tummy ache and tired

Oh man. I am so tired and feeling so badly. I thought I was doing better, and then my parents came with all kinds of crap food and I ate some, like a moron. Now I feel so utterly horrible. Exhausted, my throat aches, my chest aches, my stomach throbs, even my eyes are burning. All this from some “peanut brittle popcorn,” and squash ravioli. My last test showed nothing of significance, just once again a slight “shadow” on my gallbladder that no one would notice if I weren’t complaining of issues. I suppose I will call the doctor with this new experience and see what he has to say. Hopefully the’ll give me a referral somewhere where I’m likely to get some answers.

Here’s a question for me. How come, even when I tell my mother I can’t eat this kind of stuff, does she continually press it on me? “Oh just a little bit won’t hurt you.” News flash: Yes it will. But the even bigger question is, why the hell can’t I just not eat it? And then why while I’m miserable does she have to suggest that everyone has such problems and it’s all about aging?

I could seriously whine all day and night about the issues I’ve had struggling with my mom’s insistence that we deny all problems always. But I don’t think it would help.

Ouch; or, the Hard Way to Lose That Last 7 Pounds

So those of you blessed with knowing my whiny self might know that I’ve had a hell of a time getting back down to my pre-Natan pregnancy weight. In fact, I sometimes felt like I was holding on to that last 7 pounds as part of my grief. I’m sure that sounds extreme, many many women hold onto some weight post-pregnancy, but for some reason I felt particularly anxious over it. I’d ask myself, “Is that Natan’s 7 pounds, or Baby Man’s 7 pounds?” Which is a silly question, and one that only enters my mind at random moments, and then is pushed out again as I’m aware of its absurdity.

I also thought about that weight, wondering if I should lose it as part of my preparations for a next pregnancy, or rather as an acknowledgment that my childbearing days are over.

Well, those questions are moot for the moment. Although of course it could easily return, but then what kind of weight is it?

They are moot right now because I’ve lost 14 pounds! in the past three weeks. I have no idea why. Only that if I eat something more substantial than carrrots, apples, blueberries, potatoes or plain toast, it passes through me in the most unpleasant manner.

The pain started about 6 weeks ago, actually, but it was sharp only at moments, and the doctor blamed it on a burst ovarian cyst. Now we’re thinking maybe gall bladder, and I’ve had a battery of tests to determine that. I don’t fit the profile for a bad gall bladder in any way, but the symptoms sound like it.

An awful lot of drama for a not so special problem, but it irks me. And is making it hard to function and work on a normal basis.

Tis that time of year again

Countdown. D – less than three months to the three year anniversary of Natan’s death.

Who is Natan? I don’t know. He’s my son. He’s buried up north. I didn’t visit his grave on the second anniversary because we had to be half a country away for interviews, and I won’t visit his grave on the third anniversary because we’ll have to be half a continent away again for the same reason. How do I feel about that? Honestly I don’t know. I don’t know if it matters. Maybe it’s all that matters. I don’t know.

I’m completely useless at this, this prolonged death and grief thing. Is Natan still dead? Am I just a self-absorbed, under-developed human being myself for still thinking about it? I’m not berating myself, I just wonder, what does it matter? Is this such a great place to be anyway? I was so certain when he died that he had a neshama, a soul. These days, to be completely honest, I’m not sure any of us do. In those moments when I was closer to death, I was much more certain about life.

In the days and months after, I was more certain, for example, that I’d rather Natan had lived, no matter his condition and health. I don’t know anymore and I might deserve to be told to fuck off for that. In terms of mundane lived experience, however, my life is a whole hell of a lot easier with my full-term son than it would have been with my micro-preemie.

I’d by lying if I said it never occurs to me that I’m better off with Baby Man. Seriously rail at me if you disagree and that’s disrespectful of life. I don’t care. I don’t know. It makes me crazy, at times, that I think it, but I’ve never said I’m perfect.

Don’t tell me it’s “normal,” because I don’t need comfort. I think I’m coming to peace with it, and am able to be honest.

