Squeezing them tighter than ever

The horrific tragedy of Sandy Hook is all over the news, Facebook and the overwhelmed faces of the people I cross paths with. I live in Connecticut and know many people directly affected by it. And I know if I didn't live here, I would still be plagued by the unfathomable horror.
I thought it would be therapeutic to get my feelings out, and what better place than this blog? But I can't seem to do it. The fear and grief have shook me to my core, and my heart is filled to the brim with emotion. I can't seem to put into words everything I feel about this. And just when I want to release it, I catch myself. I feel so guilty for being this distraught when I didn't lose someone close to me. So I pull my fingers back from the keys and I stare at the cursor blinking, waiting for it's next letter.
The one thing I know for sure is that I've been squeezing my little ones tighter than ever. I've noticed Joe holding them closer for longer. Grandparents, if it is even possible, are more awestruck by their new skills. We all have a heightened awareness of the blessings in our lives.

Eye Lash Extensions? Really?

I'm a fan of trying new things, especially when it's going to simplify something in my increasingly busy life. For my 30th birthday I made an uncharacteristic request. I wanted eyelash extensions. Yes, it's a luxury, and superficial and I would never do it on a whim.
Depending on where you go the initial set of lashes ranges from $300 to $400. Crazy right? Well it happened to be part of deal package at a local salon and was half price. The opulence of spending a couple hundred dollars to improve your look for only a few weeks weighed heavy on my mind. If I asked Joe for a nice pair of earrings I'd have them forever. These lashes were going to fall off one by one until I was left looking 'normal' again. But it became so much more valuable to me because I had them done for my first few weeks back at work. For those weeks I wouldn't have to worry about doing my makeup, or how I looked. Being up all night with a very hungry infant doesn't exactly do wonders for my appearance. And I certainly didn't have the time to compensate for how tired I looked by applying makeup.
So this newly 30 year old gal went under the microscope for a 90 minutes eye lash extension application. Here's what I didn't expect:

• I had to sign a paper that warned of possible blindness
• My eyes had to be taped shut for the duration of the application
• The duration was 90 minutes!

One by one these thick curls of black plastic were being adhered to my existing stubby lashes. Throughout the application I could sense my muscles tensing up. I would have to routinely take deep breaths and quiet my hands and feet. There was nothing to be afraid of, but perhaps the anxiety of possible blindness for the sake of vanity was causing my hands to clench. 

"Oh how beautiful," I remember the woman remarking. I hoped it wouldn't be a complete waste of time and money. I made my way over to the mirror and was shocked. I had instant movie star eyes. There wasn't a speck of makeup on my face. Just the lashes. For weeks I received compliments on how great my makeup looked. I was even asked what kind of mascara I use.

Even more fulfilling than the compliments was the time I got back in the morning. I literally did not put on makeup for three weeks straight. I didn't have to spend any time hunched over a mirror painstakingly brushing gobs of black gook onto my lashes.  

I wish I had the bank account to keep up with the lashes, $20 a week and I could have them filled whenever they started to look sparse. Maybe I'll do it again when I hit 40? 

Izzy's Self-Esteem Age 2

Is there anyone out there who can say they sailed through grammar school unscathed? Anyone who can profess that they weren’t teased and weren’t ashamed of how they looked? Anyone, girls in particular, who didn’t identify with some sort of body image? Perhaps there are a few, but for the rest of us memories of those critical years of development probably sting on some level. I want so badly for Izzy to grow through those years with a positive outlook on who she is and what she can accomplish. And it starts now. Yes she’s two years old, but she can understand what I say to her, about her and about myself. So I’m starting now.

I like to wear makeup. I think I look better with it on. But lately I’ve been concerned about dressing up my face in front of Izzy. She asked what I was doing and I just stared back at her. I didn’t want to say I was making my face look pretty because that would mean that I think I’m not pretty without make up. So I told her I was making my eyelashes darker. Then she asked if she could put some on. I paused again, not because I would ever let my two year wield the mascara wand, but because my gut reaction was your lashes are beautiful and you don’t need it, quickly followed by you’re a child only adults wear makeup. So how do I explain that some people need to enhance how they look? Again, I know she’s two and she doesn’t need to know everything now, but how I talk about myself starts to influence her now. That day I gave her some chapstick to “protect her lips from the cold” and she was happy. And now I put makeup on when she’s not around.

After I got my face ready to, err, face the world, it was time to get dressed. Squeezing my post pregnancy body into my pre pregnancy clothes is an embarrassing Olympic sport. It’s a game to see how many outfits I can get in and out of in the small amount of time I have before one kids crying and the other kid is bored. Exasperated sighs and grumpy “huffs” filled the air. I’m not sure why three months after having by second child I expect my clothes to zip or button or mask my squishy spots. So there I was glaring at my reflection in frustration while my sweet little girl looked on. “Momma OK?” she whispered. Again it dawned on me. Here I am putting myself down in front of my daughter. I should have been celebrating that not only can I pull my pants over my thighs, but my thighs look pretty good. My middle may not be back to normal yet, but I just had a baby! My middle may be getting an extra big hug by clothes because there was a baby in there for 9 months. And carrying around my new double D’s doesn’t help my back any, but hey, I didn’t even have to have surgery to get a double cup increase.  I know I need to work on my perspective some, but I also need to watch what I say about myself. It really hit home the next time Izzy was getting dressed. I picked out adorable little leggings and as she pushed her little feet through and tugged on the pants she started grunting just like mommy when mommy gets dressed. Ouch.

Those are just two examples that I’ve witnessed where Izzy is learning, quicker than I expected, what people think about themselves. And here’s how I know it effects how she’ll think about herself. Ok I love my mom. I have to say that whenever I say something about her that could be perceived as negative. But here it goes for honesty’s sake. My mom is a beautiful woman. She’s nearing 60 and she has a gorgeous smile and stunning cheekbones. Seriously, women in Hollywood go under the knife to have the definition that she does. But I’ve never heard her say a nice thing about herself. She set a fantastic example of going to the track to sweat it out when she wanted to lose a few. In fact, she’s the reason I started running. But she didn’t applaud her own efforts or embrace the beauty that I knew she had.  To this day, the first thing I look at in any picture of myself is my arms. I think they’re big and flabby, just like my mom always said about her own arms. She NEVER said anything negative to me. Never pointed out any trouble areas. So why do I look at my body for the same issues that she “had.” Let me point out that my mom didn’t have these issues either. Maybe it has something to do with feeling like I look like my mom, so anything she said negative about herself must also be true of me?

