Identity Crisis

This is NOT a bitch-fest about the struggles of parenting. I love being a parent. Period.

This IS a real life question of who I am, who I was, who I thought I was and who I want to be.

So here I am voicing my struggles and fears. Why? Because writing is way cheaper than therapy. I need to get these thoughts out of my head and onto 'paper'. And I know I'm not the only one out there. I've met others like me. And maybe I'll get a few words of advice from some of you out there?

I've quit my job, moved across the country to a very cold part of the world and have become a stay at home mom. I have never not worked and was a bit apprehensive about this new adventure but really looked forward to spending uninterrupted time with Sabrina.

I definitely have a much deeper level of respect for stay at home stay parents. This is not all fun and games, people!

Not too long ago my evenings consisted of choosing which restaurant/bar to meet my friends and these places were usually ranked by how good the dirty martinis were or what the happy hour deal was. Or maybe I worked late. Or had a date. Or I just went home and relaxed in the quiet with my cat in my itty bitty studio. I have always been and always wanted to be the career girl. I enjoyed and very much identified with being the girl who wore the clickity-clack stiletto's up and down 7th avenue and dressed to the nines.

Since I got pregnant and married (in that order, ha!) my life and body changed entirely. I have not worn most of those clothes or shoes since. Chasing after a toddler in heels is NOT easy. I've tried. I've donned a daily uniform of jeans and trapeze tops and Converse. Let me specify that this uniform is usually my 'out of the house' uniform. Even better is my 'not gonna see anyone today so I'll just sport my yoga pants and zip up sweatshirt' uniform.

Hot, right? I KNOW!!!

I would like to point out that I do still make time for an eyebrow wax. Can't let EVERYTHING go. Good God, that is a scary image.

I have definitely been struggling. Struggling with self identity, time management, MONEY management (down to 1 income), patience and an ever fluctuating level of self respect. I am constantly berating myself for not being a better mother or wife or person or woman or whoever and whatever it is that I happen to need to be.

Let me be clear about one thing, though. Would I trade my marriage, husband and child for anything? No. Not a chance.

I love my husband who is awesome beyond words. Thinks I'm hot and tells me so. He works hard for us.  My kid is hilarious and I love that I know and understand her better than most. I can translate most of what she says, no matter how gibberish-like it sounds. We watch morning cartoons and eat our peanut butter oatmeal wrapped together in a fleece blanket. We read books, color, talk, argue, go grocery shopping, fight, go to museums, play in the yard, etc... We make each other laugh. A LOT. My favorite most recent memory is of us going on a quick trip to Trader Joe's. She insisted on bringing her pet (wooden) cat that is on a leash. She walked it across the parking lot and all through the store. She talked to it, pet it and comforted it when it tipped over. She was the absolute center of attention everywhere we went that day and was clueless to it all. So awesome. 

What I could live without? The terrible 2 tantrums, the words "no" and "mine!" consistently pouring themselves out of my lovely daughter's mouth, judgmental people, freezing temps, my home being permanently decorated in cheerios, broken crayon bits and Mr. Potato Head body parts. 

What I would absolutely LOVE? To be able to pee in private. Seriously, I don't need an audience. That is #1 on my list. The next are in no particular order - another child/sibling for Sabrina, a maid once a month, to live in a home that was built after the 80's with good insulation and windows that keep cold air OUT, radiant heated floors, and a jacuzzi bath tub. I am pretty low maintenance, if you ask me.

I miss having daily interactions with adults. I miss conversations that are not wrapped around talk about our birthing experience or our kids, how to discipline, potty train, get them to sleep, etc... Or about breast feeding.

To feed via boob or formula? THAT is the question. Oh the controversy!

Everyone thinks their way is best and the only way to do it. Because of this I have made it an absolute rule to not offer unsolicited advice. And even then I preface my answers with, "I'm not saying this is the best way or that it will even work for you but this is what I did/do/have heard works..."

Wait. I lie. I do have two pieces of unsolicited advice. 1) DO NOT tell pregnant women your horrific pregnancy/birthing/miscarriage stories. Yes, many people need to be told this. I don't get it. And 2) DO NOT tell a woman that the choices she is making are wrong. For example, if you think breast feeding is the only way to go and your friend is not interested in breast feeding please keep your opinion to yourself unless asked. That bolded part is very, very, very important.  You know who you are. Trust me, most pregnant women are quite educated in this area as we read anything and everything we can get our hands on about pregnancy or raising a child. The bottom line is that things like this are a personal choice. I'm sure I'll get an angry email or comment about this. 

