Thanks everyone! Things have been better the past day or two, though Doodle is still very cranky and not really eating. Before things are completely back to normal, I get to start stressing about graduation. Have I explained that I feel very inadequate in social occasions? Any time I think about large gatherings of people--whether they are people I know or not--I get to feeling very anxious and all of my worst anti-social tendencies reveal themselves. That, and little things start to get to me, like the doctoral robe's sleeves being different lengths, or the fact that "unisex" means "not for full busts"!!
So anyway, graduation is tomorrow morning, and I'm all wound up. I finally decided that Doodle will be there--I debated for a while, knowing that she really won't enjoy herself. But I couldn't bear the thought of having Phelan there, and Isabelle, and not Helena. Besides feeling like I am not representing my family accurately by having only 2 of my 3 children there, it seems to imply something about her--that she was not good enough to be there. If I was leaving both babies with someone, it might feel different. After all, my son IS the only one with the patience for this kind of thing, and the only one who begins to understand the significance of a graduation. I decided that I didn't want to try to explain in 5 or 6 years, "Well, Brother was at Momma's graduation, and so was Chiclette, but not you." What child is going to understand that one? So anyway, she will be going. To a 2-hour graduation ceremony. With many, many things to entertain her. And there are still times when keeping her in a 1-hour Mass is challenging (notice I didn't say keeping her still--that would be one of the minor miracles). :) I love my Doodle, but she is not a sedate child. I rely on the presence of aunts and an uncle to keep her well-behaved!
After graduation? I get to pull together Summer II grades by Monday. We have a little breakfast/brunch planned for Saturday. THAT will be the highlight of my weekend! (Not so intimidating, you know?)
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Grumpiest Momma in the World
-or- Why Doesn't Lysol Make a Body Spray??
I have been babysitting a friend's children, ages 3, 5, and 13 mos. on Monday and Tuesday while she teaches, from about 9:15 to 11:45 A.M. I alternate between feeling like this is a real challenge, and that it is pretty cool. I have those "losing my mind" moments. My days of watching 5-7 children at one time are long gone, and while none of the children were mine (they were cousins and siblings), they were known entities, and I was familiar with the dynamic between them all. There is a difference watching non-related children! On the other hand, it is really not difficult, just busy, and there is something vaguely comforting to know that there are kids all over one's house playing.
So on Tuesday, she proposed lunch. Now, I was raised by a mother who avoided playplaces like the plague. In fact, she avoided them in part because of the plague. And if we ever did venture into places like Chuck-e-Cheese's, she knew that (although the kids were certain to get sick afterward) at least I was there to make sure they weren't lost or trampled. So I am a total germophobe. I am deeply suspicious of other children--ones whose parents I don't know. And I am not thrilled with play area precipices and climbing walls and giant tubes that swallow up toddlers. I can't do like so many parents and "let the kids play," particularly when I don't know the kids in question. So I end up watching my own child and monitoring every body else's. This makes for a very stressed momma. I don't think my son went on public play equipment until he was 6. I may exaggerate, but not much.
Now, my friend is very laid-back with this sort of thing. Because of her, I have taken Doodle to a "splash park" (for a birthday party)--unfortunately, my friend's mother will forever think of me as "the one with the little girl who ran and ran and it took three of them to keep track of her." I have taken Doodle to a children's museum with my friend, who laughed while I trailed my too-young-for-most activities toddler. I have taken Doodle to an egg hunt with other kids AND let her play on playground equipment. And, finally, I have taken her to McDonald's. *sigh* It is because of this friend that "fry" was among Doodle's first words!! It's a good influence, in a way. I have been venturing to parks (especially sparsely populated ones) with my three lately, and I am not sooooo paranoid. . . But I still find these situations incredibly stressful.
So we went to McDonald's. With a HUUUUUGE play area. And, as my husband points out, those things really aren't cleaned. At least with outside equipment, the sun is beating down on them, and rain, and some germs are cleaned off. Gee, thanks, hon. Have I mentioned that he & I think a lot alike? ;)
This McD's is newer (hence, cleaner) than some. It has separate (though not divided) areas for ages 3 and under and for bigger kids. When we got there, after eating, the place was positively overrun, and yet many kids had left while we were eating (!!). Being with someone else means that you can't turn tail and run, however, unless the other person shares your particular brand of paranoia.
The first thing I did--before putting down the baby in the carseat--was run the 7-13 year olds (who were using it for "base"--and that means "recipe for rowdiness") off of the toddler area. I asked them, "How old are you? Then leave this part for the smaller kids!" I asked on little boy of 6 or 7, "Are you 3 years old? No? Then go play over there!" People thought I was insane, but no one could argue. A parent or two came over to see what the crazy lady was up too, and why she didn't leave the other kids alone. After surveying the situation, they instructed the older ones to keep to the other area. Then, I just had to make sure no one ran UP the toddler slide, careening into descending toddlers.
