tell me.

***

In non potty news, with March coming, hopefully Gerard and I can start trying again. As excited as I am, and as long as and as much as we've been wanting another baby, I can't help but be scared. I love Solomon an obnoxious amount. I'd be really sad in some ways to have to split my attention away from him, and to have to share most all of our time together with another child. I also think he's so sickeningly cute and perfect, it's difficult to imagine loving another child as much as I do him. Of course, if/ when we are blessed with another child I'm sure our love will expand and we won't be able to imagine our lives without him or her. But sometimes it's hard to picture.

I see the light at the end of the tunnel

So, February is almost done. We have a week left and then we have a fresh start with March. I'm looking forward to a clean slate.

I've been officially discharged from PT! I feel like a normal person again and not a crippled old lady. I've been working out regularly, which helps with my overall mood and confidence, but I do not have the green light for running quite yet. Although, most of my workouts are confined to what I can do at 5am in my living room, or in my office on my lunch break, or at the playground while chasing after Solomon, so I doubt I'd be running much regardless.

This week is also the last of Gerard's ICU rotation! Q4 has been brutal on all of us. It's so easy to get wrapped up in the difficulty and stress of the situation so much that you forget it's temporary and just something you have to work through. He should be done with overnight call for at least a couple months at this point, so that should be a miraculous change of pace. Even though there will be nights he gets home at 10pm, this at least means he'll get some resemblance of sleep that night, which means he'll be able to act like a human being the next day. So that should be nice.

It might also mean I have a little time every now and then to go running at the gym, or- dare I say it- outside?? I can't even remember the last time I ran outside. It was before we moved down to San Jose, so yeah, before residency. That is a little terrifying. I knew it had been months. I did not know it had been almost a year.

His better hours come at a good time because I had just set a new constituent that we needed to do everything we could to have Solomon see Gerard every day. On Saturday Solomon and I went to have lunch at the hospital. Sometimes we'll just pull into the patient drop off and have Gerard come give Solomon a kiss and we'll drive off. But this is our new goal. I can't remember if I've written about this yet, but Solomon has been giving Gerard a really hard time recently. On the way home he'll ask and ask about Dada. When we walk in the door he'll go straight to the bedroom, open the door, and look in the bed hoping to see dada. If he's not there, everyone is sad. But, when he is there, Solomon is even more upset. He misses him so much, but angry and confused why he's not around so Solomon just cries and cries when he sees Gerard. It's heartbreaking. If I leave the room, they are fine and happy. I can hear them having a wonderful time. But if I'm in sight, it's a no-go. So Friday Gerard had a day off and kept Solomon home with him to spend some quality time. They had a great day. On Saturday morning, Solomon woke up, and I could hear through the monitor "Mama? Dada! Mama? Dada!" I was practically crying. It was so amazing to hear Solomon call out for him. Of course, he was at work and couldn't hear it.

I need to take videos of Solomon reading books and singing songs with me. It's the most hilariously adorable thing that has ever happened to this earth.

More light? I got my replacement phone today for free under warranty!! Whohooooo. I'm human again. And, I was too upset to even get into this earlier, but after a lengthy delay (partly my procrastination and partly the fault of the photographer and partly it being on back order), we got our wedding album on Friday. Well, no. We got a wedding album on Friday. It was not the one I ordered. In fact it was a style I expressly said I did not want. Drama I can't get into. But it's being redone and should be here "soon" whatever that means.

Lastly, I may have some relief/changes on the job front. But I haven't gotten into that fully yet and won't tonight. But I'm feeling optimistic. Oh! And I've been trying to grow my hair out. It's in that horrible transition mode now, but today I had the realization that I can fit it into a mini spiky ponytail!

So, here's too March!

Things I wish my toddler would learn:

** Saying "gooooooo!" immediately after we get to s stop light will not actually make me drive. I did not forget you want to go. Increasing your volume does not help me understand you better.

