That wasn't in the brochure...

Motherhood is a blessing. I cannot imagine my life without my beautiful and talented girls by my side. I wouldn't change a hair on their heads.

Motherhood is just as wonderful as "they" say it is... except when it isn't.

While all those things I said were true, it doesn't mean that I haven't had little fantasies involving running away from home, entering the Witness Protection Program, or having Calgon take me away. It seems sometimes that motherhood is like a sorority during pledge week. To the uninitiated it all seems so perfect and supportive. You see all the members of Tri Gamma Mamma with their sleek hairdos and well-dressed tots. You want to be a part of this group.

But just like other misguided sororities, hazing runs rampant. And once you join, there's no way out. Let's face it, motherhood is not for the faint of heart. Yes, as a mother you will experience great love and emotional bonding with your child, but you will also experience moments of heart-stopping fear. Your body can produce and nourish a person, but it will never be the same again.

And so, for your reading pleasure, I give you a list of things I never thought I'd say:

I hope someday you have a kid just like you. -- Not my proudest moment and not because I used "the curse" on my kid, but because I'd hoped to hold onto it until she was in her rebellious teen years. What can I say? Sleep deprivation does bad things to me.

Thank God! I'm so happy I ran over the tricycle! -- No, I haven't resorted to running over toys that have fallen from favor. This one involves that fear I mentioned earlier. I was just moving my car back a few feet in the driveway. I had seen that Miss B (who was close to 3 at the time) was safely away from the driveway, but when you feel something under your wheel and hear a child's screams and cries... I lost ten years off my life that day. But luckily, the only other casualty was the trike (at whose demise my daughter screamed and cried).

Fine, do it. Knock yourself out. -- That's right. I channeled my mother. This was her preferred phrase of exasperation. Think of it as shorthand for: "Listen, dear child, you are annoying me with your persistent harping. I am giving in because my ears are about to bleed, and I don't think that allowing you to do this will result in bodily harm (for either of us)." I swore I'd never say it, but it did take much longer to come out than "the curse."

At least I learned how to get chocolate-milk-based-barf out of cashmere. -- I really think that this one is self-explanatory.

And yes, despite the fact that I have never once vacuumed while wearing pearls and high heels, this motherhood thing does live up to the hype. And when you think about the miracle that are children, it makes the sleep-depriving, barf-covered, life-span-reducing, please-will-someone-end-this-nagging moments worth every minute, even if I do resort to mentally planning my escape to Zihuatanejo.

When an Angel leaves this earth

I don't know what it is, but lately it seems that I am reading one heartbreaking story after another. The characters are a little different from tale to tale, but the story always ends in one of two ways: a child is clinging to life or a child has died a horrible death. I am so tired of hearing about children being hurt by the very people who are meant to protect them.

I think there are few things worse than inflicting pain on a helpless person or animal. And yet the punishment rarely seems to fit the crime. You often find harsher sentences passed down when someone kills a stranger, rather than their own child. And how hard is it to read about newborns being thrown away or killed by a mother, knowing the number of childless couples desperate to adopt a baby? I always wonder what must happen within a murderer's brain. How does someone go from being an average Joe to rationalizing the murder of their own offspring?

I have often wondered if the so called "safe haven" laws should be extended. Why not make it easier for overwhelmed parents to get help? I can see that a lot of children might be abandoned by their parents, but often these parents have virtually abandoned their children long ago. They are not supportive emotionally and are often barely supportive financially. But at least the kids are alive. It is far from ideal, but something needs to happen to help these children before they become another headline.

Every parent has had moments when they are less than proud of themselves. Their buttons have been pushed, their sanity is at the brink, and they want to scream/cry/get away from their offspring. So what makes some parents able to keep going, and what makes others cross the line? How do I get to the point that I tell myself it is okay to hit/whip/scald/burn/beat /strangle/torture my child? And how do I have the nerve to offer any defense at my trial for those actions? How do I dare argue that I am being subjected to cruel and unusual punishment when I offered no such concessions to my own flesh and blood?

How do I find an answer to the questions that plague me whenever I hear that another child has suffered at the hand of a caretaker or parent? There aren't any easy answers. There aren't any easy solutions. But hopefully society can make it a priority to find the solution. It's time to speak for those who can't speak for themselves and who don't have any political or financial power.

I know this post has been a departure for this blog. I try to keep the focus on my family, but I feel that these children need someone to talk and worry about them too. And I do. In my heart, they are all my children. I miss them. I mourn them. And now I want to help them, even if it's just by getting other people to think about them the same way. I don't want to lose another angel. Heaven knows that we need more angels here on earth. So speak out for those with no voice, be a friend to the friendless, and protect all the children in your life.