A few little girls were being more calm, so I relaxed my vigilance, although they were older. They took an interest in the toddlers and set up "house" on the toddler side. One took Doodle for a "walk" to an area where a video game had once been, and I followed (and was advised by other mothers that there was no outlet there--yeah, but some little girl has my toddler by the hand!!) I had to interfere with the game (predictably, perhaps) when "house" became a bit too aggressive. Seems they had to prevent her from going down the slide as "discipline" because she wouldn't listen to them. I set them straight. Fast. "Ummm, no. She's my little girl and she doesn't have to listen to you. She is too young for this kind of game. Move aside so she can slide." I was always the playground crusader for justice--the "we don't have to play your game if it involves paying money to go down the slide" kind of kid. Yeah, the stick-in-the-mud.
I did fuss at a boy of about 13 who had been playing rowdy and bounded onto the toddler set, but he was going to check on his little sister of about 18 months. So I said I was sorry, and felt a bit foolish, but when we got there, he was one of the ones I had to kick off.
The moment I relaxed my vigilance and talked to another mother, Doodle either escaped to the "big" side, or little girls "grounded" her. But she had a good time (and had her clothes changed and was wiped down with Baby Magic before her nap) and only my son was conscious of his mother's hyper-attentiveness (which she has imparted successfully to him, but more so. . .) You've never seen an 11-year-old so disapproving. Except me. But I'm trying to encourage him to have fun and leave the worrying to me! And maybe worry less myself in the process. Or not. . . There are definite benefits to keeping an eye one's children in public spaces.
I have been babysitting a friend's children, ages 3, 5, and 13 mos. on Monday and Tuesday while she teaches, from about 9:15 to 11:45 A.M. I alternate between feeling like this is a real challenge, and that it is pretty cool. I have those "losing my mind" moments. My days of watching 5-7 children at one time are long gone, and while none of the children were mine (they were cousins and siblings), they were known entities, and I was familiar with the dynamic between them all. There is a difference watching non-related children! On the other hand, it is really not difficult, just busy, and there is something vaguely comforting to know that there are kids all over one's house playing.
So on Tuesday, she proposed lunch. Now, I was raised by a mother who avoided playplaces like the plague. In fact, she avoided them in part because of the plague. And if we ever did venture into places like Chuck-e-Cheese's, she knew that (although the kids were certain to get sick afterward) at least I was there to make sure they weren't lost or trampled. So I am a total germophobe. I am deeply suspicious of other children--ones whose parents I don't know. And I am not thrilled with play area precipices and climbing walls and giant tubes that swallow up toddlers. I can't do like so many parents and "let the kids play," particularly when I don't know the kids in question. So I end up watching my own child and monitoring every body else's. This makes for a very stressed momma. I don't think my son went on public play equipment until he was 6. I may exaggerate, but not much.
Now, my friend is very laid-back with this sort of thing. Because of her, I have taken Doodle to a "splash park" (for a birthday party)--unfortunately, my friend's mother will forever think of me as "the one with the little girl who ran and ran and it took three of them to keep track of her." I have taken Doodle to a children's museum with my friend, who laughed while I trailed my too-young-for-most activities toddler. I have taken Doodle to an egg hunt with other kids AND let her play on playground equipment. And, finally, I have taken her to McDonald's. *sigh* It is because of this friend that "fry" was among Doodle's first words!! It's a good influence, in a way. I have been venturing to parks (especially sparsely populated ones) with my three lately, and I am not sooooo paranoid. . . But I still find these situations incredibly stressful.
So we went to McDonald's. With a HUUUUUGE play area. And, as my husband points out, those things really aren't cleaned. At least with outside equipment, the sun is beating down on them, and rain, and some germs are cleaned off. Gee, thanks, hon. Have I mentioned that he & I think a lot alike? ;)
This McD's is newer (hence, cleaner) than some. It has separate (though not divided) areas for ages 3 and under and for bigger kids. When we got there, after eating, the place was positively overrun, and yet many kids had left while we were eating (!!). Being with someone else means that you can't turn tail and run, however, unless the other person shares your particular brand of paranoia.
