Monday Blues

I've noticed these past few months that Mondays are hard days for my girls.  We've just spent the weekend together doing family things: errands, big breakfast, trip to the playground or zoo.  We really make the most of those two days together.

Come Monday, the fun grinds to a halt and we're back in the zone: get up, get dressed, eat up, get your coat on and get out the door.  T seems especially sad on Mondays.  Sometimes she shows it by being thoughtful and drawn inward.  Sometimes, she's outright defiant and pushing every-single-button.  Most times, she just doesn't say goodbye as we drop Daddy off or give me kisses as I leave her at daycare.

Mondays are hard.

Yesterday, she was especially sad.  Knowing that we have a long weekend and a trip home coming up, I thought I would cheer her up with this good news.  She responded well and seemed much happier.  She loves going to Grammie's house and seeing her "friends", aka her cousins.

A few more minutes into our trip, K started to whine and howl.  Being the amazing big sister she is, T tried to comfort her with this, "Don't worry K.  Just a few days of school and then they won't leave us anymore!".

That was the sound of my heart breaking.

I spent a couple more minutes hugging her yesterday morning, and afternoon, and night, and again this morning.  I reminded her how much we love her and that we miss her too during the day.  I also reminded her how much she loves her teacher Ms. Vecky and how much fun she has at daycare.  Maybe all we need is a good long vacation together.  Maybe I just needed a reminder that I have amazing daughters who love their mom and dad so much.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm doing something right.

Early Intervention

What is it about the phrase "Early Intervention" that makes me feel like a failure, like a mom who just can't hack it, like I'm letting my kids down?

"I have a PhD, for crying out loud, why can't I fix this?", is one of the many ongoing accusatory conversations going on in my head.

Is it just me, or do all moms continually beat themselves up like this and hold themselves accountable for every little thing?

Since K's 9 month check up, we've been in catch up mode: catch up on weight, catch up on length, catch up on social skills, catch up on gross motor skills.  To her credit, she's actually accomplished a lot in a few weeks, even if it was delayed.  Scooting, crawling, sitting up, and lots of babbles.  But it wasn't enough and we sat through screening yesterday to see if she qualified for early intervention services.  Her communication skills were behind, just a little, and we're going to watch those to see if she catches up in the next few months.  Her gross motor skills had improved drastically and she was actually doing okay in that category, except for the way she places her feet, qualifying her for services to correct her atypical behavior.

Coming out of the appointment, my husband and I were in separate worlds.  To him, the appointment went great!  She showed them all the things she could do.  The two major deficiencies were either something we could watch and coach, or were physical and now she would see specialists that could help her.

As for me, I broke down crying as we walked out of the doctors office.  How could I have failed my baby so badly?

Its amazing how mother's guilt can take over and block out all rational thought.  Of course, my husband was right.  I didn't do anything to make her hold her feet funny.  But those thoughts couldn't break through the mommy-guilt.  Through the rest of the day, my emotions were just barely held back as I tried to focus on work.  Afterwards, I pick up the girls and hugged them both a little tighter than usual.

In the light of the next day, I'm feeling slightly better about what lies ahead, but there's still a nagging guilt just out of my line of sight.  I know in five years, none of this is going to matter and I'll be talking with her about gymnastics or ballet and she'll be just fine.  I'm just going to need a pep talk or two along the way to keep drowning in my own guilt.

I should mention that K did awesome in some categories, putting her achievement beyond her age, like in the receptive communication skills and fine motor skills.  All together, its a lesson to me that we all excel at some things and not others.  I guess that starts very early in life!

Reassuring Kids' Books

You have to love kids books.  Written with life's lessons, boiled down to a few pages each.  Written to reassure kids that they are loved and safe.  I wonder if the authors realize how reassuring they are to parents as well.

I was going to write a post about the beginning of our week, looking for some "Been there, felt that, now I own the app", kind of responses.  T had been sick for a couple of days, we were cooped up in the house, and it felt like I alternated non-stop between crying children.  I would get one to stop, only to hear the other start.  When B got home Tuesday, it was me who was crying.  I needed a break, badly.  I needed to get away and have some alone time, real alone time.  It's been 20 weeks now since K was born and I've been out of the house without her a whopping total of three times.

And then the guilt creeped up and took hold of me.  Now I was crying because I felt like a horrible mother.  What kind of mother needs to get away from her kids??!!