An "Enchanted" evening with my daughter...

I must admit to a bit of scheming last week. Miss B was to have a skating party on Tuesday night and we were to bake cookies for Thanksgiving on Wednesday evening. I convinced Miss B to bake cookies on Tuesday, skip the skating party, and go out to see Enchanted instead.

I knew it was the kind of movie that would either be very good or very bad. Luckily for us, it was excellent. We loved every minute of it (and B was very excited about the preview for the upcoming Chipmunks movie). It got a bit nerve-wracking for Miss B towards the end, but I reassured her that everything would work out fine. And of course it did.

It was quite funny. I teach a college course on Disney and hope that this film comes out on DVD in time to use it next semester. If you have ever poked fun at fairy tales, Disney princesses, or silly showtunes, you will love this movie. If you adore fairy tales, Disney princesses, or silly showtunes, you will also love this movie. It has something for everyone.

And I suggest you take your favorite 7 year old with you. This certainly enhanced my movie-going experience. I rarely see movies in the theatre, so I especially hate to feel disappointed by a film (which would explain why I was so angry after watching Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle... my most recent movie theatre experience). It was nice to spend that time together and to talk about the movie later. I've got a cool kid, and I like for her to know that's how her mom feels about her.

*Note to Parents* This movie is rated PG. Young children might get a bit frightened or nervous near the end. At one point it seems as if the heroine might die. Later the wicked queen turns into a dragon (ala Maleficent in Sleeping Beauty) using very realistic looking CGI effects. Please know your child and prepare them or walk them through accordingly.

There she goes...

There she goes again,

Racin' through my brain,

And I just can't contain,

This feeling that remains.

-Sixpence None the Richer (among others...)

So while Sister Goldenhair has returned to her efforts to be the ultimate two year old, Miss B has turned seven. Seven. How dare she grow up before my very eyes? There is something so satisfying, yet so very heartbreaking about watching my firstborn grow up. I remember the very second I first saw her. My life was forever altered. It was as if all I had ever done was leading me to this moment in the delivery room.

And I have delighted in motherhood ever since. Sure the pay stinks and the appreciation isn't always there, but I dearly love the role I have in the two miracles I help to raise. But this unexpected pain is so bittersweet. I always knew it would be hard to have her leave home someday, but I didn't expect to feel a twinge at every milestone.

I adored Miss B as a baby. She was soft and sweet, outgoing yet still Mommy's girl. She grew into an inquisitive toddler with curly hair and big blue eyes. Her sense of humor has always been present, as is her love of words and dancing. She has always been a blessing to me, a girlie girl in love with all things pink and sparkly. She's even a big part of the reason I fell in love with the house we bought.

Our home is a typical Midwestern ranch house built in 1956. It was well-kept but out-dated, and though many features caught my eye, it was Miss B that sold it. She ran through the house in pure, unadulterated, 18-month-old joy. I could hear her little feet thumping on the hardwood floors as she laughed and danced in each room. My heart was won over in that instant. Sure, the pitter patter of little feet is cliche, but I can still remember how I felt when I first heard it.

But now she's gone and really started to grow up. First it was starting kindergarten and turning six, now she's seven. First grade. Losing baby teeth left and right. Getting calls from a boy (!). I have always been aware of this inexorable progression, but it was really brought home last weekend. My brother got married and Miss B and SG were asked to be flower girls. While much of the attention was focused on SG (would she or wouldn't she walk down the aisle? would she through a fit?), I couldn't help but notice how Miss B seemed so grown up.

Sure, she danced and giggled like a little girl, but she also behaved beyond her years. Her hair was pinned up and tiara-ed, and she got to wear a dab of makeup. But it was more than appearance. She was always there to take her sister's hand and lead her or to quietly help SG know what to do. Many people noticed the blond cherub sprinkling petals, but I don't think many could ignore the quiet beauty of this princess. She has grown in beauty since the day she was born. Her blue eyes have turned a bit gray and her hair no longer curls, but she still takes my breath away.

When she was born I loved her for what she was, now I love her for who she is. She is funny, articulate, bright, sensitive, caring, a good sister, and a blessing to all who know her. Sure, I still get frustrated with her when her room is a mess or she doesn't listen. She is in many ways still very much a child, but she is in many ways so grown up. I'll happily deal with a messy room if I know that she is trying so hard to be a good sister and friend.

It's just hard to watch a part of my heart grow both more dear and closer to maturity at the same time. Part of me wants the world to see and appreciate this beautiful diamond, but part of me wants to hide this jewel away to secretly enjoy. She's always been my girl, dependent on me for so much. But now she is her own person in so many ways. And so I try to support her in all her dreams, even if they will one day take her away from me. 'Cause if I thought it was hard to some day let her go, it would be harder still to make her stay.