Kristin Armstrong, author of Mile Markers: The 26.2 Most Important Reasons Why Women Run,  wrote about body image and her daughters and her efforts to celebrate her own body for the sake of her daughters. I didn’t think much about it until I saw my little Izzy inquisitively looking on as I piled on the eye makeup, or when I confused her with my struggle to find clothes that fit. I started thinking about it more and noticed how much of what my mom said about herself is what I feel about myself. I know she’s only two, but why not start now? Why not say positive things about myself in front of her. Why not focus on all the wonderful personality traits that make us who we are instead of what size the label in my pre preggo jeans says? I don’t try to sweat the small stuff, but when it comes to something as fragile as a little girls self-esteem I sure will do whatever it takes. 

Am I Doing it Right?

Why is she still screaming? What can I do to get her to stop slamming things on the ground when she's upset? Is she playing with the iPad too much? Is he still hungry? Does he have colic? Will he be able to nap at daycare if he isn't swaddled? Why am I deserting my children by going back to work? I start my day with questions, and the big guilt cloud just hangs over my head. Am I doing it right? Am I a good parent? And if so, how can I be a good employee when I go back to work? I thought having a second child would erase these doubts. I thought I gained confidence from going back to work once before, but now there are knots in my stomach and I'm physically ill about leaving my kids again. Where did my confidence go?
I love spending time with my kids. I feel like I've gotten to know Izzy so much better during my maternity leave. Yes, she still goes to daycare or grandma's most of the time because I didn't want to shock her schedule when I return to work. But the days that I'm home with her (and Donovan of course) are eye-opening. Izzy hit the terrible twos a while ago. When she's frustrated with something, or trying to assert her independence be on the look out for flying objects and be ready to block your ears from the wailing. Yesterday morning she spent 10 minutes screaming for the iPad that I left downstairs while we went to get dressed. Those minutes felt like an eternity and kicked off a string of questions and self doubt. I hate it when she cries, but I know enough not to give in. So why do I feel like I'm doing something wrong? I took child development courses in college, the books are next to my bed for some "light" reading. I've watched Super Nanny over and over. I participate in online forums discussing discipline. Yet, I still feel like my kid shouldn't be getting so upset when she can't get her baby out of her stroller. After restating, "If you need help, say Momma help please" at least 15 times, I started to see a slight change. I still worry that I'm either too firm, or not firm enough.
Despite her outbursts and my guilt and constant questioning, I still had a fantastic day with my kids. Izzy is at such a fun age where she's discovering new ways to play. I'm digging into my creative side and playing like a kid again. For those moments when we're immersed in a tickle fight, or having a dance party, it's 100% joy. And cooing with Donovan and seeing his beautiful smile and personality develop is amazing. So why am I going back to work? Why am I leaving them, five days a week, to bring in money that we don't need? Yes, if I don't work we will struggle a bit, but it's not impossible. It's an opportunity. But I'm afraid of two things. One that without daycare the kids will not be well-rounded. That somehow I'm not a good enough influence to prepare them for their future schooling. Funny as I type that it I feel like I'm being hard on myself. But where's my confidence to shoot down these doubts and lock them away?
And then, when I do finally go back to work, I can't fathom being able to accomplish all of my tasks and execute them as well as I had in the past. How will I stay on top of things when I'm worried about picking up the kids on time? And how will I dispel the concerns that the kids miss me too much while I'm away. It's distracting me now, and I'm sure it will only get worse once I'm away from them every day. If I had a different job, maybe worked for a company that understood work-life balance, perhaps I'd think differently.
So I'm left with this overwhelming fear that I'm not doing something right. If I stay home with the kids, they'll somehow suffer from lack of social involvement and a tired mommy. But if I go to work, they'll miss me and I won't be able to give them or work the focus they truly deserve. Confidence isn't something I can just decide I have. It's not just being sure of myself and my decisions, it's not fearing failure if I'm wrong. I think I've abused the question mark enough for one post. I know things will be clear with time, but in the interim, I really need to work on my confidence.

6 weeks +1

I did it. I got out there and pounded pavement unplugged for 45 minutes. It was my first real run since Thanksgiving 2011, and I did it without my headphones. I've been looking forward to the first race for quite some time. I didn't feel right  about running while pregnant, but I made sure I walked and kept fit.
While it felt great to get out there, it did feel a bit discouraging to feel like a first time runner again. Before I had Izzy I ran a half marathon and I was so proud of my accomplishment. Two kids later, it felt like the first time I ran a lap around my high school track. Instead of letting the challenge of getting back in running shape get to me, I'm choosing to be excited about setting new goals and surpassing them all over again. Getting to do it all over again means getting to reset the clock. I'll always have the memory of my past accomplishments, but this post baby runner's world means I can enjoy running a mile straight for the first time all over again. I can choose to feel the thrill of running my first race after the baby. I can kick some of my bad habits (like running with a crutch, er I mean headphones) from my past. Hopefully switching gears and focusing on the excitement of being a "new runner" will help get me over the hurdle of my past. It'll be tough to leave the antagonizing wishes to be running as far as my friends. But hopefully with each mile I run, I'll be further from the "runner I used to be" and closer to "being a runner" again.

Just some personal stats that I hope will keep me motivated:
149lbs
3.3 miles - 46 minutes
3 min warm up
1min run - 2 min walk
7 min cool down uphill

Baby G2 Is Here

Donovan Joseph was born Aug. 11 and weighed in at a mere 9lbs 13 oz. Oh yeah, that's right almost 10 lbs and no prediction from the Dr. this time. I had a great birth experience despite being induced for a second time. (I tease my husband that he has gifted our kids the "late gene" that seems to plague him since both children were induced after 8 days late.) It has been an incredible roller coaster ride since.

As you can imagine, the adjustment from one child household to two has been pretty . . . Challenging. Challenging in an exciting, new, exhausting, feeling like I have a purpose kind of way. First there was the anticipation around Izzy meeting her new big brother. How would she take to being a big sister? Then there was the anxiety of introducing our "little" baby to Willow. And now, 5 weeks later, I'm wrapping my head around how do I balance chasing the toddler and nursing a voracious infant on my own.

Izzy was instantly in love with "baby" when she met him. In fact, it's hard to keep her from disrupting his sleeping and eating because she wants to hold him, or give him paci. Maybe because I'm exclusively breast feeding, but she has yet to try to feed the baby. I knew watching her interactions with him would be adorable, but it literally brings tears to my eyes when she tries to console him while he cries; her sweet little voice repeating my phrases like, I know, It's ok baby, Don't cry. Her little eyebrows go up in the center with real concern for her baby brother. And I'm super spoiled because she's such a helper. She insists on throwing away diapers, or retrieving things that are just out of reach for me. Of course we're always with her when she's interacting with Donovan, she tends to pet his head, which is more like a grab. She isn't trying to be rough, she's just too young to control her hand movements just yet. So even though I find myself constantly supervising and hovering, it couldn't be more rewarding to see how happy she is with her brother. And soon we'll see how happy he is with her. Something tells me they will be a dynamic duo who find trouble together.

