I vaguely remember a time when I used to sit at the computer at least once per day and write a blog entry, check my email, check on the ladies in my due date club, chat on MSN. This was back when I was simply pod-mother to Spawnling and his only demands were to ensure he had sufficient calories entering via the umbilical cord and some nice, warm amniotic fluid in which to grow his mammoth self.
Then he hatched. And you know, he slept a lot! I had prepared myself for having next to no 'me' time from the time we trekked home from the hospital. Instead, I found I had many opportunities to update my blog, post comments about other people's equally pathetic lives on their blogs, and basically bum around on the interweb until I was nearly bored to tears.
Then he turned four-months-old and his horns started to sprout. Suddenly mommy is not only food source, but also mode of transportation, jester, librarian and chef. Now he loves me for more than my breasts, which gives him a lot more credit than most of the guys I used to date. This also means that I don't see the front of my computer screen very often unless I stay up until my eyelids are about to fall off my face from sheer exhaustion.
This will all change, however, when Dell decides they would like to ship my laptop. I think it may already be on its way, but every day of waiting is another day when I have to stay upstairs and do productive things like clean and cook and - ick - spend time with my children. Apparently that's what mothers are supposed to do and I've just gotten off easy having a shiny screen to stare at all these years. Spawnling only likes sitting at my desk if he can pound at my keyboard, which sort of takes away the desirability factor for yours truly.
At any rate, here I am. I know you miss me. I'd miss me, too, if I didn't have to be around me and smell me. In fact, I gave Intrepid a big hug this morning and only let him go when he said 'Uh, you smell like baby puke.'
Oh yeah? Well you smell like smart ass ten-year-old, so there. I wanted to say that, but instead I used his observation as an excuse to pawn the Spawn(tm) off on his big brother and change my shirt.
A few things have happened in my absense from the blogosphere. For one, Beth had her baby. Congratulations, Beth!! I've been following her story for a few months now and was thrilled to see the news (thanks Jobthingy for the 411. My lack of computer time makes it near impossible to read other blogs on a regular basis). If you watch the video, have Kleenex handy and prepare to bawl your eyes out like I did. That woman has been through an incredible amount to have her baby girl; so much more than she should have. And yet I bet she's in awe at her precious little one and thinking to herself that it was all worth it.
I usually think that way until they hit about two years old. Then I wonder if there's any possible way to shove them back up there until they reach about five or so.
Ironically, her daughter was born the same day as I attended my playgroup mom's night. It's an anti-gremlin zone unless you have a baby. I have a baby, so I brought him.
Two other women also have babies and didn't bring them. One was a nursing mom who's child only breasfeeds every two hours or so. She came for about 90 minutes. If Spawnling was that predictable in his boob feasts I might have also attempted that, but the dirty little secret is that I actually like to bring my baby out with me.
Yeah, that's right. I like it. They're only little once and we're going to end up spending more and more time apart as they get older, so I enjoy their company for the short period of time when they're small. Go ahead, look at me like I have two heads. I don't mind. Because once they're two and I realize I can't put them back in utero during the tantrum stage, I have no issues leaving them at home anymore. Momma didn't raise no fool.
The night was mostly fun. Only one comment really irked me from one of the moms. She has three children under the age of four, so my hat is off to her. However, when she realized mine were spread over ten years, she said something along the lines of 'Wow, talk about spacing them out! I didn't want to do it that way. You know, start over every time like you did. I'm sure it's good in some ways, though. But I had all mine eighteen months apart so I could get the baby stage over with faster.'
Um... Problem with your theory: You're assuming that we planned the years of spacing between the kids. I wasn't going to say anything, though. I was going to keep my mouth shut and let her think whatever she wanted. The pain of infertility all but went out the window after Spawnling was born. Despite how overwhelmed I am a lot of the time, I'm also incredibly grateful and feel like I've healed a lot from our conception war wounds. I have the family I always dreamed of, after all.