My pregnancy with Baby Man was the luckiest period of my life–I had no reason to expect I would go to my due date. And (right now, maybe it will change) I can’t really summon the energy to wish anything had been different. But it’s not like I can do anything about it, so do my wishes even matter?

Sap and Sorrow

Sap (scroll down for sorrow)

Baby Man is the best thing ever. Yesterday morning I got up with him, which admittedly JJ has been doing for the most part for awhile now. As I approached his door he was babbling, “Daddy daddy daddy.”  I called out, “Morning Baby Man!” and he said, “Oh! Nice!” and was jumping up and down calling, “Mommy! Mommy” as I walked in.  When I picked him up, he kissed me and said, “Nice Mommy.” Best. Thing. Ever.

——

Sorrow

I don’t know if I ever really truly confessed here what I a bitch I am. Do you know that after Natan died I did indeed have tinges of wondering, “Why me? Why not any of the other pregnant women I know, especially those who already have living children?”  I know of no worse feeling in the world than lying alone in a dark room, knowing your child is dead, and wishing it had been someone else’s, anyone else’s, and knowing that that’s an evil thought.  It wasn’t a real wish, however, it was a flailing, a desperately jealous desire to not feel so isolated, alone and hurt. I hardly felt human.

My sister, who has had enough pain in her life otherwise, had a daughter two months before Natan died. She lived three hundred miles away and I couldn’t go see her right after she was born, when I was still pregnant. But I couldn’t stand that daughter the first time I met her, when she was 4 months old. I love her now, and don’t think of her as a shadow baby, but as herself, a crazy little girl. But unlike with my sister’s other two kids–where my love for them was intense and immediate–it took awhile for me to warm up to her.  I was so pissed that I was still the childless aunt. And I didn’t even have to be that for long.

For the most part, I’m better. Having a successful pregnancy and a living baby made it better.

That doesn’t mean though that it’s okay that Natan died, that it happened for a reason, or that it made me stronger.  My time in the hospital, his death, the aftermath and the subsequent pregnancy changed me. Deeply.

I didn’t realize how much while I was still living in the same city where it all happened. I still had all the same friends for the most part, who treated me the same, but with some additional kindness and patience. I know I got bitchy and sullen at times, but they understood.

It’s different now in this new place, where almost no one knows what happened. Absolutely no one in my department knows.  Only two new friends from blog land who happen to live here know (obviously). I have crankiness to me, an edge that I didn’t notice when I was among old friends.  It seemed temporary, as did my darker moods.  But now those moods are part of me because I’m meeting new people who only know of me post-loss.  I can’t make less than cheerful or optimistic comments about pregnancy and motherhood without seeming unpleasant. 

I have a cynicism about academia, about the mission of my field that comes across as if I lack confidence.  My belief that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing sometimes looks like it comes from lack of experience, rather than my actual feeling that we’re all full of it and most of us are too confident in the significance of humanity.

An older colleague told me (in an unrelated context) that teaching is a performance, and he’s right. He advised me to think of myself as going on stage when I go into a classroom. I know that. I’ve always done that. The problem is, before Natan died, I knew my character.  Now I don’t. And far beyond simply the question of teaching, I often feel like my whole life is a performance where I’m not quite sure of my role, and where the director has left the building.

the survey I won’t be filling out on f*book

Seriously, why would someone I know knows about Natan want to send this to me? Does she expect me to lie? Or was my pregnancy with Natan not real? Anyway, here’s what I would answer if I were going to complete this damn survey. It’s bitter.

1) How old were you when your first child was born? 29 years old

2) What month and year was your youngest child born? December 2007

3. How did you feel when you first found out you were pregnant? Super duper excited!

4. Who did you tell first? My husband, my sister, my brother-in-law, my mom, my advisor

5. How many pounds did you gain during your first pregnancy? 15 pounds

6. What did you crave while you were pregnant? Ginger ale

7. Did you find out the gender of your first child? Why or why not? Yes. Because I was hospitalized for pre-term labor, and I thought, well, if chances are this child is going to die, I might as well know as much about him as I can for as long as I can before he does.