**Not every black person you see is your Dada. Please stop calling them that. It's a little awkward.

**On that note, you don't have to say 'Dada' in this weirdly low, raspy voice. Who taught you to do that? And why? You also don't have to use that voice when you say truck or sah-soh(obviously this is motorcycle).

**Speaking of motorcycles, yes, I will let you look at the one in our parking garage every. single. day. But no, you can't look at it in the morning when I'm trying to drop you off at daycare and get to work. And no you can't touch it. And no you can't have one when you turn 16. Or 46.

**I'm not trying to offend you, but your tiger roar and motorcycle sounds really sound quite similar. You really can't blame me for confusing the two.

**When I tell you "No!" It means, 'stop doing that and don't do it again.' It does not mean 'Say NO! the next time you choose to do this.' I do, however, appreciate the heads up when you're being naughty.

**Reading 5 Little Monkeys three times a day was cute for like a week. I'm over it. Can we stop now?

**I think it's totally adorable when you say 'shhh' every time you see a picture of a sleeping baby. But if the man across from us falls asleep on the train, you don't have to point to him and say SHHHH as loud as possible, because that kinda defeats the purpose.

**I'm very proud of your ability to label basic facial features. You've shown this off, and I get it. So, can we start decreasing the frequency that you poke me in the eye out of nowhere yelling 'eye!'?! If you want to keep labeling my nose that's ok, but can you point to it, or even poke it, but maybe not grab and pinch it with your baby claws and try to remove it from my face? That would be a plus.

(Several of these were cross posted on my FB page. Sorry if you had to read these twice, but the blog will be a better historical record than sorting through status updates by the time I miss those damn monkeys and want to reminisce. )

In case you were ever tempted...

Don't dunk your brand new phone into apple juice.

It will become possessed.

And sticky.

That is all.

Sigh

Ahh, February. This is a pretty bittersweet month for me. I've been dreading this month for a while, and now that it's here, I want it gone. I just want February to be done.

So, I had brief mentionings of this the last time I came to the blog. Now I'm actually ready to talk about it. Gerard and I have wanted a second baby close in age to Solomon. We see how much he loves interacting with the kids at daycare, or any kid he sees, and want him to have a sibling he can play with. We also look at the sibling relationships we each have and so want to duplicate that bond for Solomon. We were hoping for less than 2 years apart. We found out we were pregnant the day before Father's Day (I just couldn't wait that one extra day). It was amazing. We were both so excited and I took for granted the ease of everything. We had a new nickname for the baby, Bee. Soon afterwards, a close friend had confided in me that she was also newly pregnant! I was so excited for her new family, and excited to share our pregnancies which were only days apart.

I had been feeling naseaous for a few days, and abruptly began to feel better. I had also lost the sensitive gag reflex I had known so well during my first pregnancy with Solomon. I called the advice nurse, who gave me the 'every pregnancy is different' spiel but appeased me with an earlier appointment nonetheless. I went in on July 1st. Gerard had to work, so I went alone, which should have been fine. They started the ultrasound, and my OB asked "How many weeks pregnant did you think you were?" I immediately tensed up. About 6, I answered. Is something wrong. She showed me the empty gestational sac on the ultrasound. 'Well, I'm not seeing any yolk sac. Which may mean nothing, it may mean etopic, or it may mean that you're not as far along as you thought you were. I'd say about 4.5 weeks' I started bawling. I knew in my heart. My gut had told me when my morning sickness stopped so abruptly so early that something had happened. And, I had gotten the positive pregnancy test almost two weeks early, so it was barely even possible to have only been 4.5 weeks pregnant. My OB tried to keep positive, but it was all I could do to keep from crumbling. Stupidly, I started driving to work before I realized that I wasn't going to be able to see clients while crying my eyes out. So I picked Solomon up from daycare, went home and just held him. I flew out the next evening to visit my sister in a previously scheduled trip. It was helpful to be in a new environment to try to get my mind off of everything, but I felt like my mind was in a cloud the entire stay. My OB hadn't wanted me to go, so I could do the bloodwork every 48 hours to check on my hcg levels. I did them when I got back in town; they were rising- which was a good sign, but not as quickly as they would like, which was not as good of a sign. I went back in on July 8 for another ultrasound. The appointment had been set up for me by my OB directly, and the receptionist kept asking me if I was pregnant. I don't know. How far along are you? Shut the fuck up!