Speaking of trouble, Willow our 90 lb lovable lab has been just that. She's a doting momma dog who follows me and the baby around without jumping up and snatching the baby's socks. When We brought Izzy home from the hospital there was an infamous incident of Willow taking Izzy's sock from her feet while I was holding her. I raced upstairs and hid in my room with the baby for several months after that. It was so bad that when we had visitors they came to our bedroom and I didn't dare venture downstairs. I thought I was going to give my dog away. (For the record Dakota was awesome and never a cause for concern.) After months of training and confidence building we were finally able to peacefully coexist on the same floor. Willow is amazing with Izzy. She lets Izzy pull at her ears and give her lots of kisses. But I had doubts that brining another baby home would be a smooth transition. I'm not usually so happy to be wrong, but Willow has been a star. She checks on the baby, but doesn't chase me down when I'm holding the baby. She greets all visitors with manners and doesn't knock people over even though she's slightly starved for attention. (I'm just one person after all.) The only tricky thing now is getting her exercise in while taking care of everyone else.

For the first time, I had all four of my babies home with just me to watch over them. Izzy has been going to daycare to keep her routine the same and keep her mentally stimulated. So most days it's me, Donovan, and my two fur babies. On Tuesday, I decided to take a trial run at having all of them home with me. I was nervous that the day would lead to an emotional wreck of a mom, and two neglected children. So not the case! I managed to play with Izzy, teach her to draw circles, feed the baby on demand, get the dishwasher fixed, and spend time with the dogs without anyone having a meltdown. It was encouraging and exhausting, but I was so happy to have done it. I'm thinking of trying again next week. I learned a lot about anticipating what the kids need, keeping them on a schedule, and having purposeful playtime for Izzy.

So while I have not yet had more than 4 consecutive hours of sleep, and I have a to do list a mile long, I'm feeling really great about all the changes. The fear in change is really a fear of the unknown. But as each day passes, and I learn something new, the fear dissipates. I am becoming more confident and comfortable with the change. And someday, who knows, maybe I'll look back and decide that it was easy?

Oh, a hiccup, I must be going into labor . . .

The countdown of days begins. I'm nine days away from due date. Like I mentioned in my previous post, the dates just an estimate, so really any day could be The Day. And what I find funny are the possible labor queues that are completely irrational. This morning I felt nauseous and threw up in my mouth a bit. Yesterday I had a ton of energy to get stuff done around the house. Last night I woke up every hour. All very silly, but deeply seeded in my head is that each occurrence, although only slightly different than normal, could be a sign that I'm going into labor. 

It's so funny to read/hear about signs that make women think they're going into labor. Some of them are a little too personal to post about, but here are a few of my favorites:

- Baby's movement has slowed down, he must be resting up for his departure.

- I'm frantically cleaning (or as people in the know refer to it as nesting) and organizing every little shelf in my home. Presumably this happens because once baby's here I'll be far too busy to do it. 

- Wild surges of hormones that make me cry and mutter through sobs about how terrible of a (insert mom, employee, wife here) I am or will be. Not sure how this corresponds to impending labor, for some reason being a little more crazy makes me think that baby should be here soon. Because I need to be less crazy. 

- Overwhelming my 21 month old with cuddles and kisses. I always give her plenty of attention, but lately I can't stop squeezing her or holding her. Part of me thinks that I'm banking all the squeezes I can now because when baby 2 is here I won't have the same amount of time to spend with her. I check on her every night before bed. Lately I find that I'm lingering crib side just watching her sleep. 

So between the screwy antics, and the discomfort of late pregnancy I'm thinking this baby will be here any day. I'm sure I'll eat my words. I'm sure he'll decide it's best to be a mid-August baby and he'll take his time arriving. But I'm certain he'll be here before August 2. And I'm sure the brunt of that is wishful thinking. 

38 weeks

Just like many other pregnant women, my eyes have been glued to the calendar. For several weeks now I have been counting down to the big due date. August 2 is the date that I've highlighted in red circles on every calendar I own. The calendar in my office, that's nearly as large as my white board has DUE DATE emblazoned on August 2 so no one misses it. Now that I’m just 14 days away, my electronic calendars notify me daily that I’m one day closer to “The Big Day.” All this preparation for a day that is just an estimate. I’ve heard all sorts of statistics, 10% give birth on their due date, 50% give birth after, 30% of babies come before their due date. The numbers never seem to add up, but it does add to the fact that the estimated due date should be considered more of a time frame to be on alert than the date you will have your baby.

With my first pregnancy, I was on watch from a week before due date up until 9 days after due date when I was induced. With each passing day I grew more anxious, and more frustrated that my body wasn’t complying with the date issued by the doctor. Going through this a second time, however, has changed my outlook quite a bit. I’m not expecting baby to come on August 2, I’m not expecting that he’ll be early, or late. All I want is for him to come when he’s ready and for him to be healthy. Now, will I get frustrated if I’m late? Probably. I don’t want to deal with the doctor telling me he’s huge and I have to be induced. Will I freak out if he’s early and I’m not prepared? Probably. But with the knowledge that there is no way to predict his arrival (other than medical intervention) I just have to hang in there.

It’s different for me this time around. With Izzy I didn’t try any of the natural induction methods until I was overdue. I didn’t want to go walking for fear that she’d show up before she was supposed to. I didn’t want to complain about fatigue and aches because I thought I wasn’t showing my appreciation for the gift that would soon arrive. Conversely, I remember wanting everything 100% ready for her arrival. Her bedroom even had paintings on the walls courtesy of yours truly. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate this little guy, but I feel as though all the preparation became a mental block for me. If I wasn’t done with negotiating a contract at work (final contract signed two days before induction with Izzy) then I wasn’t ready to give birth. This time I want to be ready for the obstacles and challenges that need preparation, but I don’t want to put birth on hold while I make everything perfect. I’m sure it sounds a little silly, especially when it’s not up to be when he arrives, but I’m trying my hardest to accept that he’ll be here whenever. He’ll make his appearance regardless if Izzy’s toys are still sitting in his pack and play, or if I haven’t packed my hospital bag. Maybe he’ll be here August 2 even. All that matters to me is that he will be healthy. 

Am I Overbearing?