She says things are fallen into place

Feels like they're fallen apart

I painted this big ol' smile on my face

To hide my broken heart

If only she knew

This is where I don't say what I want so bad to say

This is where I want to but I won't get in the way

Of her and her dreams

And spreadin' her wings

-- Billy Ray Cyrus (who ever thought that Billy Ray would say it best?)

Absence makes the heart grow fonder (and brings the babies out the woodwork)...

First things first, Woody is much better. It seems he was suffering from a "rare, but serious, side effect" to his cholesterol medicine. Who knew? He also has a bulging disk in his neck, so his problems aren't all solved. But at least he can hold a pencil!

So I spent last weekend in Baltimore for a conference. I was able to leave with the knowledge that although we didn't yet know what was causing Woody's problems, the MRI showed it wasn't anything truly terrible. Miss B is old enough to understand what was going on and to think nothing of it. Sister Goldenhair, on the other hand, was probably confused as to why her mommy got a little teary-eyed dropping her off that day.

This was the first time I'd ever been away from her for so long or such a distance. And while some people are able to put their parent side away for a time, I have no such ability. I thought about the girls constantly. I tried to enjoy my time away, but I found myself thinking about home and wondering what Miss B was doing in school or if SG was asking for me.

Baltimore has spent a lot of money trying to beautify the inner harbor area. At first it seemed quite picturesque. But then my inner mom took a good look and was properly horrified. Here is a picture taken in that area. Can you see the problem?

If you said, "Oh it's actually quite lovely." You probably don't have a small child, or at least if you have a small child you are likely not from a totally landlocked area.

If you said, "Holy crap! There's no railing! What in the world is supposed to keep kids from falling in the harbor and drowning?!"... Ah, welcome friend. Welcome to the world of panicked parenting! You're just one newscast away from a MRSA-induced panic attack. So the prospect of taking your child to a large, brown body of water unguarded by even a slight barrier is horrifying to say the least (I mean come on, not even a curb to keep strollers from rolling in? They're killing me!).

So while I am glad I did not have to worry about my kids taking a dunk in the harbor, I still missed them a great deal. And just when my longing was most acute, God would have a little fun with me. Cute babies were suddenly everywhere. Adorable toddlers abounded. Even beautiful little girls seemed to be coming from everywhere.

Even when I didn't see them, I heard them. Delicious giggles and sweet little voices floated in the air. Even frustrated cries in the shops were given a rosy tone. Happy or sad, those voices were music to my deprived ears. Like a homesick child at summer camp, I longed for the routine chaos of home.

It was hardest first thing in the morning and last thing at night. My evenings at home are spent snuggling with the girls and getting them ready for bed. SG and I have been singing "Baby Mine" together lately as I rock her to sleep (*sigh*). And mornings around here are pure magic to me. The girls end up snuggled in bed with Woody and I, dozing and tickling and just relaxing and playing before the day really starts. Oh how I missed this.

Despite all this I am planning to go to next year's conference in Chicago already. I did enjoy the opportunities to gain some professional knowledge and to get to know some coworkers better, and I do believe that it was good for the girls to have me go and come back. Maybe I will do a bit better next time around. But then again...

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me speaking words of wisdom, "Let it be"

I know, I know. Long title.

But it's a song that is stuck in my head today. I think it's trying to speak to me, and I know it is a message I need to hear.

In case it isn't obvious from my other posts, I am a worrier. It is an irresistible force to me; if there is a potential problem, I *must* worry.

Do I hear one of the girls coughing? What does the whooping cough and croup sound like anyway? Are there any active cases of TB around here? What exactly are the symptoms of the plague?

I'm flying to a conference for work this week in Baltimore (home to one of the highest rising murder rates in the country). And as you can see, nothing is ever easy with me. That's not entirely true, but you get the idea. My worries of late had centered on this trip. It will be my first real separation from Sister Goldenhair, and I will miss Miss B's field trip to the pumpkin patch. I have worried about making sure they have someone to watch them while Woody's at work on the weekend. I've worried about packing their clothes early, because Woody doesn't always check what Miss B packs (temps last week lingered around 60 degrees and she took shorts and a tank top to wear at Granny and Papaw's house).

But today things changed.

Woody had been having some pain and was diagnosed last week with an infection. He took a dose of meds and woke up the next morning feeling completely relaxed. We thought that the cramping he'd had must have left his muscles spent and weak. But Sunday saw no improvement, and Monday brought more problems. He arrived at work with no memory of the trip and couldn't grip a pencil. A trip back to the family doctor resulted in a same day appointment with a neurologist, which resulted in a Wednesday night MRI appointment. Words such as "quadriplegia" and "paresis" have been bandied about.