The first thing I did--before putting down the baby in the carseat--was run the 7-13 year olds (who were using it for "base"--and that means "recipe for rowdiness") off of the toddler area. I asked them, "How old are you? Then leave this part for the smaller kids!" I asked on little boy of 6 or 7, "Are you 3 years old? No? Then go play over there!" People thought I was insane, but no one could argue. A parent or two came over to see what the crazy lady was up too, and why she didn't leave the other kids alone. After surveying the situation, they instructed the older ones to keep to the other area. Then, I just had to make sure no one ran UP the toddler slide, careening into descending toddlers.
A few little girls were being more calm, so I relaxed my vigilance, although they were older. They took an interest in the toddlers and set up "house" on the toddler side. One took Doodle for a "walk" to an area where a video game had once been, and I followed (and was advised by other mothers that there was no outlet there--yeah, but some little girl has my toddler by the hand!!) I had to interfere with the game (predictably, perhaps) when "house" became a bit too aggressive. Seems they had to prevent her from going down the slide as "discipline" because she wouldn't listen to them. I set them straight. Fast. "Ummm, no. She's my little girl and she doesn't have to listen to you. She is too young for this kind of game. Move aside so she can slide." I was always the playground crusader for justice--the "we don't have to play your game if it involves paying money to go down the slide" kind of kid. Yeah, the stick-in-the-mud.
I did fuss at a boy of about 13 who had been playing rowdy and bounded onto the toddler set, but he was going to check on his little sister of about 18 months. So I said I was sorry, and felt a bit foolish, but when we got there, he was one of the ones I had to kick off.
The moment I relaxed my vigilance and talked to another mother, Doodle either escaped to the "big" side, or little girls "grounded" her. But she had a good time (and had her clothes changed and was wiped down with Baby Magic before her nap) and only my son was conscious of his mother's hyper-attentiveness (which she has imparted successfully to him, but more so. . .) You've never seen an 11-year-old so disapproving. Except me. But I'm trying to encourage him to have fun and leave the worrying to me! And maybe worry less myself in the process. Or not. . . There are definite benefits to keeping an eye one's children in public spaces.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Discovering my comfort foods. . .
I watch Food Network a lot. A Lot! One thing they like to talk about is so-called "comfort food"--usually mac 'n cheese, ice cream, chicken soup, spaghetti. I've wondered sometimes at the rationale for the designation, though ice cream is a given. Chicken soup = illness, so that too. When I think of favorite homey dishes that evoke family, I come up with chicken fricassee, dirty rice, seafood gumbo. Not thing that are easy to turn to for comfort, since I don't make them like my grandmother did. (My dirty rice isn't bad--and no, it's not like the stuff you get at Cajun restaurants!)
So finally, reality hit, and I've been trying to look over some articles, look over the dissertation, print the dissertation in all of its tree-killing immensity (that's the epithet). . . But things were a little crazy at home, and with all of the beginning-of-the-month, only-paid-once-a-month grocery shopping that we have done recently, we still needed some things. So I made a list and sent my husband to the store with the kiddos (but at the last minute the little one needed me). I looked over the list, and behold: comfort foods!
--ingredients for a 7-layer bean dip: beans, cheese, sour cream, guacamole, tomatoes, pico de gallo, salsa, tortilla chips
--cookies
--doughnuts
--frozen cooked shrimp with cocktail sauce (an appetizer of sorts for me!)
Even the things that I put on the list because we "needed" them are comfort foods for me:
--frozen cheese tortelloni (which we had for dinner with butter)
--frozen portabello mushroom raviolis (the store brand is scrumptious! and only $2.09! what a great supper! :) )
--frozen vegetables: broccoli, broccoli & cauliflower, peas (great with the cheese tortelloni for supper!)
The bean dip was too labor-intensive, but will be consumed in the near future! :)
So. . . Any favorite "real" comfort foods? Things not usually considered? (Pregnancy cravings aren't quite the same. They vary with pregnancy and usually don't last in my experience. But they're an interesting subject unto themselves!)
And for tomorrow: Water. Just water. 'Cause all that talking will make us thirsty! Thanks for all the supportive words!
So finally, reality hit, and I've been trying to look over some articles, look over the dissertation, print the dissertation in all of its tree-killing immensity (that's the epithet). . . But things were a little crazy at home, and with all of the beginning-of-the-month, only-paid-once-a-month grocery shopping that we have done recently, we still needed some things. So I made a list and sent my husband to the store with the kiddos (but at the last minute the little one needed me). I looked over the list, and behold: comfort foods!
--ingredients for a 7-layer bean dip: beans, cheese, sour cream, guacamole, tomatoes, pico de gallo, salsa, tortilla chips
--cookies
--doughnuts
--frozen cooked shrimp with cocktail sauce (an appetizer of sorts for me!)
