The Lime Tree

I found out that I was pregnant for the second time and that the pregnancy was not viable all in the same week. In one week we experienced two extremes: happy excitement and devastating heartbreak.

I have to say that, honestly, us thinking about having another child has only been a recent preoccupation. I joked with friends that if I got pregnant soon after Ivan's birth that I would jump off a bridge. Becoming a new mom was the biggest shock ever. We adore Ivan, but we were totally unprepared for how hard and exhausting it would be.

So it was a really big step when we decided to start trying again last year. Or not not trying. (eyerolllllll - don't you just hate that?) Every month since has been a disappointment. I tried to quiet the part of me that started to question: What if I can't get pregnant again? Will Ives be an only child? Have my lady parts stopped functioning? As panicked and sad as I was, I tried to seem nonchalant about it all, but the desire to have another child was such a profound part of me and the realization that I might not be able to hit me like a ton of bricks.

So you can imagine our excitement, when I took a home pregnancy test and it was positive. Pregnant. As cautiously optimistic as I knew I should be, my excitement took over and I was already imagining two kids playing and laughing and making us even more crazy. The only problem was that I was spotting and I'd just had a period a couple weeks before. My doctor recommended I take a blood test to confirm and I did. Two days after the blood test my doctor called me and said "Congratulations!" She thought the spotting could be attributed to implantation bleeding, but asked me to come in for another blood test just in case.

Two days after the blood test, I got a call from my doctor just as I was getting to work. Her voice was quiet and somber. "Your levels aren't rising like they should. You should expect to miscarry soon. I'm so sorry." It felt like I'd been punched in the gut. I felt foolish for getting my hopes up. And I wasn't prepared for how utterly devastating this news would be.

The miscarriage wasn't how I ever imagined it might be like to have one. Not that I really ever gave it much thought. I guess I thought you had one and then that was that. My levels rose slightly, things didn't happen naturally and I had to take medications and later shots when that didn't work. The process was an unbearably long 6 weeks. During that time I was in a horrible limbo - technically "pregnant" because of the presence of HCG, but not. It was a total mind fuck.

I've since learned how common miscarriages are, but no one would know that because no one talks about it. I get that it's kind of a buzzkill conversation, but it seemed wrong and disengenious of me to go about as if nothing ever happened. I wanted to acknowledge and honor our loss. 

The day we found out that the pregnancy was a lost cause, David planted a lime tree in our back yard. He has tended to it with such sweet care. We never really talked about it, but I think in a little way we take comfort in something that has kept living after our baby did not and it is a quiet acknowledgement that he/she existed once. We had some unbearably hot days and we didn't think the tree would make it, but it is growing and sprouting tiny leaves. And I think it's going to be OK.

On being three, and the plight of potty training

THREE. How the what?

Man. It hardly seems possible that we have a three year old. A three year old who is quickly developing his own set of opinions about the world, repeats EVERYTHING, and makes me crazy proud to be his mama.

About repeating everything - I have had to train my sailor mouth to stop dropping F bombs (mostly successful), stop saying "shit" when I drop stuff (shoot just doesn't give the same satisfaction) and dad has had to learn to stop saying "Damnit!" when he's frustrated. We both curse like sailors, so it's taken a good deal of  behavior modification.

About a year ago - Ivan must have just turned two, he picked up the word "shit" from us. He started using it in the right context too; like when he dropped a toy or made a mistake. At first it was shocking hearing such words coming from my little guy, but then later it was kind of funny. I would say, oh you mean "shoot" and he'd say, "No, mama. I mean shit." Um, oops.

At three, Ivan loves puzzles (he can put together a 24 piece puzzle with no help!), ice cream (man, does he LOVE ice cream), books, bike rides, singing, and Legos. He is curious, imaginative, sweet and VERY stubborn. And as annoying as this trait is now, I think it will serve him well later in life to be so strong-willed and spirited so I try my best not to crush this. But when it came to potty training, oh man, did that stubborn trait just about drive me to the madhouse.

Potty training loosely started in February, when Ivan was 2 1/2. In retrospect, he was not ready. He was showing textbook signs of being ready - hiding when he needed to go, telling me when he'd gone, showing self awareness, but I should know by now that everything happens on Ivan's own time (hello 41 week pregnancy and 30+ hour labor that ended up emergency c-section). We tried the potty training bootcamp method which I DO NOT recommend for a spirited child. It ended up backfiring and he refused to even sit on the toilet. We took a break and came back to it a couple of months later but still felt like it was not "clicking."