Mother Mary? Check please!

Just how do I let this be? I mean the advice sounds great, and if you're going to take advice from a song it might as well be a Beatles song. But it's hard to embrace letting go and letting be when I haven't fully explored the realms of worry in this scenario. I mean sure, I've explored several disturbing options. WebMD? Check. Stroke symptoms? First thing that came to mind. Muscular dystrophy? There are 8 types to read more about. Could we keep our house if Woody went on disability? I warned you that I am worrier (I plan to go pro after the Olympics).

This situation reminds me of when I was pregnant with SG. We had a test performed called the quad marker screen, and we got some wonky results. My OBGYN's nurse called me at work to give me the results:

"Mrs. Indywriter, I'm sorry but your quad marker screen showed an increased likelihood of trisomy disorders such as Downs Syndrome."

"What?"

"Your doctor is out of town right now, but if you like you could talk to a doctor you've never met before."

"What?"

"We've scheduled a level 2 ultrasound in about 3 or 4 weeks so you can get more info."

"WHAT?"

I was insane by the time I hung up. I broke down and called Woody, crying hysterically. We managed to get an earlier ultrasound, but I was still consumed with worry the whole time. And though the results were promising, I was never able to feel complete joy during the rest of my pregnancy. That fear was always hanging over me. I've never been the lucky one before, so why should I expect it when it really mattered?

As it turns out, SG is perfectly healthy. And I have a new OBGYN.

But now it's Woody who's sick. And I can see obvious symptoms of problems. So this time it's not in my mind. It's all real. I just don't know what *it* is. How can I not worry about something like this?

I know that I shouldn't worry. I know that it won't accomplish anything. I know that it won't likely be anything nearly as bad as I imagine.

My computer is playing random music from my library right now and "Have a Little Faith in Me" is playing. I believe God speaks to us through any means necessary, and I think I know what the answer should be. My faith should be enough to give me peace in times of trouble (yep, Mother Mary is still hanging around). But doubt creeps back in with alarming frequency.

(Okay God, the theme from Raiders of the Lost Ark is on now. I must admit that I don't see the connection this time. And since the theme from Jaws is next, I assume you are looking to communicate through another medium.)

And so I will wait. And no doubt I will worry. Mother Mary will continue to speak to me, and I'll try to let it be. And I will learn to accept personal failures. And not worry about them. And the Father will hold my hand whenever I lose my way.

On joy and grief

Recently we were thrilled to hear from our dear friends that they were expecting their second child. They had always wanted to have another baby, and she had been extra responsible in working to get as healthy as possible before trying. They were waiting to share the news with family until after a long-awaited trip.

My friend and I talked about the baby and how she wanted another girl. We talked about names and clothes and breastfeeding. She was planning how to make life with a new baby work for their family.

Sunday night she called me. I felt something was different from her greeting. And when she started to talk, I knew what she was going to say. I wanted to not hear it, but I knew.

They lost the baby.

At ten weeks pregnant people say things that they think will be comforting, but they aren't. The body knows when something isn't right. Women who are much farther along lose babies and it's harder when you're farther along. You can try again soon. At least it happened now and not later.

My friend summed it up with, "No one writes a eulogy for a ten-week-old fetus."

We met for lunch this week and she is holding up well. She has a tempest of emotion though bubbling beneath the surface. She confessed that she didn't know what was the appropriate way to grieve for her situation. A close friend of hers had lost a year-old child. So does that make it wrong for her to grieve as much as her friend did?

For all of her strength and toughness, she has the tender heart of a mother. I cannot say I know how she feels to have lost a baby, but I know the love of a mother's heart. It doesn't matter to a mother how old her child is, the loss is devastating. God willing, she will never have to experience something like this again, but that is the only way any of us can know the difference.

How can anyone say whether it's harder to lose a child you have held and kissed or the baby who is still physically part of your body and sharing your blood. This unborn blessing holds all the dreams of family and friends. The potential for anything was there, but is now gone.

I tried to comfort my friend as best I could. I didn't want to offer empty platitudes and generic tidings of sympathy. So I tried to explain to her what I wrote here, that her journey is her journey. She can only know what she feels right now, and God willing, she will never have a basis for comparison. But she can't worry if her grief is appropriate to others who only saw a fetus. She is grieving for a child, a confidant for her daughter, and a dream of infinite possibilities.

As her friend, I want to comfort her. As a person, I hope it never happens to me. But as a mother I grieve too.