Can you tell that these are two very big points of contention with me? Yes. Yes they are.

But I digress... :)

I've never been one to put much weight in what other people think of me. Never really gave it much thought, to be honest. I mean, why should I care if someone likes/dislikes me? There are plenty of people I don't like either...so what?

But now that I have a child suddenly there is a little more weight to this. While I still don't care what people think of me in terms of my faith, or what I wear, or where I shop or what I drive, I have found myself worrying about doing or saying something that will alienate my daughter from her peers. I don't know why this is a fear...but it is.

My struggle these days is in figuring out who I am now that I'm a parent with this enormous responsibility. As much as I hate to admit it, things have changed a lot. More than I anticipated. How do I get some of who I was and liked being and combine it with my current world?

Usually my posts end with some kind of conclusion or realization. Sorry to disappoint, but this post will not. I feel a bit lost and am trying to deal with it. Most days are awesome. Some days can't go by fast enough for me.

Just sayin'...

POW!

Yes, that is a black eye that my daughter has in the pictures above.

If you think she looks bad, you should see the OTHER guy!

Just kidding.

Seriously, this kid is going to give me a heart attack one day. This past Saturday she was sitting on a dining room chair and playing with some paper that was on the table. I was washing dishes and was about 2 feet away from her.

I hear a sound, look over and watch as she somehow tips over to her left and proceeds to fall out of the chair. This would have been ok as the chair is not very high. I mean she trips and falls all the time, right?

The OTHER chair that was in the way of her face on the way down was the culprit.

Oh my gosh. At first I didn't realize that her face had caught the corner of the chair. She was face down and started SCREAMING with her face buried into the floor. I rushed to pick her up, looked at her face quickly and didn't see anything wrong. I held her tight for another minute and then looked down again at her face and there it was. This small cut next to her eye.

I hugged her once more then looked down again and this time could see the swelling begin right by the bridge of her nose.

She was quickly consoled by bottle and I frantically called Dave. I didn't know if I should bring her to the hospital or just let it be. Dave fractured his orbit a while back and needed plastic surgery to keep his eye from sinking into his head. I had a crowbar fall off the top of a ladder and land square in the middle of my head resulting in a beautiful concussion that to this day I swear is the reason I get massive headaches. So, needless to say, we're a bit nervous about any head or face injury.

Long story short, I was able to get a same day appointment with our pediatrician who had us do an x-ray and all is well. She was laughing and playing by the end of the day. I, on the other hand, could have fallen asleep standing up by the time we left the hospital. All that adrenalin and nervousness finally at bay made me sooooo tired.

I do have to admit that I'm still yelling at myself in my head for not having anticipated that the other chair was too close. I know it's not rational but when you have someone who depends on you 150% and then things like this happen you can't help but automatically take some or all of the blame upon yourself. Welcome to the world of parenting.

The Story You Don't Know...

When you bring your child to the pediatrician for a check up they will plot out the measurements on a curve to see if their progress is on track. The measurements are the physical measurements of their head, height, weight, and probably some other things.

I practically have an aneurysm every time I have to bring Sabrina for her check ups because of this. Under the line is below average, on the line is average, above the line and you've given birth to Yao Ming.

First, let's talk about the paper that the curve is printed on. It's a bunch of evenly spaced boxes with a curved line on it. I was never very good at math and my math teachers made us do our homework on graph paper, which for some reason made it even more intimidating to me. I have not used a piece of graph paper since high school and when the doctor pulls out this piece of paper I am suddenly back in high school in math class, my heart is racing and my pits start to sweat. (I didn't say it would be a pretty picture.)

The first time I saw this chart was at my last ultrasound when we realized that Sabrina was too small and that the amniotic fluid was low. I was at the very beginning of my 38th week which was the good thing. It's officially a 'term' pregnancy if you make it to the 38th week.** Dave had to leave for work around the end of it so I was by myself. It was pretty obvious that the tech was concerned about the measurements she was getting. She kept remeasuring everything. In addition to all this I had been going to the hospital twice a week for evaluations because of my diabetes and the last time they found that the fluid seemed a little low, which was why I was having another ultrasound. After the ultrasound the tech walked me to a computer where she plotted the points and I slowly watched these dots show up UNDER the line. I think her plan was to calm me down but it backfired because she did not seem to expect to see the dots be so far under the line either. Her reaction made me really realize that something wasn't right.

Try to imagine what would be going through your mind at this moment if you have already spent your entire life with the fear that you would die during childbirth which is why you never wanted to get pregnant in the first place.