We had an absolutely blissful week of vacation in Biddeford Maine. It's one of my favorite places in the world and for the second time I got to enjoy it from a whole new perspective. I watched in amazement as Izzy discovered the beach and the ocean, the rocks and the seaweed. We went up last year, but now that Izzy is super mobile, it was a brand new experience.
I caught a few moments here and there on my iPhone. Viewing the video brings back the excitement and wonder as I hit play over and over. After viewing one of the many videos for probably the millionth time I caught something. On three or four separate occasions you hear my voice warning Izzy to be careful about what she was doing. My fear was that she would fall and get hurt, but there were several times where you hear me calling out to her, cautioning her to "Go Slow!", "Easy!" "Be Careful!". I only noticed it because there's also a clip of my aunt following up my cautionary statements with, "Oh come on, it's a beach."
She's right. It was a beach and my over cautious, borderline over bearing,  frantic warnings weren't making for a more enjoyable experience for anyone. Part of me wants to blame pregnancy hormones for my anxiety and constant direction to Izzy. (Seriously, I'm starting to think I've been touched by the crazy preggo fairies. I had to sit behind my husband while he drove to Maine so I didn't drive him crazy.)
But really I know it's part of my personality. I've always been super cautious, and now I'm scarred from the seeing Izzy get a few bumps or bruises along the way. With laser like focus I hone in on any obstacle that could be in her way, adeptly moving it from her path or guiding her around it. I see scraped knees from hidden rocks and sea glass when most people see a beach. I see choking hazards, when others think wouldn't it be nice to give Izzy this tiny piece of candy. Yes, it's part of my job to protect her, and to watch out for her. But when does it become over protective and over bearing?
For me the video is proof that I need to "relax" as my super mellow husband would say. At first I was upset that I ruined these precious moments on camera by picking on myself and looking at the negative. Now I'm glad that I noticed because I can be cognizant that I go a little overboard, and hopefully reign it in. The videos can still bring the same amount of joy, watching Izzy with an ear to ear grin as she dances in the sand and splashes in the ocean can't be altered. And noting that I need to tone it down is kind of a gift.

Dancing in the Park

I'm one of those people who pack their days with chores and activities, live by my routine and rarely take divert from the schedule. And while this process works really well for a toddler who expects consistency and routine, I learned that an occasional divergence can be a lot of fun.
Each summer out town sponsors a weekly concert series on the green. (Doesn't every town have a "green"?) We just happen to live a half mile away and each summer I walk (or run) past it since it fell during my workout time. Last summer I spyed on the band members setting up as a jogged by with Izzy in the stroller. I never felt like we could stop and enjoy because I had a workout to finish and Izzy had a bedtime to be punctual for.
I was reminded about the concert series on my way to daycare by a sign proclaiming "Free Concert Tonite". At first I was just irked that they misspelled tonight, then I lightened up a bit and thought, hey I could juggle some stuff and Izzy and I could enjoy a nice concert. After all, what toddler doesn't love to the bounce or off rhythm sway to music?
Juggling meant an early dinner for Izzy and a lunchtime walk for the dogs. Normally Izzy doesn't eat until just before bed, and Willow gets her walk with Izzy and I. Fortunately, Izzy must have been super hungry and chowed down everything I gave her. I did have to coax her into the highchair with the promise of a juice box, but seeing her eat everything was totally worth it. Unfortunately, we left the house without Willow and suffered through her howling of misery while I got Izzy situated in the stroller. The guilt from leaving my dogs behind is unbearable when they cry and paw at the door, but I wasn't sure I could handle a toddler running around and an energetic 90lbs lab by myself.
We made our quick trip down the hill just in time to hear the Star Spangled Banner and we were seated in time for the concert to begin. It didn't matter that the band had, noticeably, only learned some of the songs the week before, or that the conductor was so winded after each song that he could barely introduce the next. All that mattered was the big smile on Izzy's face as she did the toddler sway, rocking side to side and she'd pick up one foot at a time completely out of time with the music. Her contagious smile, and adorable giggles made me the happiest mom in the world. She'd clap and yell "yay' whenever a song finished, and run to me and give me big hugs and kisses as if to say thank you mom for a fun night.
We left at intermission since it was already past her bedtime and I knew the climb up the hill would take much longer then the way down. At 33 weeks pregnant I may still be mobile, but with an extra 22 lbs to carry around, and a baby squashing my lungs, it certainly takes me longer to get places. Bedtime was quick. A little kiss and a hug and off to sleep she went.
What a night. I learned that switching up the routine isn't earth-shattering and can have really positive effects. It was great to watch Izzy enjoy an activity for a change. We don't normally get to do that during the week. I was also able to appreciate what my town offers. Normally there is no time to meet neighbors or visit with the community, but we had a chance to be around other families and it was so easy. It was just a 5 minute walk (15 minutes back, it's a really big hill) to a delightful evening and I didn't pay a dime.
I can't wait to do it again.

Freaking Out!

OK, so I'm not in full freak out mode, but close enough that I have to get it all out.
Baby G2 is due in eight weeks. That means that eight weeks from today I'll most likely be in tears hoping this kid doesn't pull an Izzy and show up after an induction and nine days late. It also means that I have only eight weeks to get ready for his arrival. And it's safe to say that I've done close to nothing. (Intro irrational fear that I will have nothing ready in time for baby and will be completely unprepared.)
Maybe I've been dragging my feet because there isn't as much pressure with baby number two? When I was pregnant with Izzy there was an urge to have everything absolutely perfect upon her arrival. A painted room with lovely pink and green details to welcome our newest blessing. Truth be told she didn't enter that room until she was four months old. So maybe I don't feel that it's necessary that his room is ready before he gets here? Or maybe it's that I've been so crazed chasing after Izzy and working full time that I haven't wanted to add to my mental stress load? Currently I feel like the worst sister ever because it's been a month since my sister Sarah  had a birthday and I've yet to give her a present. If I can't focus even 20 minutes to get her something nice, why should I pour energy into prepping a room for a baby who won't be in it for another six months. And this also hints at the notion that I'm terrified to take focus away from Izzy or work for fear that Izzy would feel left out and work would spiral out of control. (Just yesterday I finally had a conversation with my boss about handing work over, with Izzy that conversation happened during the second trimester, not eight weeks before due date.)
Besides being overwhelmed with the daily routine or the knowledge I have from my first pregnancy that not everything has to be perfect, I still find myself nearing the edge of panic. It's the same feeling I get as I'm pushing myself to go out and play in the ocean. If you've been to the beach with me, you've probably been embarrassed to be with me as I try to will my body towards the crashing waves. I start gasping for air the second my toes touch the cold waves. My eyes are darting around wondering what obstacles are lurking, masked by seaweed, that I can't predict. Then the shrieking starts. I think something touched my toes, must have been a carnivorous fish!
That's how I feel right now. I've done this before, but I'm still scared. I know how to prepare myself, but the farther I wade into the blue, the more I want to turn and run to the safety of the sand. It's almost as though the less I do to prepare, the more I don't have to face what could be overwhelming and challenging. I know it's time to face my fear of having another baby because that must be at the root of my apprehension. Fear is what stops us all from progressing. So maybe it's like running into the ocean when you're terrified of what could be out there. Sure I may shriek and want to bolt for the safety of what I know, but I need to keep pushing until I find the freedom in letting a wave swallow me up. After all, nothing beats the exhilaration and sense of accomplishment of playing in the ocean.