I was feeling better today, although still a little guilty.  T picked out this night-night book and it made a lot of sense to me. It's called, "I love you so...", by Marianne Richmond.

Here is what it says inside.  It's kind of long, but it's worth the read:

I love you
How much?
So much
How much is so?
Way, way more than you know

I love you as brilliant as each sparkling star, and as way out as space, I love you that far.
I love you as gigantic as a great lion's roar, and as deep as the ocean, I love you much more.

That is a lot you say, but how did it start?  Where did love come from to be in your heart?

You put it there really, when you and I met, and I knew for certain, without you I'd fret.
From my head to my toes, I was feeling inside, a devotion for you, so deep and so wide.
And now its enormous and wonderfully real, and hard to describe how much I feel.

I love you as awesome as a thundery sky, and as soaring as mountains, I love you that high.
I love you as silly as a puppy dog's kiss, and as quiet as midnight, I love you like this.

Do you love me every day, you ask with doubting awe, or does love go up and down, like a teetering see-saw?

I love you as steady as the earth rounds the sun, though some days of life are the furthest from fun.

Like when you feel mad, you ask with distress, cause I've broken the rules, or made a big mess?
Or when I'm unkind and your feelings are blue?  Do you love me although I do what I do?

I love you being mad and when you're cranky too.  I love you without liking the naughty things you do. 
My love you doesn't change like the temper of the days.  Its a certain kind of thing, in many different ways.

You're my sweetie, my dear, my smile and laughter.
You're my playmate for always and my joy ever after.
Hanging out with you is where I want to be, eating ice cream sundaes or watching the TV.
Under your umbrella, behind you on a bike, by you and beside you is what I really like.

Do you love me just as much when I'm far away from home?  Is your loving still the same in the distant lands I roam?

I love you near or far, I love you high or low.  My love is there with you, where ever you may go.

Even when I'm sick and I can't get out of bed?  Do you love me better healthy than with fever in my head?

I love you sick or able, you're always you to me.  The one I love forevermore, undeniably.

(Here's where I always choke up)
I can't imagine life before you came along.
Me there singing senseless, no meaning to my song.
Call it meant to be, or simply blessed fate, you fill my heart with love and for that I celebrate.

I love you


How much?

So much

How much is so?

Way, way more than you know

So, I figure, not only do kids need this kind of reassurance in their books, but so do their parents.  If someone has taken the time to write this down, it's because they've lived it too.  They've had those trying moments with naughty or sick kids and felt the guilt later.  I didn't get frustrated for lack of love for my girls.  It was because I love my girls so, so much and that kind of love doesn't change with the days.  That kind of love is solid, stable, and always there, even if I do need a break, or a book, to remind me.

By the way, I wrote the above completely from memory, that's how much I love and have read this book to T and now K.  Wonderful book, Ms. Richmond, from one I'm sure knows a mother's love all too well!

When I grow up...

It seems that I've been on a particular path for about 87.9% of my life (I actually did the math).  My mom will tell you that from an early age I wanted to be a scientist, wear a lab coat, figure out life, and save the world.  I was always organized (my dolls were arranged in order of size and then based on the color of their outfits, I know, ridiculous), curious, and wanting to know more.  Through high school, I elected to take as many biology classes as I could and went to college for a BS in Biotechnology.  I worked for 6 years as a Research Associate, doing the "research" that other people wanted, not really finding my purpose.  I was starting to get "itchy".  I wanted more than that.  So I went back to school to get my PhD.

Fast forward 5+ years, and here I am, approaching the end of my graduate school career, mere months away from defending my thesis research and earning the elusive title of "Doctor of Philosophy in Molecular Microbiology and Immunology".  I'm also finding that I have no idea what I want to do afterwards.

Huh?

I've been working toward this goal my entire life: to be a scientist, figure out life, and save the world.  Now I'll have the credentials I need to do my own research, to go on and have the most productive research lab in the history of research and get that Nobel Prize by the ripe age of 40.  Right?

Except... now I have a family.

For someone who never even entertained the idea of kids, I love being a mom and its my biggest priority (right after being a good wife!).  My daughter is my world.  I fall asleep thinking of her and wake up thinking of her and every moment in between.  It's also been the most universally challenging and guilt-ridden job I've ever had.  Normally at work, I know immediately (or within a few days) if I've messed up.  I won't know until she's an adult if I've done irreparable damage!