But you know what? I had to say something. The Maven likes to stir the pot a little bit. I had to say something for Beth, for Fly and for everyone else who has had to work their asses off to achieve a pregnancy. For the millions of infertile couples who may or may not have a baby and may or may not have another one years after the first. Who have to suffer through the comments and questions about why they don't have any children, or how having an only child is so lonely and why wouldn't you want them to have a sibling, or how their children will have nothing in common and will never be close because they're spaced so far apart. For the other woman sitting quietly in the room that night who is struggling with secondary infertility and doesn't know if she'll ever be able to give her son the sibling he keeps asking for.
So I took a deep breath, wondered why I was doing this to myself yet again, and told her that it wasn't planned that way. That we had tried for over four years before to have Gutsy and that Spawnling's pregnancy only came to light after we had effectively given up and decided that our two boys were enough of a gift, and that with their hearing loss they were likely to need more of our time and attention, and that maybe three would be too many. It was only then, after three years of unprotected sex, that my body did what it's supposed to do.
The women seemed very moved, their wine glasses frozen midway to their lips. I hadn't realized that all eyes were on me and that the other conversations in the room had completely died off as, one by one, they started listening to my story. The infertile woman in the corner nodded in understanding of what I was saying and with perhaps a slight look of appreciation on her face.
I had changed some views and assumptions that night. I had, in my own small way, made the world a more understanding place.
'Wow' said Mom to Three under Four, breaking the silence. 'And then there's me with the opposite problem: I get pregnant even when I'm on birth control! Haha! It really sucks!'
'Oh, I so know what you mean!' said another mom.
'I hear you there!' chuckled another. And with that, the vibe completely dissipated as a room full of women in their child-bearing years began to discuss what birth control methods work best.
Well, I tried, right? And in the end, I don't blame them. You don't know unless you've been there. I don't know what it's like to be incredibly fertile and how that might take the spark out of one's sex life as easily as infertility can. On the other hand, I don't know the pain of never being able to conceive a child at all, let alone three. I'm smack dab in the middle. An odd place to be at times, but I guess I get to feel a bit of everyone's joy and pain, sunshine and rain.
Pump it up, pump it up. Keep it goin' now.
Time for bed. It's officially Monday and I need some sleep before I drag Gutsy to I-Hate-School so he can think he's going to have a horrible time and enjoy himself tremendously. Then I'm headed off to playgroup for some caffeine and conversation. Love those girls, despite their utter failure at being infertility goddesses. I suppose I failed, too, although as far as failures go I'm not too disappointed about that one.
Then he hatched. And you know, he slept a lot! I had prepared myself for having next to no 'me' time from the time we trekked home from the hospital. Instead, I found I had many opportunities to update my blog, post comments about other people's equally pathetic lives on their blogs, and basically bum around on the interweb until I was nearly bored to tears.
Then he turned four-months-old and his horns started to sprout. Suddenly mommy is not only food source, but also mode of transportation, jester, librarian and chef. Now he loves me for more than my breasts, which gives him a lot more credit than most of the guys I used to date. This also means that I don't see the front of my computer screen very often unless I stay up until my eyelids are about to fall off my face from sheer exhaustion.
This will all change, however, when Dell decides they would like to ship my laptop. I think it may already be on its way, but every day of waiting is another day when I have to stay upstairs and do productive things like clean and cook and - ick - spend time with my children. Apparently that's what mothers are supposed to do and I've just gotten off easy having a shiny screen to stare at all these years. Spawnling only likes sitting at my desk if he can pound at my keyboard, which sort of takes away the desirability factor for yours truly.
At any rate, here I am. I know you miss me. I'd miss me, too, if I didn't have to be around me and smell me. In fact, I gave Intrepid a big hug this morning and only let him go when he said 'Uh, you smell like baby puke.'
Oh yeah? Well you smell like smart ass ten-year-old, so there. I wanted to say that, but instead I used his observation as an excuse to pawn the Spawn(tm) off on his big brother and change my shirt.
A few things have happened in my absense from the blogosphere. For one, Beth had her baby. Congratulations, Beth!! I've been following her story for a few months now and was thrilled to see the news (thanks Jobthingy for the 411. My lack of computer time makes it near impossible to read other blogs on a regular basis). If you watch the video, have Kleenex handy and prepare to bawl your eyes out like I did. That woman has been through an incredible amount to have her baby girl; so much more than she should have. And yet I bet she's in awe at her precious little one and thinking to herself that it was all worth it.