"Oh Just You Wait"

There is nothing I find less supportive than the phrase, "Oh just you wait." Pregnancy, the time in your life where you're questioning everything and confident about little, seems to be when I've heard this bogus support line the most.
Here's how most conversations go.
Seemingly interested supportive friend, family member or just nosey passerby, "Wow, you're pretty far along, how much longer do you have?"
Seems innocent right? Don't drop your guard yet, regardless of your answer, there's only one line this type of person fires back.
Me, "Three more months, I'm due in August."
Seemingly supportive person who's about to flip roles, "Oh just you wait. You're going to have to deal with the hot weather, and your feet are going to swell, and don't forget you will never be able to get comfortable."
And bam, the supportive train has just derailed and you're faced with one of those people whose only purpose is to make you feel like you could never be prepared enough for what lies ahead. There's no getting this train back on the track, you're bewildered and the ensuing conversation is generally a nod or smile while you try to figure out what just happened. If you're like me than your defenses are in overdrive and you're refuting any possibility that there could be challenges ahead. I've found myself telling people I love the heat and humidity more often than a newborn needs their diaper changed.
This conversation, in various forms, happens so frequently lately. Whoever thought, "How was your Mother's Day" would be a trap for the just you waits? I'm now on edge talking to the "just you waits" and usually prepared to give them a verbal wallop back. Sure people chock it up to the hormones, but what if you were constantly put on the spot and told, whatever you're going through right now will be so much worse in a few months. Whatever happiness you feel about your exciting new adventure, curb it, because it's not all rainbows, sunshine and butterflies.
I think it's the dubious nature of the question that bothers me so much. Here I am innocently thinking someone cares what I'm going through only to be slammed with a comment that makes me feel foolish for feeling one way or another. The comment even has a way of making the most neutral response feel as though it was very wrong to feel a certain way.
My suggestion to all those who ask someone how they are doing, or feeling, to do it genuinely. You shouldn't have a hidden agenda to launch into how things are tough for you or to let off some of your negative steam. Acknowledge their response as something that person owns and you can't possibly be the person to judge how they are feeling or will be feeling. I think the sentiment of walking a mile in their shoes fits nicely here because unless you're in my exact same predicament, coupled with all my experiences to date, you couldn't possibly know what lies ahead of me, and you couldn't possibly tell me to wait for something to get more challenging.

The Joy of Mother's Day

As children, my sister and I would always devise a Mother’s Day to top all Mother’s Days for my single mom. We’d make her breakfast complete with eggs, toast, pancakes, home fries and a huge serving of well-intended promises to not bicker all day. We’d scrape our pennies together and get her something she really wanted, but would be too selfless to purchase for herself. And she always responded by telling us we were the best gifts she ever received.

Fast-forward several years and both my sister and I have our own gifts that help us understand the true joy behind Mother’s Day. On Mother’s Day morning I found myself peering at my sleeping child, her body sprawled across the mattress, her hair tossed and tangled in a way that only happens after a good night sleep, her back rising and falling with her rhythmic deep breaths. With great anticipation I just watched waiting for her deep blue eyes to open and realize morning was here. I found such beauty in the serenity of that moment. Her eyes sparkled as she focused on my face realizing it was her momma. She scurried to her feet, tangled in blankets, spitting her pacifier out, and stretched out her arms whispering momma.

I scooped her up (which has become quite the challenge with my big belly in the way) and squeezed her. She nestled her head onto my shoulder and patted my back gently with her tiny hands. Another tranquil moment words cannot accurately describe. Almost simultaneously, we sighed. I let go all the worry and frustration that had been weighing me down and felt my heart soar as she clung to me. “Thank you for making me a mommy, Izzy.” I told her.

Someday there will be homemade breakfasts in bed, flowers picked from the yard, and construction paper cards with crayon scribbles all over. But all I will ever need on Mother’s Day is a squeeze from my babies. I’m truly blessed to have been given such a wonderful gift; a heart full of joy.

Love this feeling

I can barely contain my excitement. I normally don't go all emotional lunatic about pregnancy stuff, but I can't help it. This little guy is rolling, twisting, kicking and punching and while it doesn't always tickle, the feeling is truly amazing. It's such a wonderful feeling to know he's growing and his activity tells me that he's progressing just fine. There have plenty of times where my over-controlling nature has caused me to want to purchase an ultrasound scanner for my home so that I can peek at him whenever I worry. But I'm not a millionaire so I depend on his activity as a sign that he's doing ok in there.

In addition to alleviating worry, it's also pretty cool to have a reminder that I'm not alone. There are days where stress from work and home are overwhelming. These are the days where I just want a squeeze from Izzy, or Joe's comforting arms wrapped around me. Usually Izzy is at daycare, and Joe is at work for those days. Just when I start to crumble I'll feel a little jab at my rib cage that reminds me I'm not on my own. God's little blessing is lets me know that I have a purpose other than worrying and stressing about all the tasks that lie ahead. There's more important work to be done, like raising this precious little gift.

Knowing that the baby is doing well and the reminder that there's an amazing gift coming in the next few months makes every aggravating pregnancy symptom worth it. Getting a swift kick to the bladder, or an embarassing belly-shaking jab in front of my work audience puts a smile on my face and makes my day. I'm really enjoying this special time.

SPD - my least favorite pregnancy symptom

The nice thing about going through pregnancy a second time is not every pain is scary. Some of them I already know what they are. The most recent symptom to pop up is Symphisis Pubis Dysfunction (SPD). It happened with my first pregnancy but didn't last long. (Some women deal with it for the duration of their pregnancy once it crops up.)

This go around I'm pretty sure it only happened because of a dog walk that turned exceptionally challenging. Willow, a.k.a. 90 lbs of love, really wanted to see the Swissy down the street. We crossed paths on the same side of the road and this doesn't normally happen. Rather than avoid the challenge, I greeted my neighbors and their 100 lbs dog head on. Their dog was afraid of Willow and didn't want to greet her, but Willow was way too excited. I planted my feet firmly and put her in a sit. But we started going through this sequence of her jumping up to try and sniff the other dog and me dragging her back to a sit. (Izzy was safely to the side in her stroller with the wheels locked.) I wanted them to meet because Willow always barks at this dog and it was important to me that they just get a cordial greeting over with. The woman was patient and kind and once the greeting was over we went along our merry ways. 