Even the things that I put on the list because we "needed" them are comfort foods for me:
--frozen cheese tortelloni (which we had for dinner with butter)
--frozen portabello mushroom raviolis (the store brand is scrumptious! and only $2.09! what a great supper! :) )
--frozen vegetables: broccoli, broccoli & cauliflower, peas (great with the cheese tortelloni for supper!)
The bean dip was too labor-intensive, but will be consumed in the near future! :)
So. . . Any favorite "real" comfort foods? Things not usually considered? (Pregnancy cravings aren't quite the same. They vary with pregnancy and usually don't last in my experience. But they're an interesting subject unto themselves!)
And for tomorrow: Water. Just water. 'Cause all that talking will make us thirsty! Thanks for all the supportive words!
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Quiet Resignation vs. Heroic Defiance
Perhaps all Christians in general, but certainly Catholics in particular, hear a lot about acceptance of God's will. I am reminded of one woman's story of her conversation with a Protestant minister as she labored under the influence of RU-486 to deliver her child that had died in the womb (found courtesy of Entropy's blog). The story highlights how she, backed by Catholic theology, was much more willing than the Protestant minister to attribute specific redemptive cause to the situation in which she found herself. The story speaks of courage, intelligence, and faith, and shows a certain feistiness as well. She accepts God's will without necessarily liking it, as her analogy shows: God's making me into a sword and I just happen to be at the 'beat the hell out of it stage'. That's okay, because at the end, He will cool me off and polish me up and I will be sparkly and shiny and I will be a sword. But that's not necessarily common in the "accepting God's will" stories we here. My impression is that mostly it's a pretty passive process, and that the truly serene don't question overmuch. At least, that's what we're supposed to think.
Then, there's the issue of "joining one's suffering to the cross"--that is, allowing ourselves to participate in Jesus's sacrifice, remembering his sacrifice and accepting our own more willingly, sometimes even cheerfully. Admittedly, I am in the earlier stages of understanding this. Taken together, these concepts allow us, perhaps, to avoid the rejection of God that so may experience in difficult times, teaching us, instead, that God's love is still with us in difficult times. Through acceptance of redemptive suffering and through remembering Christ's sacrifice in (or by way of) our own pain, we are perhaps drawn down the path towards sainthood. But is everyone called to this kind of acceptance? And if so, why is it so contrary to human nature? Is the human will one of those things, like certain aspects of human sexuality, that must be controlled and contained, even overcome, on the path to holiness?
I admit that these ideas a problematic to me because the"calm acceptance" model rather induces me to expect the worst--as my pregnancy anxieties have no doubt revealed. I am inclined to worry anyway, but somehow along my Catholic journey, I have adopted an idea that runs something like, "If suffering is redemptive, and if so many around me are suffering, and if I'm supposed to join my sufferings to the cross, and welcome them as an occasion for growth in faith, then why the heck should I be spared? Shouldn't it be my turn?" (not in the sense that I want bad things to happen, but because I dread the possibility). My life hasn't been easy, but it hasn't been catastrophically bad, either. When I was pregnant for my son, a good friend who had also been pregnant at the same time in worse circumstances (but miscarried, presumably), died about 2 weeks before I delivered of tragically preventable circumstances. But losing a friend, while terrible, is not the same as what her family experienced. Why them? I hesitate to ask, "Why not me?" but that does seem the natural line of questioning. Were they more "worthy" of the suffering, or more able to deal with it? Or is it simply that I have not had mine yet, and if so, when should I expect it?
Well, clearly, it is counterproductive to go through life expecting it--even fearing it. I really like the line in the novena that I have been praying since Sunday night (thanks to Sarah of Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering!) that says, I am so attached to the things of this world that instead of longing for Heaven I am filled with dread at the thought of death, and clearly it is perfect for me that this is a novena to Our Lady of Hope. So appropriate in so many ways!! But what about that "longing for Heaven"? How much rejection of the world is too much? Can't I rest assured in the knowledge that what I do here for my family and others is valuable, and that God will surely allow me to continue to accomplish those tasks? Or is that arrogant on my part? Is it simply a matter of resignation? "Trust in God" clearly takes many shapes, and sometimes can resemble futility (if we trust that God will send us tragic events and circumstances, no matter what, for His own good reasons) or vanity (if we believe that God will not send us tragic circumstances, because we're too darned important).
So as some part of my brain was pondering this this morning, thinking about my recent anxieties, I thought of one of my favorite poems and one of the most moving poems in the English language. Hmmm. . . Not very Catholic, I thought, but why not? Not everyone is called to be a martyr. At the same time, we believe that God's power and omnipotence can anticipate our defiance, non-acceptance, whatever--and turn it to his purpose. But I wonder, there is much discussion of "Catholic friendly" literature on blogs & such. . . What do we do with this? The poem is about grief, but the tone is attractively and tragically heroic. Is it wrong, somehow, to admire a poem of such angry defiance?:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Incidently, if you have Flash, you can hear the author read the poem here. At least, I think so. Apparently, I don't have flash. But hearing Dylan Thomas read it is incomparable.