The appointment was not fulfilling. I was growing, but not as quickly as they would like. There was now a tiny yolk sac, but no baby. There was still a chance for a viable pregnancy, but it was looking dimmer. If the pregnancy progressed, we'd have to do genetic testing. 'Come back in two weeks' she said. 'Then we'll definitely, definitely know.'

Two weeks.

Two weeks. Sitting there day in and day out now knowing if the baby inside of you was alive or dead. I stayed home from work several of those days just crying. I cried myself to sleep every night. It was the most horrible, gut wrenching two weeks I've ever endured. I should have been 8.5 weeks pregnant. This time there was no question. It was not a viable pregnancy. I had the option of waiting an indefinitie period of time, taking the drug misoprostol to start the 'abortion' or have a D&C performed. I had already been waiting an excruciating period of time, but by this point I had already read all of the horror stories on the internet about the labor contractions and risk of hemorrhaging the drug brought, and the risk of scar tissue impacting further pregnancies that the D&C brought. So which was the lesser of 3 evils??

I filled the prescription for misoprostol still not knowing what I would do with it. I wanted to complete everything naturally. I didn't want any lingering doubt that a baby was hiding somewhere, viable, that I didn't give a proper chance. I didn't want that weighing on me. But I also didn't want to continue this torture cycle of just waiting. Solomon's birthday was fast approaching, and the last thing I wanted was for this to still be encompassing every fiber of my being on his first birthday.

So I planned to take the drug that weekend, and arranged for a couple days off of work. Graciously, the night before I was set to take the drugs I started spotting. The cramps and the pain were no match for the emotional turmoil I was under. All of the hopes and dreams I had already envisioned for our family of four were flushed down the toilet. Literally.

Little did I know the waiting had just begun. I was desperate to get pregnant as soon as possible. But I waited 5 weeks to get my period back again. And then I was supposed to wait 3 more cycles before starting to try.

I was so confident, so sure I would get pregnant on the first try again. Obviously, we were extremely fertile, and would go right about our business after this setback. The first month of trying we did not get pregnant. The pain that I felt was devastating all over again. I felt like everything I knew about myself and my body was a lie. I thought that I was broken, and would never get pregnant again. I was at a very, very low point. I realized I had not healed enough from the miscarriage to try again, despite my desperation for a pregnancy. So we took a month off before trying again.

In January I got pregnancy again. I didn't want to tell Gerard over text message, so I waited until we were both home to surprise him. I had barely even told him before I started spotting.

We hadn't even gotten a chance to open the bottle of champagne I had bought to celebrate.

This time, because it happened so early- a 'chemical pregnancy' is what it's called- we're only supposed to wait a month before we can try again. So, March.

One of my best friends is getting married in June. When she asked me to be a bridesmaid, I told her I planned to be very pregnant and would need a maternity dress. Now, I'll order the regular dress.

Someone else close to me found out she was pregnant a couple days before myself. So now I'll watch her pregnancy progress as I have just watched my other friend's.

My friend, who I shared pregnancy stories with over the summer, gave birth today. I'm so excited for her, but, alas, I'm sitting alone in my bedroom and I can't stop crying.

So I'm ready for February to be over.

Race- not of the running variety

"What country did you get him from?"

"Are you his nanny?"

These are some of the questions I get out loud. Heaven only knows what people think or wonder in the confines of their own little mind. I'm sure it will only get worse with time, and that me keeping my maiden name will only add to the confusion.