So now, I find myself with completely different priorities than that 4 year old little girl who dreamed of saving the world through science.  I still love it and find it completely fulfilling, but it competes with the time I can spend with my family.  If I stay on the path  I've been on, my days and evenings (and yes, even weekends) will be filled with grant applications, traveling to speaking engagements and conferences on top of research and teaching.  Is there some sort of compromise?  I wish I had the answer.

As I approach the end of my endentured servanthood (i.e. grad student), I am weighing my options.  How important is it to me to do actual research?  Are there other ways I can contribute to society within my field?  What else can I do with my degree?  I've only done research, am I capable of something else?

I've learned a few things from countless seminars, job fairs, etc.  One is that a path one takes to their ultimate profession is never straight.  There are lots of bumps, wrong turns and detours along the way.  It's okay for me to try something else, even if it doesn't work out.  I've also learned that it's never too late to reinvent yourself.  In fact, in this workplace and economy, it's almost essential that you do so every 5-10 years.  Alright, so maybe my next move isn't the decisive factor in who I will be.  Maybe its just a stepping stone or specific experience that makes me stand out in a crowd.  Maybe I don't need to put so much pressure on my choices now.  Maybe I'm ready to try something new.  After all, I tried being a mom and look how much I love that!

Linking up at The Anderson Family Crew

BOOM

(Just to be clear, everything is going perfectly fine wtih this pregnancy.  We are 10 weeks along, I'm nauseous most of the time, and we've seen a heartbeat.  However, sometimes I write blog posts that I never intend to publish.  It's therapeutic for me to get my thoughts out, organized and stored away.  While I didn't intend to publish this one, (we were trying not to spead the word too much before we knew for sure), I think it's important to share.  I know so many women who have had to face one or several miscarriages in their lives and there are many more who have never shared that kind of heartbreak.  None of us talk about it, but I bet many of us feel the same way.  Leading up to our first OB appointment, these were my thoughts and feelings.  I hope that for those who have had to face this too, you can read this and know you're not alone.  For those that haven't had to go through this, perhaps this can help you relate to those that you know who have.  I know I had no idea before I went through it myself.)

Written 8/29/11, four days before our first OB/GYN appointment:

For the past several weeks, I have been a ticking time bomb.  At any moment, I feel like my world could explode... again.

As very few of you know, we are pregnant.  I am about 9 weeks along and waiting for that "first" ultrasound.  I say "first" because, impatient people that we are, and having the resources/connections that we do, we had an off-the record ultrasound a few weeks ago, courtesy of B's friends who are residents, training in ultrasound at the hospital.  And though B said he saw "something", I didn't see anything.  Just a speck.  And that's when my fuse was lit.

Just over two years ago, B and I miscarried.  It's still hard for me to type it, never mind say it.  Those weeks were such a roller coaster.  From total elation that we were pregnant, to denial, that something would of course start to show up in the many, many ultrasounds, to the absolute dread of the D&C.  I was in a funk for a long time.  No, not just a funk, I was flat out depressed.  I felt like a failure as a woman.  I know it wasn't "my fault" and that I didn't do anything wrong.  I know in my head that it was nature's way of screening out the incompatible combinations of chromosomes.  I know that miscarriage is very common and happens to so many women (but why do none of us talk about it?). 

None of that information got to my heart though.  In my heart, I still grieve for the child that never happened.  Despite the fact that we were able to conceive relatively quickly afterward and had a beautiful, complete, perfect little girl, I still miss the idea of what that first pregnancy might have been. 

And now, having seen a preliminary speck, similar to what we saw the first time, where it  was just the empty sac, the blighted ovum, the dread has returned.  Have I failed again?

We'll know for sure on Thursday when we have our first OB/GYN appointment and our first official ultrasound.  At that point, if there will be a baby, then there will be something to see.  And if not...  Well, we've been down that road before...  I hope this bomb is a dud.  I hope that the joy that is Miss T will help carry me through and remind me that even though this one might not be successful, the next one might.  I hope I can be strong enough to face Thursday and the information we might receive.  The few family members we have told are so excited for us.  They talk about it as if they are sure of the outcome.  I find myself reeling them in, refusing to celebrate until I know.  I refuse to board the roller coaster again, I'll just stay on the platform until Thursday.  Until then, I'll take try to take some comfort in the daily, non-stop nausea that I didn't have with the first pregnancy, the frequent night wakings, and the already growing belly.  Tick, tick, tick...