8. Did you have any complications during your pregnancy?Yes. The baby died, and I almost did, or did for a moment, depending upon whom you ask.

9. How much did your first child weigh? oh, somewhere around 2 pounds

10. Was your first child early, late, or on time? Rather early.

11. What is the most difficult challenge or health issue that any of your children have faced? Strangulation leading to death

12. What’s your favorite part of being a mom? My living son’s interest in the world around him

13. Do you think it’s easier to be a mom or a dad? I’m glad I’m a mom, not a dad

14. What is the best piece of advice you could give to someone who is about to have their first child? Tell other people to piss off, unless they’re offering to buy you dinner or help clean your house.

15. Did you always think you’d have kids? Yes

16. What’s been the biggest surprise about motherhood? That you still feel like a mom when your baby is dead

17. Are there things you miss about life before kids? Not knowing about number 16

18. How many children do you have? 2

19. Do you plan to have any more children? I’m not “planning” anything in terms of this question

20. Who’s the mom that you admire most? My sister.

Sorry I went to Boise

I got an email from a student the other day, apologizing and asking for forgiveness for his late assignment. Entire message, subject line: “Sorry I went to Boise,” text: “please fogive me.” [sic].

I like it here.

Apparently it’s one year today since the financial collapse. That means one year ago yesterday I overnight mailed my first job application for a position that would be canceled. The first of oh, 2/3 of what I applied for to officially disappear. As my commemorative activity yesterday I looked at a few of the websites of other schools where I applied, two where I interviewed, that did not contact me telling me the position had been canceled. Quite a few had no new faculty listed at all.

I’m applying again. A few nice-looking prospects, but of course we have no idea if things will be any better for schools this year, and there are many fewer postings than this time this year. Hopefully that doesn’t mean fewer jobs, but just that the ones listed actually exist.

What the heck?

This afternoon I was talking with the wife of a colleague. We’re both new here, and they happen to have a son a week older than Baby Man. They also happen to be pregnant with another baby, due in the winter.

So we’re talking about our kids and pregnancy, and I forget how, but it comes up that Baby Man was a big baby. And it comes up that a friend of theirs had an even bigger baby. And that that friend managed to have the baby without drugs. I joke that I thought I’d do that, but oh well. She says, “I wanted to too, but had to have a c-section. Sometimes it doesn’t go as planned, I suppose.” I say, “Yeah,” and she looks kind of sad and touches her belly.

Have I told you how unbelievably strange it is to live somewhere where no one else knows about Natan?

Yet that certainly didn’t seem like the right moment to share.

Another one

Mother fracker. That’s the kind of thing you might hear come out of my mouth lately as I try not to corrupt my young son. The other day he dropped a toy on the ground and said, “Oh shit.” Not that I am particularly vulgar in front of him, but the morning before that, in the midst of unpacking some books in the basement, I did drop a huge load of them on my foot (causing a huge bruise and bump) and say, “shit” out loud and then all kinds of other things under my breath. He was a floor away, but …

So that’s what I said when I got another email announcing a pregnancy, “Mother Fracker.” This one a friend of mine who had a baby a month after Baby Man was born. Ergh. Their choices have nothing to do with us. But I feel so…behind. Ridiculous, I know, because Baby Man is enough. He’s fun and energetic, and I think to myself, “If I were pregnant now, I could not spend the day at the zoo with him!”And I never want to give that up.

But damn it, other mothers can. I see plenty of pregnant women marching around the zoo with multiple young ones circling around them.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get over having hated pregnancy.

Mother fracker.

Trying

My own post and Julia’s from yesterday about pregnancy have me thinking. Or not thinking, as the case may be these days, and just feeling, the cold chest-hardening sensation of “I can’t deal with it.” Pregnancy is still so fraught with pain and fear and jealousy for me. I suppose some people, like those who dare to criticize the women at Glow In the Woods, would attack me for that.