Then, there's the issue of "joining one's suffering to the cross"--that is, allowing ourselves to participate in Jesus's sacrifice, remembering his sacrifice and accepting our own more willingly, sometimes even cheerfully. Admittedly, I am in the earlier stages of understanding this. Taken together, these concepts allow us, perhaps, to avoid the rejection of God that so may experience in difficult times, teaching us, instead, that God's love is still with us in difficult times. Through acceptance of redemptive suffering and through remembering Christ's sacrifice in (or by way of) our own pain, we are perhaps drawn down the path towards sainthood. But is everyone called to this kind of acceptance? And if so, why is it so contrary to human nature? Is the human will one of those things, like certain aspects of human sexuality, that must be controlled and contained, even overcome, on the path to holiness?
I admit that these ideas a problematic to me because the"calm acceptance" model rather induces me to expect the worst--as my pregnancy anxieties have no doubt revealed. I am inclined to worry anyway, but somehow along my Catholic journey, I have adopted an idea that runs something like, "If suffering is redemptive, and if so many around me are suffering, and if I'm supposed to join my sufferings to the cross, and welcome them as an occasion for growth in faith, then why the heck should I be spared? Shouldn't it be my turn?" (not in the sense that I want bad things to happen, but because I dread the possibility). My life hasn't been easy, but it hasn't been catastrophically bad, either. When I was pregnant for my son, a good friend who had also been pregnant at the same time in worse circumstances (but miscarried, presumably), died about 2 weeks before I delivered of tragically preventable circumstances. But losing a friend, while terrible, is not the same as what her family experienced. Why them? I hesitate to ask, "Why not me?" but that does seem the natural line of questioning. Were they more "worthy" of the suffering, or more able to deal with it? Or is it simply that I have not had mine yet, and if so, when should I expect it?
Well, clearly, it is counterproductive to go through life expecting it--even fearing it. I really like the line in the novena that I have been praying since Sunday night (thanks to Sarah of Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering!) that says, I am so attached to the things of this world that instead of longing for Heaven I am filled with dread at the thought of death, and clearly it is perfect for me that this is a novena to Our Lady of Hope. So appropriate in so many ways!! But what about that "longing for Heaven"? How much rejection of the world is too much? Can't I rest assured in the knowledge that what I do here for my family and others is valuable, and that God will surely allow me to continue to accomplish those tasks? Or is that arrogant on my part? Is it simply a matter of resignation? "Trust in God" clearly takes many shapes, and sometimes can resemble futility (if we trust that God will send us tragic events and circumstances, no matter what, for His own good reasons) or vanity (if we believe that God will not send us tragic circumstances, because we're too darned important).
So as some part of my brain was pondering this this morning, thinking about my recent anxieties, I thought of one of my favorite poems and one of the most moving poems in the English language. Hmmm. . . Not very Catholic, I thought, but why not? Not everyone is called to be a martyr. At the same time, we believe that God's power and omnipotence can anticipate our defiance, non-acceptance, whatever--and turn it to his purpose. But I wonder, there is much discussion of "Catholic friendly" literature on blogs & such. . . What do we do with this? The poem is about grief, but the tone is attractively and tragically heroic. Is it wrong, somehow, to admire a poem of such angry defiance?:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Incidently, if you have Flash, you can hear the author read the poem here. At least, I think so. Apparently, I don't have flash. But hearing Dylan Thomas read it is incomparable.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Tea and Novenas
Today was the baby shower tea. It was a very small matter, with three graduate student friends, two of whom had to leave early, and my mother and one sister, who left to bring my brother to work and returned afterward. My mother and sister were not originally supposed to be in town. The sister who was to attend had to work. My sister who did attend just returned from Colorado, where she tried to live with some friends--a married couple with a new baby--a situation that just didn't work out. So it was nice to know that that situation was at an end for her! And my mother came up at the beginning of the month with my youngest brother (13 yrs) for a doctor's appointment (since medical care is better--and cheaper--here than in New Orleans), left for a while to help my sister move from Colorado, and returned for a bit more of a visit. She was to have left early today, before the tea, but postponed her trip home and so was able to make it after all. She will be returning tomorrow, but my brother will be staying with my sister for a couple of weeks. If the baby waits a bit, she may be here for the birth! As for my brother, he has been rather depressed in New Orleans--lonely and living without plumbing because of the state of the house. . . My mother returns to find out information about the Road Home program. Hopefully that will go well and they will be able to offer her some hope of repair for her property. She has had a job--working at Starbucks, and is starting to do freelance sewing, alterations, photography, digital imaging, book making, selling her own jewelry designs, painting murals--any number of artistic pursuits, whenever she can find jobs. She much prefers the latter to the former, and the schedule of Starbucks does not easily allow for trips to Texas, so she's not entirely sure what awaits her on her return. . .