I usually think that way until they hit about two years old. Then I wonder if there's any possible way to shove them back up there until they reach about five or so.
Ironically, her daughter was born the same day as I attended my playgroup mom's night. It's an anti-gremlin zone unless you have a baby. I have a baby, so I brought him.
Two other women also have babies and didn't bring them. One was a nursing mom who's child only breasfeeds every two hours or so. She came for about 90 minutes. If Spawnling was that predictable in his boob feasts I might have also attempted that, but the dirty little secret is that I actually like to bring my baby out with me.
Yeah, that's right. I like it. They're only little once and we're going to end up spending more and more time apart as they get older, so I enjoy their company for the short period of time when they're small. Go ahead, look at me like I have two heads. I don't mind. Because once they're two and I realize I can't put them back in utero during the tantrum stage, I have no issues leaving them at home anymore. Momma didn't raise no fool.
The night was mostly fun. Only one comment really irked me from one of the moms. She has three children under the age of four, so my hat is off to her. However, when she realized mine were spread over ten years, she said something along the lines of 'Wow, talk about spacing them out! I didn't want to do it that way. You know, start over every time like you did. I'm sure it's good in some ways, though. But I had all mine eighteen months apart so I could get the baby stage over with faster.'
Um... Problem with your theory: You're assuming that we planned the years of spacing between the kids. I wasn't going to say anything, though. I was going to keep my mouth shut and let her think whatever she wanted. The pain of infertility all but went out the window after Spawnling was born. Despite how overwhelmed I am a lot of the time, I'm also incredibly grateful and feel like I've healed a lot from our conception war wounds. I have the family I always dreamed of, after all.
But you know what? I had to say something. The Maven likes to stir the pot a little bit. I had to say something for Beth, for Fly and for everyone else who has had to work their asses off to achieve a pregnancy. For the millions of infertile couples who may or may not have a baby and may or may not have another one years after the first. Who have to suffer through the comments and questions about why they don't have any children, or how having an only child is so lonely and why wouldn't you want them to have a sibling, or how their children will have nothing in common and will never be close because they're spaced so far apart. For the other woman sitting quietly in the room that night who is struggling with secondary infertility and doesn't know if she'll ever be able to give her son the sibling he keeps asking for.
So I took a deep breath, wondered why I was doing this to myself yet again, and told her that it wasn't planned that way. That we had tried for over four years before to have Gutsy and that Spawnling's pregnancy only came to light after we had effectively given up and decided that our two boys were enough of a gift, and that with their hearing loss they were likely to need more of our time and attention, and that maybe three would be too many. It was only then, after three years of unprotected sex, that my body did what it's supposed to do.
The women seemed very moved, their wine glasses frozen midway to their lips. I hadn't realized that all eyes were on me and that the other conversations in the room had completely died off as, one by one, they started listening to my story. The infertile woman in the corner nodded in understanding of what I was saying and with perhaps a slight look of appreciation on her face.
I had changed some views and assumptions that night. I had, in my own small way, made the world a more understanding place.
'Wow' said Mom to Three under Four, breaking the silence. 'And then there's me with the opposite problem: I get pregnant even when I'm on birth control! Haha! It really sucks!'
'Oh, I so know what you mean!' said another mom.
'I hear you there!' chuckled another. And with that, the vibe completely dissipated as a room full of women in their child-bearing years began to discuss what birth control methods work best.
Well, I tried, right? And in the end, I don't blame them. You don't know unless you've been there. I don't know what it's like to be incredibly fertile and how that might take the spark out of one's sex life as easily as infertility can. On the other hand, I don't know the pain of never being able to conceive a child at all, let alone three. I'm smack dab in the middle. An odd place to be at times, but I guess I get to feel a bit of everyone's joy and pain, sunshine and rain.
Pump it up, pump it up. Keep it goin' now.
Time for bed. It's officially Monday and I need some sleep before I drag Gutsy to I-Hate-School so he can think he's going to have a horrible time and enjoy himself tremendously. Then I'm headed off to playgroup for some caffeine and conversation. Love those girls, despite their utter failure at being infertility goddesses. I suppose I failed, too, although as far as failures go I'm not too disappointed about that one.