Of course, as we announced here, everything seems to be going well.  I've finally allowed myself to start getting excited and thinking/dreaming about our new addition to our family.  I'm finding myself falling asleep with my hands on my belly.  It surprises me how real the pain of our miscarriage still is, even now.  Anyways, I think I'll leave you with a positive note, a very silly picture of me trying to capture my 10-week bump in my bathroom mirror!  My acceptable wardrobe is getting smaller every day!

Perspective

You know the feeling when you step off of a roller coaster that was just beyond your threshold for fear?  You think to yourself, "I'm never going to do that again, but at least I got through it".  That's how I feel after these past two weeks.

Almost two weeks ago, I left for the American Society for Virology 30th Annual Meeting.  This was the second time I have attended this meeting and the first time I did an oral presentation.  I am terrified of public speaking.  I shake, my stomach gets twisted in knots and I tend to need a restroom (sorry, TMI!).  I was giving a talk to about 40-50 experts in arenaviruses.  Me!  Telling experts things they don't know yet about their favorite virus!  Nerve wracking?  You bet!  Intimidating?  Without a doubt.  But I came out the other side accomplished, having fielded their questions as well as I could and having given a presentation that I could be proud of.  Phew!, you might think, glad to be off that roller coaster, but that was just the warm up hill.

This was also the first time I was away from Miss T overnight since she was born!  B has managed to get me out for a few date nights here and there, but I always get to go home and watch her perfect sleeping little body and reassure myself that she's ok.  The first couple of days away, there were a few tears and heartaches.  Luckily, my meeting kept me very busy (8:30 am to 10:00 pm!) which provided a good distraction.  Best of all, was that on most days, I could make a quick stop at the local Starbucks and video chat with my loves through FaceTime on our iPhones.  What a huge blessing that is!  The hardest part was waiting for my suitcase on the baggage claim carousel, knowing that that was the only thing keeping me away from my B and my T.  I spent the next day with T, reading books, playing in her pool or splash table and just loving my time with her.  But wait, we're not off that ride yet.  Here come the huge final hill...

While I was away I received news that my mentor had resigned his position at the University and was taking a position at another beginning 9/1/2011.  Mind you, I didn't hear it from him.  And, once I found out about the resignation, I learned that many other people at my meeting knew the day before I did!  "What a jerk!" you might think, or even "How unprofessional!".  Well, I'll get to that.  The bottom line is that he is providing the funding I need to finish this December, I don't need to move with him or change projects as other students have had to do, so it could be much, much worse.  When I returned, I was ready to give it to him.  Unfortunately, he cancelled our meeting and we wouldn't meet for a few more days, approximately a week after his resignation was turned in.  Well, I'm glad I had the few days to cool off.  I was able to make a timeline for completion for my experiments, paper manuscripts, and thesis.  I was able to reassure myself that I can do all of this and get it done in the timeframe provided.  While I waited for our meeting, I learned of all the abuse that he was taking from other people in our institute.  I found myself defending him!  Why shouldn't he be able to take a position that will accelerate his career, that will recognize his expertise and contributions to the field, that will reunite him with his family. 

My mentor grew up in cold war Russia, trained in virology and medicine under the Communist Regime in Moscow.  He first met his current colleague that we collaborate with at the Berlin wall - he was on the East side, she was on the West side.  Here in the states, his wife works for a pharmaceutical company 3 hours away - they only see each other on the weekends.  They have had this living arrangement for the last 11 years!  His sons and grandchildren are even further away.  This move provides him with a way to not only reunite his family (allowing his wife to retire) and to be recognized for the leader in the field that he is.  How could I be mad at him?  Isn't this the exact same thing I want?  To be able to excel in my career and to be reunited with our families back north? 

When we did finally meet to discuss logistics and planning, I mentioned to him that I realized all the abuse he was getting, but that I was happy for him, that I recognized what a great opportunity this was for him, and that I was going to miss him.  He actually started to choke up and squeezed my hand!  My mentor is devoid of emotion, at least on the surface, so to witness this, well of course I started crying.  Par for the course with me!  So while I may have had those horrible thoughts initially, I was able to see things from his perspective and see how this move had nothing to do with me and that in the end, wasn't going to change all that much.  Sure, it's a bit more stressful now and I need to start searching for a postdoctoral position sooner than I thought, but I can handle it.  After all, I managed to be away from Miss T for 5 days and present at a national meeting right?