So in all, the tea was small & pleasant. And there were lots of little eclairs.
In response to my last post, a blogging friend suggested praying a novena--the two of us together. She says that is something a friend of hers offers when she is worried. We considered St. Gerard, but then decided on Our Lady of Hope. This was not an incarnation of the Blessed Mother that I had every heard of before! But what struck me is that her famous appearance in the French village of Pontmain was on my birthday, 106 years earlier. It strikes me that as Catholics, many of us place importance on things like that (I always have; I suppose it's cultural)--and it's rather hard not to sometimes. After all, hope is something I do need reminders of from time to time. I plan to doing some research and finding an icon or holy card to keep with me. Such apparent coincidences remind one of the Communion of Saints, and remind us of the operation of God's will in the world across time. My son, for example, has a very unusual Irish first name. Imagine our surprise when, on the day of his baptism, the deacon told us of an obscure Irish saint--and abbot--whose feast day was celebrated the day after my son's birthday, whose name was clearly an archaic spelling of my son's name!
So it is nice to have the comfort of prayer, and a communal prayer, and the personal connection as well.
Novena
reprinted (with request added) from EWTN.com
So in all, the tea was small & pleasant. And there were lots of little eclairs.
In response to my last post, a blogging friend suggested praying a novena--the two of us together. She says that is something a friend of hers offers when she is worried. We considered St. Gerard, but then decided on Our Lady of Hope. This was not an incarnation of the Blessed Mother that I had every heard of before! But what struck me is that her famous appearance in the French village of Pontmain was on my birthday, 106 years earlier. It strikes me that as Catholics, many of us place importance on things like that (I always have; I suppose it's cultural)--and it's rather hard not to sometimes. After all, hope is something I do need reminders of from time to time. I plan to doing some research and finding an icon or holy card to keep with me. Such apparent coincidences remind one of the Communion of Saints, and remind us of the operation of God's will in the world across time. My son, for example, has a very unusual Irish first name. Imagine our surprise when, on the day of his baptism, the deacon told us of an obscure Irish saint--and abbot--whose feast day was celebrated the day after my son's birthday, whose name was clearly an archaic spelling of my son's name!
So it is nice to have the comfort of prayer, and a communal prayer, and the personal connection as well.
Novena
I am the mother of fair love, and of fear, and of knowledge, and of holy hope. In me is all grace of the way and of the truth; in me is all hope of life and of virtue. Come to me all that desire me and be filled with my fruits (Sirach 24:24-26).
O Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of Grace, Hope of the world.
Hear us, your children, who cry to you
Let Us Pray
O God, who by the marvelous protection of the Blessed Virgin Mary has strengthened us firmly in hope, grant we beseech You, that by persevering in prayer at her admonition, we may obtain the favors we devoutly implore. Through Christ Our Lord. Amen.
Prayer to Our Lady of Hope
O Mary, my Mother, I kneel before you with heavy heart. The burden of my sins oppresses me. The knowledge of my weakness discourages me. I am beset by fears and temptations of every sort. Yet I am so attached to the things of this world that instead of longing for Heaven I am filled with dread at the thought of death.
O Mother of Mercy, have pity on me in my distress. You are all-powerful with your Divine Son. He can refuse no request of your Immaculate Heart. Show yourself a true Mother to me by being my advocate before His throne. O Refuge of Sinners and Hope of the Hopeless, to whom shall I turn if not you?
Obtain for me, then, O Mother of Hope, the grace of true sorrow for my sins, the gift of perfect resignation to God's Holy Will, and the courage to take up my cross and follow Jesus. Beg of His Sacred Heart the special favor that I ask in this novena.
To protect me and my baby from the risks of childbirth,
to help me to endure the pains of labor,
for relief from anxiety for my son and myself,
and for a safe return to my family after delivery.
But above all I pray, O dearest Mother, that through your most powerful intercession my heart may be filled with Holy Hope, so that in life's darkest hour I may never fail to trust in God my Savior, but by walking in the way of His commandments I may merit to be united with Him, and with you in the eternal joys of Heaven. Amen.
Mary, our Hope, have pity on us.