On Sunday Solly and I stopped for lunch. Out of the corner of my eye I saw I woman staring at Solomon and talking about him. He's gorgeous, so of course this happens all the time. I didn't look up until I heard the husband (teasingly) say 'Stop looking at the baby!!' I caught the woman's eye and she confessed their son had just gone away for college, and seeing Solomon was making her feel nostalgic. This is when I noticed the couple was also biracial. I wanted to ask what her experiences were: if she ever stopped getting asked if she was the nanny or adopting mother, if her son grew up with a confident sense of self and identity, if he felt accepted by people of all races, etc. But I didn't. They had left the restaurant before I could work up the courage.

It's a shame, because Solomon's racial identity has been on my mind a lot recently, before I had seen this couple at the restaurant (I still can't spell that word correctly on the first try, btw). Due to my work schedule, Solomon really only sees a select few people on a daily basis: Leila, our daycare provider, and the other 3 kids there. Sure we'll run into our neighbors, or Leila's neighbors, but most of his daily interactions are with white people. Most of the books, dolls and toys he is exposed to are white. Yes, we have friends and babies who are mixed, Asian, Indian, etc., and yes, obviously Gerard is black. But I don't want his first understanding of the world to be that most everyone is white, and there are some people here and there with darker skin.

So, short of posting on my mother's board asking if there are any black people that want to be friends, I'm trying to increase Solomon's awareness of different races in the little ways that I can control. Firstly, I want to get him a doll. My first inclination was to try to find a baby doll that matched his skin complexion, but I think instead I'll get him a darker skinned 'black' doll so he can have some other daily exposure to black people besides just Gerard. Or maybe I'll get both, who knows. I ordered these dolls for work a while ago, so I might get 1 or 2 for home also:

http://www.lakeshorelearning.com/seo/ca%7CsearchResults~~p%7C2534374302107519~~.jsp

they are a little bit ugly, but they get the job done.

My next project was to substitute Solomon's library with more diverse books. I brought home every book I had kept at work that featured any non-Caucasian child or family. Yes, right now he has his select few books he wants to read over and over again, but he will still flip through the pictures of other books by himself, so maybe he'll have some subconscious perspective of racial diversity.

Of all the books I have between his home library, and the kids books I keep at work, I only have one book- ONE- that features a mixed family. Shame, isn't it??

I've done a fair amount of research and made an Amazon wishlist of a handful of other books that depict mixed families, but it's pretty hard. The killer is, if there's a book with a biracial family, the book is about the family being biracial... Now, I'm sure those books have a place, and if/when Solomon needs a book about this- fine. But, I want books that the biracial family can just be. Where their skin color doesn't have to be explained, it's just accepted and a non-issue. I don't want Solomon's attitude to be 'Some families have different skin colors and that's ok,' I want biracial/multiracial families to just be the norm, and nothing to blink at.

I've posted this issue/question on a number of different multiracial families parenting boards, have gotten pretty much 0 response. So apparently nobody else cares about this, but I do.

Hello Again

Ok, so I've been inundated recently with requests to resume my blog. At least two people in as many months have begged me on hands and knees (well, both of these requests were made over the internet, so it's likely they were actually sitting in chairs when the requests were being made) to start typing again. Which is funny because I was just thinking how therapeutic it used to be for me, and I had a lot to get off my chest.

A lot has happened over the last several months, and a lot has stayed the same. The biggest themes are too big to get into tonight, but I will soon as I continue to work through my feelings about everything.

So, instead, I'll reintroduce myself with some lighter musings. Like, when will the day come when I don't have to read 5 Little Monkeys three times a day? And, although it's a classic that I had once been so excited to share with Solomon, but Paul, Judy and that damn bunny are driving me bananas. Solomon has been very, very adamant on his bedtime story choices and can be rather persuasive.

I do like 5 Little Monkeys for the very first page. Solomon is just so excited for what is about to happen that he's just wiggling in his skin and perfectly giddy.

I also look forward to the day that we can go through less than 2 bananas a day.

Exciting return, I know. Better material to follow.