Things weren't so merry by the time I got home. I was feeling significant strain in my pelvis and some contractions. After getting Izzy fed and off to bed I promptly laid down. The next morning I was in the office for  6am and that's when the real pain set in. I felt like there was a body builder attached to each leg, tugging on them in different directions with brute force trying to get the wish from a wishbone. So much pain. I shuffled through the day, a granny with a walker had a faster pace, and 3 days later I'm still feeling it. Ouch. 

There are a few things I've learned though. 1) Getting off my feet (not sitting, straight out plank in my bed) helps the pain. 2)  I need to listen to my body more. I probably wouldn't be so hurt if I wasn't trying to be super mom and do daily walks with Willow and Izzy. AND, when the pain started, I should have taken that as a cue to get more rest. Instead I went into the office every day this week and dealt with the pain. I should have been at home in bed with my computer. There are no awards for crazy pregnant ladies who stress out their bodies. 3)  Despite the immense pain, I still have so many blessings to count. This is a super uncomfortable symptom, but it'll help me give birth to my beautiful baby in just a few months. How could I be upset and complain when something so amazing is happy?

Work life balance struggles

Lately I've really been struggling to determine what it is I want out of my career. I love parts of my job, but I don't know that there's much of a career ahead of me if I continue on this path. There is tremendous change happening in my department and with great change comes great oppotunity. But I feel like I've been immobilized. I can't move forward because of my impending maternity leave. I'm going out in 3 months and it's become an obstacle for me. I can't see past it. I know that I'll be out for 12 weeks, but have no idea what I'm coming back to.
I think any working mom would be concerned about her role and what she was coming back to. In some cases it might be clearer than others. Say if you’re a teacher, you know you’re coming back to a classroom full of kids. In my case, there’s more change in my department than the outfits I try on before going out with my friends. There have been so many signs that I’m not being considered for roles because I’m pregnant. Not because I’m not capable. And that’s really starting to get to me. I can’t prove any of it, so a discrimination case is out of consideration. Here are some examples and you can judge if I’m just “reading too much” into things.

1. When I approached my boss about the possibility of working part time when I first come back, just until I get used to managing a household with two kids, he responded quickly that he’d have to find other work for me. The conversation quickly shifted to hesitancy about the possibility because he wants someone to be there for him full time. I get it, but finding someone to start doing my role is not an option for me. So I feel like my hands are tied, I’m either all in, or part time doing a new job. And I don’t know that I’ll be happy doing less than I do now.
2. On a call that I was not participating in, my boss made some insensitive comment about me and the frequency of my pregnancies. A colleague told me about it, and at first I laughed because it is funny that I’m pregnant and going on leave during the same time of year that I’ve been out before. Let me point out that it’s to everyone’s benefit that I’m going out when I am. I shortened my leave the first time around to be back in time to manage a project. This time around I’m going to be around to manage every project I play a role in with the exception of executing one minor project. So how is it appropriate to A) talk about me when I’m not on a call and B) make jocular remarks about my life plans? After mulling it over I’m really offended that he would even go there. 
3.  Not too long ago my boss started including me again. (I think I’ve written about how disconnected I felt from the team after my most recent successful conference production.) Well, I just found out today that he gave the same project to a colleague of mine. It was developing a tracking method from the base and he didn’t tell me he gave it to her too. Apparently this is a standard operating procedure in a former job of his. I think it’s crap. It’s a waste of my time and hers. What would make sense is to give it to her to begin with because she can run with it while I’m gone.

Other examples come every day but I just don’t have time to record it all. Perhaps I’m just being emotional from hormones? But I have to admit that I’ve got tears in my eyes and it’s not from the wasabi I had with my California role. I work really hard, and I value the work that I get to do. I’ve struggled for 18 months to balance my home life with my work life. Without exception being a mom is my favorite job, but I’ve spent 18 months working really hard at both jobs. I feel like if I lose out on a promotion or a good position, than my constant battle to balance both will have been for not. I know I put undue pressure on myself, and I’m just not someone who can just take home a paycheck and be happy. I’ve been working full time for at least 10 years. In every position I’ve grown and taken on new challenges. It’s why I work hard, although the money isn’t bad. I just question if I’ll be happy if I give up this fight to succeed.

Song I'm enjoying right now: Dog Days Are Over  . . . Florence and the Machine

My other half

Since it’s my blog, I make no apologies for focusing on my adventures or learnings in every post. But I think it would be good to switch things up for a bit. It’s time to recognize the sacrifices my husband makes on a daily basis to provide for his family.

What I do apologize for is always thinking he’s got it easier. Truthfully it shouldn’t be a comparison, who works harder or who gives up more. Joe and I are a team and it’s important to demonstrate how much you appreciate your partner. So Joe, this one is for you.

My husband starts his day checking his work email on his iPhone. After dropping Izzy off at day care he spends nearly 90 minutes in my tiny Mazda 3 stuck in two lanes of endless traffic. (I get to drive his gas-guzzling jeep because I commute 2 minutes to the train station.) This super bright individual then spends his day managing exhausted employees and arguing with an anything but acquiescent client over regulations and fees. Most days he can grab lunch at his desk for a few minutes, but there are days where he notices his uneaten salad still sitting on the corner of his desk at 4pm. When the client is checking out around 5pm, he knows he has another hour or so before he can start the slog through another 90 minutes of traffic. Oh and the entertainment for that ride home? It typically consists of a unneccessarily long conversation with his boss, whom he just left, to about work papers that need to be cleaned up for the morning.

There are many nights where he calls me long after the time he should have left the office. On the brink of exhaustion he tells me he isn’t going to make it home in time to kiss Izzy goodnight. I used to take his flat tone, devoid of energy, to mean he was focused on work and didn’t much care. Now I realize that he’s doing whatever he can to muscle through and not let the tears well up. It’s not OK for guys to cry. The days he does make it home in time to see our daughter play or laugh or smile at him are really special. I can see the glow in his gorgeous smile that tells me he's truly happy. Usually at that point I've gotten to spend two hours with Izzy which isn't enough for me. What I take for granted is that he doesn't even have those special moments. He doesn't get to wrap his arms around her and give her a big squeeze after a long day away from her. He misses watching her fling spinach leaves at Willow with an uproar of laughter. He doesn't get to see how she closes the back door with her bum because she's got the dog's food dish in her hands. I'm sure it breaks his heart, and I feel bad for pointing out that he's missing those things. But he pushes through day after day without complaint.