Hope of the Hopeless, pray for us.
reprinted (with request added) from EWTN.com
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Modest expectations & Morbid thoughts. . .
. . .For me, the two go together. Over the past several months, I have worried about a number of things with this pregnancy--implications for my career, the opinions of those around me, fear and anxiety surrounding labor. . . But as the due date approaches, my hopes and fears have shifted, and what I want more than anything is a healthy baby, a healthy mommy, and a swift return to my other children. (Let's forget, for a moment, how badly I want to stop teaching at this point, particularly since I have 14 or so papers waiting to be graded. . .)
This is the first pregnancy in which I have spent the last few weeks actually preparing for the hospital stay. With my first, I did not have a household of my own. Therefore, I did not really have anything to prepare. I had a vague idea of what I would bring to the hospital, but I didn't even have a bag packed. I'm not sure why I didn't pack it when I realized my water was leaking and I would have to be admitted the next morning, but that was a long time ago. There are just some things that don't stay with you over 10 or so years. With my daughter, it just didn't occur to me to pack a back prior to the 37th week of pregnancy. The first one came on the expected day, so certainly the second should, also!! Furthermore, when I was pregnant with my daughter, there were fewer things to prepare. I had someone lined up to watch my son, who was old enough to understand, and that was that. That is, until the hurricane. By which I mean, The Hurricane. Katrina. Then things became more complicated in some ways, but at the same time, I had relatives to cook & clean & keep my son from worrying! So my preparations were of the buying, washing, and assembling baby items variety. (And lucky I didn't wait until the last minute!! I think my rocking chair was delivered the same week as the baby!)
So for the first time, I have a bag packed. I also have had the ongoing process of preparing my class for my extended absence, which was not an issue, since I wasn't teaching last time. Like last time, I am due around the first of the month, but unlike last time, I am actually preparing for the next paychecks and bills, trying my best to stay on top of things, knowing that I am generally the one to pay bills, and that I won't want to pay bills when there is a baby to tend to! And I filled out an order form for orchestra pictures for my son that isn't due until November 7. And in the back of my head is the thought, "In case I'm not here to do it," which, given the reality of the hospital stay and the unpredictability of babies' arrivals, is perfectly accurate. But the thought could, in other circumstances, have more cryptic implications. And so I look at my beautiful little girl, and I think, "What if. . .?"
I am prone to such imaginings anyway. But these have recently been reawakened by my knowledge that my son is afraid of something happening. He is almost as neurotic as his mother, whether by nature or nurture. When I was last pregnant, he asked directly if the mother could die, since he knew from a friend's mother's experience when he was in kindergarten that the baby could. That was a very sad situation. I of course had to admit to him that, yes, the mother could die. A friend of my mother's died in childbirth from medical neglect and complications due to pre-ecclampsia. Her baby was severely brain damaged. One of her children was near my age and went to my school. But I also told him (and reminded myself) of the huge number of births that occur with no harm to mother or child. He has been mostly quiet about the risks this time, until recently. I thought it was perhaps due to RE (religious education)/CCD, especially with the ongoing 40 Days for Life campaign (not knowing how much the children are told about the campaign), but he tells me that the children were discussing pregnancy in orchestra (??!)--perhaps because of a movie and a pregnant substitute. Anyway, he came home with an odd question one Friday: whether there was a kind of medicine that could keep married people from having babies if they wanted. Of course, I also thought of the extensive ad campaigns for birth control pills, though they tend to make suggestions rather than explicit statements about the purpose of the medication, stressing "other benefits" of the pill. . . So I explained to my son that, yes, there were such medications, but that the Church teaches us that in marriage, the family should welcome children, and so they should not be used. He was satisfied. I tried to elicit the reason for this query--he is not the type of child think that it is desirable not to have children. In fact, he's waiting for a little brother! I got a vague impression from his response that it was his concern for me that led to the question. The previous week he lit a candle for me after Mass, and I tried to sooth his concerns then. I am, after all, very healthy. My mother and grandmother delivered 6 and 7 healthy babies, respectively. But my own anxieties were awakened. And I have to banish the fleeting thought, "What if?" As it is, I am aware that my little girl will not understand where I have gone for 2 or 3 days, and why I can't come back with them from the hospital when they come to visit.
I am glad that we never watched Star Wars Episode 3. After all, that is the point, no? Skywalker/Darth fears to lose his wife in childbirth--and then does, I believe. Not the message for a child who is sensitive to such things.
So while I am reasonably convinced that I will come out of this O.K., I worry for the sake of my little ones, and all of my prayers are for my safety, for them, and the baby's safety and health, for all of us.