Over the last few weeks, we applied a method using the following:

1. This sticker chart. We put the chart up on the wall above his potty and it is a clear visual of his progress.
2. This potty training app. It's annoying, but it works. Ivan particularly likes telling the app when he goes potty and playing one of the games as a reward.
3. Trucks like these. For the first weekend that we went really hard core with this, he got a truck every time he went in the toilet. This was David's idea and it was a key motivator for this truck/car obsessed boy. There were only five trucks in the pack so we aren't doing this anymore, but I think this was especially effective. I found them for way cheaper at Big Lots.
4. M&Ms. Three m&ms for pee and five for poop. Pretty sweet deal.
5. Lots of Alcohol. (for me, not the kid)


And lo and behold! We are now well on our way to being totally potty-trained. I don't know why it took this much convincing and downright bribery to convince someone not to shit their pants, but I'm not even mad about it anymore. I want to dance and sing and laugh and skip. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that the sight of someone's shit would make me so happy or so proud. Motherhood is a trip.

Buttcrack of Dawn Smoothies

Every morning, very early in the morning, Ivan comes marching into our room clutching at least five books. "Hi, Mama!! Hi Dada!! Goooood morning!" He climbs up into our bed and wants to read all of the books.

Ivan has two settings: intense and asleep. There's no easing into the day: when he's up, we're all up. We have books to read, waffles to eat, and trucks to play with. And lately, we have smoothies to make too.

I recently got a Vitamix blender and it has been a dream. Our old blender was such a hassle; it didn't blend properly and ended up leaving me frustrated. The Vitamix, on the other hand is a beast. It blends smoothies to absolute silky perfection and I've already found this purchase to be well worth it for smoothie-making alone.

Smoothies are also the way I manage to get veggies into Ivan's mouth without a fight. I add a generous handful of spinach or kale for added vitamins and he is none the wiser. We usually sit at the kitchen table and Ivan tells me what he dreamt the night before - "There was a robot! We went to Home Depot!" and then he wants us to say cheers and drink our smoothies with bendy straws. It's the best way I can think of to wake up. Even if it is at 6 am.

Buttcrack of Dawn Smoothies

-1 1/2 cups of mixed frozen fruit (we use the organic antioxidant mix from Costco)
-1 banana
-1 big handful of green, leafy veggies (we use kale or spinach)
-1 tablespoon of almond butter
-1 dash of cinnamon

Blend on low for about 15 seconds in the Vitamix. Pour into glass. Insert bendy straw. Say cheers!

Catharsis: A Birth Story

Deep sigh. This one's heavy, y'all. It's taken me two-and-a-half years to put my birth story to paper. I hear there's catharsis in this, so here we go.

Every time I set out to write or even talk about Ivan's birth, I would feel this sharp twinge start to rise and want to make it's way out of my body. And then, I would quickly change the subject or stop writing because I was not ready to deal with all of those messy feelings. I think it took a long time to even figure out what I was feeling. Throw in a good dose of mama guilt, sleep deprivation, and the general hormonal shifts (fun!) of being a new mom, and well, talking about something as deeply emotional and personal as his birth story was just asking for a case of the ugly cry.

Ivan was a week "late" for his due date of July 25, 2011. I went in to have my amniotic fluid levels tested as there was concern in the last appointment that my levels were not up to par. If the levels had gone down, I might have to be admitted there and then and begin induction. This, of course, was not possible. I was going to go into labor naturally and have the natural birth I had planned for. So, when the technician brought a doctor over to take a look at what she was seeing in my measurements, the unraveling of my birth plan began.

This was my first pregnancy and the news of being admitted and being induced was the first set of heartbreaks in that I had researched, prepared, and planned for nothing other than a natural delivery. My husband and I dutifully took 6 weeks of hypnobirithing classes.We had a birth plan that was two pages long and had listed the least invasive options for me and my baby. Everything I'd read showed that induction is a domino effect that leads to c-section.

After the foley-bulb induction (the most "natural" of induction choices) and having my water broken 24 hours later yielded no results (despite being in labor the whole time), my hopes for a natural birth were quickly slipping away. Thirty (yes, thirty) hours later when we were still not progressing, and my son's heart rate was dropping, the call for an emergency c-section was made. I was utterly exhausted, defeated, and heart-broken when the doctor told me this was the next step. I remember telling the doctors that I couldn't breathe because I was sobbing so much as I was being cut open. My son was born, I was totally out of it, and I didn't get to hold him for over an hour. Not exactly how I envisioned this all to go down.