Yes, this was my fear. No joke.

I have always thought this ever since I was a child. I seem to recall having a dream when I was really young that this would happen and I have always believed my dreams - even to this day. I never spoke out loud about this because I knew people would tell me I'm nuts and because I am very superstitious I was afraid if I said it out loud it would DEFINITELY come true.

I went home in a daze after the appointment. I was thinking, "This is it. It's happening." Dave came home and I told him what happened with the tech and then broke down. The next morning my OB called me and told me to go to the hospital because she was pretty sure I needed to be induced. I hung up the phone and Dave was looking at me waiting for me to tell him what she said. I had half a mind to just not tell him because...well, follow my thinking here:

1) If I didn't tell him then...
2) he wouldn't make me go to the hospital, which means ...
3) I wouldn't have to die.

Makes sense, right? I know! I may not be good at math, but I sure know how to rationalize anything to make it work for me and my situation, can't I?

Of course I told him. Reluctantly and totally freaked out. We took showers, pulled everything together and went to the hospital. The entire time from when I left for the hospital to when they told me I needed to push I was SURE I was going to die. Absolutely Positive. I had even secretly written a will during my pregnancy and hid it in Sabrina's baby book where I figured Dave would find it easily. Before I had my epidural I was in a lot of pain from the contractions. We were up all night and at one point I got annoyed with Dave because he kept yawning while I was trying to breathe through the contractions. However, I never once got mad at him or yelled at him or swore at him. I knew he was tired too and I didn't want his last memory of me to be of me yelling at him for yawning in my face. OK, I may have snapped at him ONCE for yawning. But I didn't swear. I just asked him, "Are you tired?!!?"

When the nurse asked me if I was ready to push I looked her straight in the eye like she was out of her mind and said a simple, "No." Then I started to cry. Dave said I looked so scared. I WAS, but I didn't want to tell him why because I didn't want to scare him too. That nurse was really starting to piss me off too because she kept trying to get me ready to push and I just wasn't having any of it. I can't believe that while laying on that table I seriously considered getting up, grabbing my iv tower, walking over to her and just bitch slapping her for being so pushy. I know...she's just doing her job. But in my head she was trying to KILL ME.

Obviously it all worked out, but I have to be honest here. The entire 45 minutes I was pushing I was silently chanting that I wouldn't die before I could meet Sabrina.

I just wanted to see her. Just once.

And then after I saw her I was silently chanting that I could spend one hour with her before I died.

And then when I didn't die after an hour I was praying for 1 day. 2 days. 3 days. 4 days.

I never asked for more than one more day. I didn't want to be greedy and this line of thinking seemed to work for me...I think I was trying to set 'reachable' goals. I don't know. Each and every time I woke up from a nap or night of sleep I was soooooooooooo surprised that I hadn't died yet. And very grateful. But everyday I was sure that 'today is the day'.

The first night we went home from the hospital I couldn't sleep. I was up the entire night because I thought maybe I got my dream mixed up and it was the first night at HOME that I was supposed to die. Dave, to this day, thinks it was because I was just in such awe of my daughter. Well, yes and no.

I know this doesn't sound rational. But this story isn't about being rational, is it?

These days when I bring Sabrina for a check up I watch the doctor plot his points while I silently chant my ass off. Sabrina always plots right on the curved line. The doctor then proceeds to tell me she's...AVERAGE. And then they have the nerve to say this with a smile!

Oh, bite me. What do you know, doc? You obviously don't see the genius things Beana does at home all the time - pick up cheerios with 2 fingers AND get them into her mouth, pick up anything and everything she can get her hands on and get them into her mouth, manage to have pieces of cut up chicken stick to her eyebrow and the top of her head (how it lands there, I have no idea), wave bye-bye, clicks her tongue to the beat of the music while dancing (seriously), says "dada", "mama", "Hazey" AND "xie xie" (which is mandarin for 'thank you').

Yes, you read that right - my kid is bilingual. I'll bet your 11 month old can barely blink without assistance while my Beana is doing translations for the UN.

Is my fear gone? No. Not at all. Even as I write this story my chest and throat are tight with emotion. I know you may think I'm silly for believing in my dreams and being superstitious...but I could also write a few stories where my dreams have been right on - to a tee. So, I just try to have a lot of fun with Sabrina and teach her what I can while I can.

My kid is an AWESOME kid. My husband is an AWESOME husband and friend. So long as I keep getting my 'just one more day' I'm going to try and enjoy it all.

:o)

**I'm no doctor so please consult with your physician before you take any of my medical jargon as being correct in any way.