When I hear the garage door creaking open and see the taillights from compact car I know Joe’s workday isn’t over. He plods through the door, laptop in tow, only to have a quick bite to eat before opening up the computer and settling in for a few more hours of catch up work. Again, he moves seamlessly from work to dinner to more work without complaint. I could have made a terrible dinner, or subject him to questionable leftovers and contently gobbles it down. We have a few moments of conversation, but we usually don’t catch up until the weekend. Often conversations in our home will start with, “You didn’t tell me that.” Or, “I didn’t know about this.” No one is to blame; we just don’t have time to tell each other everything we have going on. And we also don’t have the brain power to remember everything we need to tell each other.

I don’t envy Joe. He makes HUGE sacrifices to be able to provide for us, and I don’t recognize it often enough. There’s more to it than sacrifices alone. Joe is always willing to listen to me vent. He’s understanding of my challenges and tries to pitch in with housework when he is home. And there is one thing I always feel, loved. I can't tell you how amazing I feel knowing that I get to be married to Joe. It takes more than a worker bee and a primary care giver to make a family work. I’m really proud of my partner and I really respect him for all that he does.

Cutting out dance and running, for now

At nearly 25 weeks pregnant I’m finding it a little challenging to work out. For the first trimester I was told no activity. When I hit the second trimester, with a very tiny bump, I was given the green light for exercise. Now that I’m almost in the third trimester I spoke to my Dr. about my preferred activities. He admitted that he was conservative when it came to what activities pregnant women should participate in.
His first preference was that I don’t build up to a goal. If I had been running this whole time then keeping up the usual would have been acceptable. To me that means that I shouldn’t work on increasing speed or distance, but it’s ok to throw in a few jogging stints while I’m walking Willow and Dakota. He did have concerns about how jarring running is. I remember running when I was pregnant with Izzy and there came a point where I felt like my belly was bouncing along. Not comfortable, so I stopped.
The next activity I prefer, that he doesn’t is dance. At first he dismissed it, “what like aerobics?” I had to explain that this wasn’t granny’s dance class. This was a contemporary class with leaps and turns. He vigorously shook his head disapprovingly. His main concern was that I would fall. Not that the action was too rigorous. Carrying around an extra 16 lbs pretty much located in one area makes me totally uneven and at risk for falling. (By the way, the total weight gain of 16 lbs is why I was stressing about exercise to begin with.)
For now I will settle for walking with Willow and Izzy. If this pregnancy has started out differently I wouldn’t have stopped running. But since my number one concern is the healthy growth of baby #2, I will gladly forgo the rigorous activity and look forward to resuming them in the fall.

Trying not to be neurotic

Synonyms for neurotic include: anxious, fearful, fixated, irrational, hung-up and obsessed. Most of the words describe me pretty well when it comes to raising Izzy. Admitting you have a problem is the first step right? Well, here's where I explain why being anxious about her influences, fixated on her diet and obsessed with the childcare she receives may not be all that bad.
I find it APPAULING that there is still such a discrepancy in gender roles in children's television. In my college media course we were asked to survey television shows and produce a paper theorizing commonalities in mass media. I watched 15 different children’s shows, and many episodes of each, and there were two themes that were shockingly apparent. 1) Male characters were almost always the lead character and possessed unmatched intelligence while their female cohorts were “along for the ride.” 2) When the show was an all female cast they donned skimpy outfits that leads only to objectification of women. Since then it’s been in the back of my mind that when I have children not only would I limit the amount of TV they watch, but also the types of shows they watch, the books they read and the toys they play with. Now that I have a little girl I’m more fearful that these negative influences will undermine her self-esteem and passion. I know I can’t protect her from every influence out there, hell I’m already switching radio stations because it’s acceptable to say ass in a song. But what I’m unsure of is how far should I take my concerns? My mother in law bought Izzy a princess coloring book for Easter. There’s a bug-eyed beauty page after page. I’ve only once voiced my concern that these characters don’t wear enough clothing. I haven’t given her my spiel about the women looking like they work as escorts or being super dependent on men to save them. So what do I do?
Next, and pretty high on my “makes me sound like a loon” list is the food we all consume. Forget the processed foods and crap that can sit on your shelf for 30 years, survive nuclear war, and still be consumable. I don’t touch it and neither will Izzy. It’s the seemingly less harmful things that she can imbibe on a day to day basis. First up, that delicious white stuff that is used to make the yummiest ice cold treat out there, milk. Or as Izzy calls it kkkk. I choose to give Izzy organic milk. It’s really important to me that there are no hormones or antibiotics in something that makes up the majority of her liquid intake. The woman who runs the daycare thinks I’m batty. My response? If it were such a crazy idea, why is it readily available in the grocery store? And why are so many articles now proclaiming the evils of antibiotics and hormones in our food? Next up, consider juice. Harmless right? Why should I give her sugar flavored water that lacks nutrients? It’s a totally different story if the juice is actually from fruit, and doesn’t have additives. But even then, she should get the real thing first. Every time I see “FJ” on her daycare report I cringe. Even after I asked them not to give my daughter fruit juice they still do. “But she likes it.” Of course she does, sugar is like crack to an 18 month old! So I remain ever vigilant about giving Izzy non-contaminated drinks. I could write a novel about food, so perhaps I’ll save that for a future post.
And the last thing I mentioned being obsessed with is Izzy’s care. (Warning, I’m keeping it to my top three because I don’t want to lose my readers. Trust me, I’m neurotic about plenty of things.) I don’t think it’s uncommon for a parent to think about their child during the work day. I think plenty of parents wonder if their child is getting the best care, or is being treated fairly all the day long. What could be out of the ordinary is that there are days were it pervades my every thought, every moment of the day. Once she’s safely dropped off I worry about her crying, and is her care taker responding sympathetically or just “toughening her up” by abrasively switching gears. Does her care taker knit-pick her every move shaking her self-esteem and confidence? Or does her care taker let her stomp around oblivious to destruction or danger that my little baby can get into? Is the care taker at all aware of child development stages and how important our reactions are to them? I probably ask myself more questions about what people are doing with my child all day long than an interrogator querying a criminal. Sure, part of it is guilt driven. I want to be with her and think she would be better off with her mom all day. But the other part of it is that I don’t know what she’s learning or experiencing at this age. She can’t tell me what’s happening. There are plenty of secondary concerns like is she bonding with them better than she bonds with me? But what it all comes down to is I have learned to keep my mind very busy with work, and put faith in God that everything is turning out the way it should. Sure Sunday night and Monday morning have turned into a habitual tear fest, but at least I’m productive during the day.
So perhaps the fears I’ve mentioned, coupled with the ones I haven’t, make me neurotic. Or do they just make me a parent? My OBGYN told me that I’ll have to face this fear, and ones just like it from here on out. He has three children so he speaks from experience when he says having faith in God is the only way to ease the anxiety and fearfulness.