Because I can't resist, here are a couple of pics of Miss T while I was away...

Thwack, Thud, Whah!

Remember the old Batman TV show?  We used to watch it on Saturday mornings - the reruns of couse.  I'm not that old!  Anyways, whenever there was a "fight" huge cartoon letters spelling out the fighting sounds would appear on the screen. 

(side note: just realizing now, that when this happened, you never actually saw Batman's fist connect with anyone. Too much violence for TV in the 70's?  Man, those were the days...)

Anyhow, these are the sounds we are hearing in and around our house lately.

THWACK!

THUD!

WHAH!

When Miss T was getting ready to start walking, everyone warned me...

"Watch out, she's going to be into everything"

"She's never going to stop!"

What they failed to warn me about was the transformation into a walking disaster that she's become.  She's still only taking a few tentative steps on her own here and there, but the girl has the courage of a lion!  She has no fear in ripping her hand out of mine when we're walking down the sidewalk.  But that's when we hear "THUD.... WHAH!"

Poor little girl, if only the "other guy" looked worse!  And I'm not sure which is worse, the thud of her skull hitting the cement, the ear piercing cries, or the silence in between while you wait for the cries.  Just an FYI, the longer the silence, the louder the cry!

The other part of this is yet another layer of Mommy Guilt.  Because, of course, it's my failure to protect her and keep her from getting hurt.  And now I have a constant reminder of my failures everytime I look at this sweet face.

At least she keeps going.  The picture below is a little blurry because when I focused the camera, she was steadily holding onto the table.  Then without warning, she started charging me. I barely got the camera down before she lunged and I had to catch her!

Sick Momma

Ok, I've found a new way to top "Mommy Guilt" - The Sick Momma

I rarely get sick.
Of course I get the occasional cold, but as far as really sick?  I'm lucky to say that only happens once every couple of years. 
And by really sick, I mean
the need to sleep for 15 hours in a row - for three days in a row,
body feels like it was run over by a garbage truck,
head is about to explode,
the mere thought of a sip of water or ginger ale is as appetizing as drinking bleach.

The last time I was sick like this, my weight dropped to high school levels.  I remember it clearly, January 2008.  After it passed, I remembered being weak and pale for days.

Well, I've was struck victim again this year.  From Sunday to Tuesday I was racked by - well all the above symptoms, but in addition was The Guilt. 

See, this time, I have a baby girl to care for, love and be available for.  Even in my disorientation I tried to be present.  I swaddled myself up on the couch with her on a playmat in front of me.  I'm not lying when I say I couldn't even muster up the energy to look at her, nevermind interact, play, smile at her.  I think she could sense trouble brewing.  That day she started making her concerned face.

Thank God for my husband.  For all his germophobia, he remained healthy and took care of Miss T while I slept Sunday away.  At one point around, oh, 5:30 pm, I remember him saying something to the effect of "I'm just going to leave you alone so you can rest".  You know when I saw him next? 1:30am!  Then it was back to bed until 8:00am.

In my pre-mommy days, the second day of a sickness is bearable.  While you may not be able to work, you can manage to provide for yourself - barely.  I was in a panic regarding how I was going to be able to manage for my self and my child!  I actually begged my husband to stay home.  The wonderful man that he is, he called in, again took care of both me and Miss T, and still managed to get some work done.  He's amazing I tell you!

Day three, you can usually drag yourself to work or you can milk it and use it as a "recuperation day".  I had our friend watch T while I slept. 

All this time, The Guilt was building. 
For three days now, I hadn't been able to kiss, hug, or somehow demonstrate my complete infatuation with my baby girl.
I hadn't been able to stimulate her intellect, nurture her curiosity, foster her courage. 
Have I permanently stunted her growth and development?

Ahh, day four.  I actually want to eat.  Of course its just a bagel and I regret eating the whole thing afterwards, but just that I desired to eat was HUGE.  And not just that, I can not only pretend to smile at Miss T, I am grinning ear to ear just to hold her, talk to her, play with her.  While I should have stayed home all day again to rest, we went on a lunch date, me and T.  We played all afternoon.  I got to hug and kiss her goodnight.

We're slowly getting back to normal.  The laundry piles are getting smaller and perhaps I'll actually make a real dinner tonight.  Poor hubby.  He was our big time hero this week.  I love you baby!  Hopefully its another three years until The Sickness strikes again!