Here I am! With a gorgeous living boy! And I had a relatively easy birth experience with him. In a hospital yes, with some drugs so a bit of a failure(*kidding*). I am so lucky. You know, if I could just focus on the positive that whole nasty “dead baby” thing would stay in the past where it belongs.

Well guess what jackasses who might agree? I have never truly begrudged a woman a happy and healthy and easy birth. Pangs of jealousy are inevitable though. Seriously, I call b/s if you tell me you’re never envious of anything or anyone, or don’t feel pain if you’re faced with something precious you lost. 

I do not call feeling choked up when you’re reminded, under any circumstances, of the baby or babies missing in your life shameful. It’s just a real emotion. I have never, ever discussed my experiences with another woman except in answer to a direct question. Or in situations where if I didn’t mention Natan’s birth and death, I would be dishonest or forced to obfuscate.

Goodness knows in any other circumstances I wouldn’t want another person to lie or hide an experience or a loss. Nor would I want them to gloss over the pain for my sake, or for any other reason than their own needs or desires.

Although I do so in many other situations, in this one I’m not setting different standards for myself than I do for others. Natan’s birth and death happened. It hurt more than anything I could have imagined. I am shocked still when I remember myself waking up in my bed at home the morning after and melting down, completely, unable to comprehend how life would go on. I don’t force strangers to confront that woman. But there’s no reason to pretend others need sheltering from the simple facts of his existence and death, and the aftermath. No reason other than some ridiculous idea that his death and birth themselves are shameful.

We are not holding up billboards or spamming inboxes or doing guerilla theater in birthing or lamaze centers of our experiences. Death and pain are part of birth. Jealousy and questions about “why me” are part of human experience and emotions.  They need to be dealt with somewhere. If you step into the realm of birth and pregnancy, you might confront death and pain.

It’s a dark and unpleasant reality, and one that I’ve needed a break from for the past year or more. But more so because of the people who think they’re immune, or who would presume to judge our reactions, than from the simple reality that babies die. That I can’t hide from.

Most certainly not

It’s that time. Lots of families with children Baby Man’s age are pregnant again, and some people are beginning to feel comfortable asking me if we’re considering having another one soon.

No.

No.

No.

Awhile back, I thought now might be a good time. But awhile back I didn’t know the bottom would fall out of our field, and that I’d be the provider for the family for the next year at least. I didn’t know that I’d end up grateful for a position that’s only 1 or 2 years instead of choosing between prime tenure-track jobs (ha, so naive.) I thought, perhaps, that JJ might have the t-t position and I could stay at home and pursue more creative work. As it stands now, I will have more than enough to do without adding first trimester exhaustion, navigating a new insurance plan and hospital system, and the rest of the special joy pregnancy brings to me to the mix.

More than that though, I didn’t realize how reluctant I would be to give up my brain again for a minimum of a year and a half. A minimum of a year because 18 months presumes I could get pregnant again immediately and have another baby on the first try. And I know very well that pregnancy makes me an anxious stupid mess. Add to that breastfeeding again. I honestly could barely get any work done at all before Baby Man began replacing breast milk feedings with solid food. He was an easy baby, but honestly I only recently began to feel like a fully-functioning adult and scholar again.

Add to that Baby Man himself. I love spending time with him so much, and I am anxious to think about what will happen to him and our relationship if I have a hard pregnancy and then another baby in the house. I know most families cope with the latter, and many the former. And, in good time, we may too. Just not now. There’s too much else going on.

Of course I don’t need to justify and the above is a much longer answer than most of the nosy questioners need.

Classes begin here in my new place in just a few weeks. Thankfully my syllabi are done but between now and then I want to get some lectures planned so I can manage better. We are all moved in to our new place, and except for the fact that the first floor toilet is leaking and I just discovered that neither of our doors open from the outside anymore (don’t worry, called about that immediately), it’s great. We have 4 bedrooms for less than we paid for our 1-bedroom and 2-bedroom apartments in the old city. When it’s really ready, I’ll post pictures of my very first very own office. I love it right down to the hideous pink and blue flower wallpaper.