Diary of Shame

I was late picking up my daughter and her friend from preschool. It was 12:11. I said "I'm sorry I'm late, I should have left earlier" (taking a cue from an article I'd just read about excuses versus explanations and blame versus accountability--yay me!) Teacher said "Is there something that makes it hard for you to get here on time?"

I felt a warm flush crawling up my face and my heart sinking until its place in my chest was replaced with a hollowness. I thought, "she hates me, I'm so broken I can't even pick up my daughter on time." And then I wondered if I've ever been on time...I know I'm not usually the first and not always the last. I thought, I'm usually pulling up at 12:05 and if ever I'm later that 12:10, I pay the late fee as stipulated in the disclosure document, which I hate to admit has happened about once a month.

Circles

I'm pregnant.

*sigh*


It's not that I'm disappointed or ungrateful. It's just. A. Heavy. Load.

Grit

"We clap for the truth." --Brene Brown

I thought it was not my best performance.

And people said it was wonderful.

I wondered what I had missed.
What was IT,
Beyond my tied tongue,
Beyond my vacant stares,
Beyond my incoherent ramblings,
Beyond my sweat drenched shirt?

The Middle Path

                                                                                                                                                         

Foundations

"I am not happy in my marriage." For years the thought kept popping through my mind. For the last few months, the thought haunted my heart. And for the last few weeks, the thought crushed my soul.

I checked the facts. There was no one to blame.

How could I think and feel this way while in an otherwise healthy relationship? Sure, we are as different as night and day. I am the tortoise, he is the hare. He is the bird, I am the fish. But we have a common Goal, and I thought we were supposed to be Happy and agreeable and understanding and want to be with each other, Always.

The Day I Stopped Apologizing

My son had slept in unusually late. I hate being awoken and hate doing the awakening. Something about it is wholly violating to me... I was helping my oldest daughter with some last minute math anyway and only had time to run down and see him waking on his own with 5 minutes to go. "I'm sorry it's so late" I wanted to say. But my voice inside me said "No, don't. It's not your fault."

You see, I have this guilt complex, well, it's really more of a shame complex. Guilt is the feeling that let's us know we may have done something bad; Shame is the feeling I am bad/disappointing/unloved/etc. And for some reason, the connection inside my brain between the two is like a lightning rod to the ground. It happens so fast I don't know it until it's over and the house where my emotional self lives is on fire...

Birth Story #3

The thought of undergoing a surgical delivery again--with all its sights, sounds, smells and feelings--filled me with nausea and fear.  I knew it was time for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean).  But a VBAC after one cesarean makes many doctors uneasy, and a VBAC after two cesareans is. not. done. So I went to a large mid wife practice that has also managed to partner with a few doctors and met with a mid wife who seemed open.  She suggested I meet with the senior doctor to be sure.  As he put it, being at the end of his career and understanding the honest facts about cesareans and VBACs, he didn't think either of us "have that much to lose."*

Birth Story #2

He was due May 10. But I elected for a scheduled c-section, routinely a week early, making it May 3. But then my husband's paternity leave began at the beginning of that week and since my first child was born on July 1 we asked the doctor if we pretty please might have the baby on May 1. :)

With everything planned and packed, we took our first born to my sister-in-law's the night before and enjoyed a restful night at home. At 7:00a.m. the next morning we drove to the hospital, showered, dressed, and prepared.  I walked through the hospital doors wheeling my luggage behind me.  I sat at the admitting desk filing out paperwork and answering questions. I walked to the pre/post op room where the nurse gave me a gown. I changed in the restroom then climbed onto the hospital bed and sat and waited. It was all very quiet and routine.

Birth Story #1 Part 2

I picked up the cold pay phone receiver, pressed the cold buttons, and shivered as I told my husband the news.  The pay phone made our conversation difficult to understand, he rushed to the hospital while I stopped by home to pack my bag and put some laundry into the washing machine.  When I finally arrived to reassure him, we were unceremoniously admitted to the hospital.

At 4 pm the nurses applied prostaglandin to my forbidding cervix (50% effaced and not even 1 cm.) The prostoglandin burned into my tissue, the IV dripped into my veins, my bladder swelled, and my sciatic nerve cringed as I was ordered to lay on my left side and not use the restroom for an hour--the longest hour of my life. The procedure was repeated at 10 pm for the second longest hour of my life.

Birth Story #1 Part 1: Birth and Burgers

After 4 births, whether by a sense of nostalgia, maturity, or appreciation, I feel it is finally time to write my birth stories. I feel like the poster child for methods of delivery having had an emergency c-section, a planned c-section, a vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC) and a miscarriage. I hope my experiences will enrich yours be it past or present.


Birth Story #1 Part 1

I lay in the quiet darkness of the cavernous ultrasound room at the regional hospital. I listened to my deliberately slow breaths to ease the beating of my heart. The ultrasound technician hadn't said much, but I watched the calculated measurements flash on the screen: gestation 37.5 wks, head 37 wks, abdomen 32 wks, total weight 5 lbs 7 oz.

When the mouse is away, the cat sleeps!

Or Top 10 best things about your husband being out of town:

1. Not having to stay on my side of the bed.
2. Not having to get out of bed to blow my nose.
3. Not having to use the kids bathroom down the hall.

Mo-ther I Lo-ve You, I Want Your Fo-od

Surprisingly, Mother's Day is the most popular day of the year to dine out.  More than 6 out of 10 Americans who celebrate Mother's Day with a special meal do so in a restaurant (via source).  Does that strike anyone else as funny?  This means that while we want mom to kick up her feet and be served instead of serving, we also don't want to be the one serving either, because who wants to spend their leisure time cooking and cleaning up?  (Only about 1 in 5.)  In which case we should be ashamed, because eating out was likely mom's idea in the first place.

You Are What You Think

I read 21 blogging mistakes today (among about 100 other things), but that one stuck. Given that my answer to the question "Do you have a blog?" is "No, but I have a domain :)" I make about all the mistakes that one can make not posting--the biggest being rule #2, and if I did post it would probably be an even 21 (I'm an english major--not a mathmetician.) ;) But no more!

Blah, blah, blog

So I thought I would finally put a little something out there for all you who think I'm never going to do anything with this blog I created on a whim of creative inspiration. I intended to begin what may someday be a career in writing. But with a slowly growing list of random topics and snipits like "In Memory of the Manual Toothbrush" and "Pull Your Hair Up" and a blank blog, I find myself lacking in time and place to hear myself think (my kids just don't appreciate my potential in creative non-fiction.) So here I sit after midnight (I can actually hear my computer faintly humming) posting a meager and less than brilliant excuse for my effort averse nature. And if that isn't enough to keep you coming back in hopes of more then here's another teaser: "Baseball: the Great All-American Model for a Society Going Nowhere."