And sadly that wasn't what I consider the worst part about this whole experience. After Ivan's birth, I was sent to recover in the early morning hours. I was put in a room right outside the nurse's station, which meant that even though I hadn't slept in DAYS, I would not be able to sleep at all due to their excessively loud talking, laughing, congregating right outside of my door. It seemed like a cruel joke that my husband could not stay with me after undergoing major surgery and I was left to care for a newborn.

The nurses didn't come when I needed help to get to my wailing child. I tried to get to him and my incision throbbed and hurt like a mothafucker. When a nurse finally made her way in, I was in tears. She seemed irritated and not at all compassionate to the situation. As a nurse. As a woman. I just didn't get it. The rest of my stay there was equally awful. I heard nurses make jokes and refer to me as "La Leche" within earshot because I was trying desperately to make sure that breastfeeding worked for us since everything else went to shit. I was a "problem patient" because I asked questions and refused to have my son poked and prodded when he was sleeping (um, come back later please) and because I refused HPV shots for my newborn (pretty sure he's not going to be sexually active before I get to my pediatrician's office). There was more, at lot more that made it so my recovery was not pleasant and uncomfortable.

I've read much since then about how important post-natal care is for both mom and baby and it make me more mad to think that I was robbed of what should have been such a beautiful time. Birth is sacred and beautiful and worthy of respect and care before, during, and after labor. My hospital experience made it so that I know I want better next time around, if we are lucky enough to have the opportunity. And I want better for all moms.

Max eat play dough.

The hubz picks up Ivan from school and he tells me all kinds of funny stories about the other kids and how they interact with each other. Yesterday, he found Ivan in his classroom completely lost in thought, staring away and intently looking at something. He thought he was just spacing out, so he asked him, "Ivan, what are you thinking about?" Ivan says, "Max. Eat. Play Dough." Just like that. Hubz looks over and sure enough, there was Max, devouring an entire container of play dough. This cracked me up for a good five minutes and also made me proud that this kid is seriously talking in full-on sentences now and with such keen observations like "Dude. That kid is eating an entire jar of play dough."

TWO (!!!)

How is it possible that over TWO years have gone by without another blog post. I am the world's worst blogger.

My son turned two on August 3rd and the past two years have been such a crazy, wild ride. It's hard to believe that in the previous picture my son was a genderless avocado-sized ball of cells and now he's a wild, funny, gigantic BOY. It's cliche for sure, but time does indeed fly.

These days, Ivan is talking up a storm. He thinks everything is funny. "Mama Funny. Dada Funny. Rice Funny. Beans Funny. Molly Funny" and he is as active as ever - running, climbing, jumping, dancing - I thought I was exhausted before. Mama Funny.

I love that he is quick to ask for hugs, "Mama UP. Mama HUG." and how when he says "I love you," it sounds like "I You" which I think is pretty perfect. I you.

At night we say goodnight to all of the things in his room. Goodnight giraffe, goodnight animals, goodnight Guys, goodnight baby Ivan (a framed picture of Ivan's ultrasound), and then he says goodnight to all of his friends at school.

It's not as easy for me to say goodbye to baby Ivan though. I miss his newness, the way he'd fit in the crook of my arm, how we'd sit in his room and I would sing "You are my Sunshine" to him in the middle of the night. I remember how David would get up with me for midnight feedings and we'd watch VH1 Classic videos with sleepy eyes and we'd laugh because it was better than crying. I remember thinking how there was no way we'd make it through those colicky nights where Ivan wouldn't stop crying and David would march around the living room shhh-ing or how we'd turn on the blowdryer for white noise. It's all kind of a funny blur and it seems like forever ago and also like yesterday all at the same time.

But now my two year old is growing up and I'm sad that the baby days seem like one giant blur. I'm afraid I'll forget the wonderful, little things so I'm going to vow to try to not be such a slacker blogger. But let's be real, my track record hasn't been that great.

Hold me closer, tiny avocado.

In the picture to the right you are the size of a tiny olive (9 weeks) and already you are pulling my heartstrings something mighty. I don't know how something so tiny can have such a power over me already, but there you have it. You, my little fetus, have me wrapped around your miniscule little finger.

But you aren't so tiny anymore, you are growing! You are now the size of an avocado. I bet you are the most darling avocado too. In about a week we'll find out if you are a he or a she and I can't begin to tell you how excited we are to see you again!