Eek! A Tick!

One of my favorite times with Izzy is when she just wakes up from a restful night. She quietly plays with her toys until one of us goes in to pick her up. This morning was not as much fun. She was in a delightful mood and had picked up her comb. I sat down with her and started to do her hair when I saw it. A black speck with legs on the back of my baby's head. I instantly identified it as a tick and yelled for Joe to help remove the nasty little crawly who had embedded itself into my daughters head. I knew it would take two of us and he would be much calmer about it.
After a game of distract Izzy with toys she isn't allowed to play with and some quick tweezer action from Joe, the tick was safely removed from Izzy's sweet little head.
We finished the morning according to our normal routines and Izzy was off to daycare. Here's what I've learned from our tick scare:

• You have to remove the whole tick. I remembered hearing that before, but without Joe's quick and precise hands, we may not have fared so well.
• If you save the tick, some towns will test them for lyme disease. (This mean little POS is sitting in a bottle on the window sill in my kitchen. I HOPE IT FRIES in the sun.)
• Smaller ticks are the ones more likely to carry lyme. This one isn't too small, but I don't want to take any chances.
• For the next 30 days we have to watch out for: a rash anywhere on her body, not just the site of the tick bite, fever/body aches.
• Clean the site of the bite and keep it clean.
• Some research shows that a tick needs to be embedded/gorging on blood for 24 hours before Lyme Disease is transferred.
• The state of CT doesn't allow daycares (even small family centers like the one Izzy goes to) to spray their yards with pesticides that could protect from ticks. So I have to spray my kid with bug spray instead. Makes a lot of sense. You can't use one chemical but you can use another? This is a whole other story. I know I have dogs and the tick could very well have traveled in on them. Or the tick could have fell on Izzy from a tree while we were outside. But we just got a notification from daycare saying she was no longer allowed to spray her yard for ticks and we should be very diligent about checking at home.

Needless to say I'm ticked that this nasty little bug bit my daughter, but I do find a little comfort knowing that the tick seems to be bigger than a deer tick and it wasn't there for very long. Just another lesson in parethood. I'll be checking Izzy from head to toe from now on.

what I didn't expect now that I'm expecting

My big realization
I’ve been struggling since the conference I coordinated concluded. Shouldn’t it feel great to complete a task? And shouldn’t it feel even better knowing that no one has ever done it as well? Nope, I’m not left with warm fuzzies after this one. After weeks of over-analyzing my work, and my feelings, I’ve come to the realization that I’m just not satisfied unless my boss is super impressed with me. I’ve been looking for him to laud me with enthusiasm. I thought success on this project would lead to challenging new projects and inclusion on problem solving for tough organizational issues. Instead, I’ve been cast aside to toil over subordinate issues that a janitor could solve. (Sorry janitors, but let’s be honest, there aren’t many Good Will Huntings out there.)
My mind has been churning over the concern of why I’m in this predicament. And sadly, the answer is so clear, but I just haven’t wanted to wrestle with it. I’m pregnant. Give me a moment to explain. The months leading up to the conference were some of the most challenging of my professional career. I juggled several tasks and projects from my boss and he poured more on knowing that I could handle it. What he didn’t know was that I had a threatened pregnancy and daily, dealt with the possibility of losing the baby. I couldn’t escape and turn to my normal exercise routine because I was restricted from activity. I couldn’t turn to my husband for comfort because he was working 90 ish hours a week. (Not that he wasn’t there for me whenever I called him, but how would crying to him every few hours have helped?) So I did what I do best; cloud my mind by filling up my work calendar with any task I could get my hands. The only comfort I found was in spending time with my beautiful daughter. (I could write a novel on how amazing she is and how blessed I am that I get to be her mother.)
No one at work knew what I was going through. And I kept the pregnancy a secret from my boss until the day before we left for the conference. At 15 weeks I was unmistakably showing and would no doubt be questioned by those who knew me best. And the best reason for finally coming clean was that the possibility of miscarriage had dramatically dropped. After coming clean I thought the relief would wash over me like the warm rays in sunny Florida, a beautiful setting for our conference. But just like the unseasonable weather when we arrived, I was shocked by how cold my boss was to me. Like a switch had been flipped and I was no longer his go-to-gal for tough dilemmas. The faith he had in me vanished and he began to question every decision. I blocked it out and until colleagues started asking me if I were ok dealing with his constant questioning and adverse attitude to my decisions. I pushed through it like a good event-planning soldier. There are two things that matter in event planning; 1) what’s the experience like for the attendee and 2) are my staff members on their game? I saw smile after smile on the attendees faces. And the survey results reflected their delight with raves about this being the best conference for the company they have ever been to.
What I should have done was taken all the upbeat, positive reviews to fuel the end of conference work. Instead, I just crumbled. Exhaustion from being pregnant and running around for 16 hours a day slammed into me. I wanted to curl up in my bed and sleep for a month. It's taken quite a while for me to really accept that maybe I've been expecting too much from myself and from others. I didn't expect that work wouldn't feel as rewarding. I didn't expect that my colleages would treat me differently. I expected that I could handle everything and excute just as well as I have in the past. Having time to think through these things has given me some answers, like stop expecting so much from myself. But I know I have a pretty tough decision ahead of me. It's time to find the balance, or identify that I just can't make being a career woman and a super mom work.

Banishing "I Can't Wait"

Watching Izzy develop every day is so amazing. Seems like she is always doing something new and I So many times I've caught myself saying, "I can't wait for Izzy to" (fill in the blank). When I found her sitting in the crib one morning I was giddy with excitement which quickly led to, I can't wait until she crawls.

Why? Why can't I wait? Everyone tells me how fleeting these moments of discovery are. And it's true, Izzy is now walking and I can't believe I was in a rush for her newest skill. Truth is she's less of a baby every day, and I can't get those moments back. I have beautiful memories, but pushing her to do the next thing shouldn't be my automated response.

I can wait. I can sit back and enjoy these moments of pure joy. That day that I found Izzy sitting up in her crib I was amazed, and from then on I decided that "I can't wait . . ." would be banished from my thought process. Any time I spend thinking about her next step or pushing her to grow up is time that I'm missing being fully immersed in the moment.

While Izzy will always be my baby, she won't be a baby for much longer. And when I'm watching her walk across the stage to receive her diploma, or marching down an isle to start her own family, I'll always fondly remember the times where we lived in the moment. I can wait for that.