This is the first pregnancy in which I have spent the last few weeks actually preparing for the hospital stay. With my first, I did not have a household of my own. Therefore, I did not really have anything to prepare. I had a vague idea of what I would bring to the hospital, but I didn't even have a bag packed. I'm not sure why I didn't pack it when I realized my water was leaking and I would have to be admitted the next morning, but that was a long time ago. There are just some things that don't stay with you over 10 or so years. With my daughter, it just didn't occur to me to pack a back prior to the 37th week of pregnancy. The first one came on the expected day, so certainly the second should, also!! Furthermore, when I was pregnant with my daughter, there were fewer things to prepare. I had someone lined up to watch my son, who was old enough to understand, and that was that. That is, until the hurricane. By which I mean, The Hurricane. Katrina. Then things became more complicated in some ways, but at the same time, I had relatives to cook & clean & keep my son from worrying! So my preparations were of the buying, washing, and assembling baby items variety. (And lucky I didn't wait until the last minute!! I think my rocking chair was delivered the same week as the baby!)
So for the first time, I have a bag packed. I also have had the ongoing process of preparing my class for my extended absence, which was not an issue, since I wasn't teaching last time. Like last time, I am due around the first of the month, but unlike last time, I am actually preparing for the next paychecks and bills, trying my best to stay on top of things, knowing that I am generally the one to pay bills, and that I won't want to pay bills when there is a baby to tend to! And I filled out an order form for orchestra pictures for my son that isn't due until November 7. And in the back of my head is the thought, "In case I'm not here to do it," which, given the reality of the hospital stay and the unpredictability of babies' arrivals, is perfectly accurate. But the thought could, in other circumstances, have more cryptic implications. And so I look at my beautiful little girl, and I think, "What if. . .?"
I am prone to such imaginings anyway. But these have recently been reawakened by my knowledge that my son is afraid of something happening. He is almost as neurotic as his mother, whether by nature or nurture. When I was last pregnant, he asked directly if the mother could die, since he knew from a friend's mother's experience when he was in kindergarten that the baby could. That was a very sad situation. I of course had to admit to him that, yes, the mother could die. A friend of my mother's died in childbirth from medical neglect and complications due to pre-ecclampsia. Her baby was severely brain damaged. One of her children was near my age and went to my school. But I also told him (and reminded myself) of the huge number of births that occur with no harm to mother or child. He has been mostly quiet about the risks this time, until recently. I thought it was perhaps due to RE (religious education)/CCD, especially with the ongoing 40 Days for Life campaign (not knowing how much the children are told about the campaign), but he tells me that the children were discussing pregnancy in orchestra (??!)--perhaps because of a movie and a pregnant substitute. Anyway, he came home with an odd question one Friday: whether there was a kind of medicine that could keep married people from having babies if they wanted. Of course, I also thought of the extensive ad campaigns for birth control pills, though they tend to make suggestions rather than explicit statements about the purpose of the medication, stressing "other benefits" of the pill. . . So I explained to my son that, yes, there were such medications, but that the Church teaches us that in marriage, the family should welcome children, and so they should not be used. He was satisfied. I tried to elicit the reason for this query--he is not the type of child think that it is desirable not to have children. In fact, he's waiting for a little brother! I got a vague impression from his response that it was his concern for me that led to the question. The previous week he lit a candle for me after Mass, and I tried to sooth his concerns then. I am, after all, very healthy. My mother and grandmother delivered 6 and 7 healthy babies, respectively. But my own anxieties were awakened. And I have to banish the fleeting thought, "What if?" As it is, I am aware that my little girl will not understand where I have gone for 2 or 3 days, and why I can't come back with them from the hospital when they come to visit.
I am glad that we never watched Star Wars Episode 3. After all, that is the point, no? Skywalker/Darth fears to lose his wife in childbirth--and then does, I believe. Not the message for a child who is sensitive to such things.
So while I am reasonably convinced that I will come out of this O.K., I worry for the sake of my little ones, and all of my prayers are for my safety, for them, and the baby's safety and health, for all of us.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Students = Germs
I have standard "Don't come to class sick" and "Don't tell me you're sick in person" clauses in my syllabus, but these don't really cover being sick and not knowing that you're sick. So there have been 2 cases of bacterial meningitis diagnosed on campus. They're letting faculty and students who teach/have class with the two know their risk, but with a 2-10 day incubation period, I'm not convinced that that's enough. I don't want to be infected by someone who is unaware that s/he is sick!! I would be worried anyway about transporting germs home (hence the clause), but being pregnant, this is really worrying me. :P
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Worried about the Daughter
Not physically, don't worry. . . But I worry constantly, as I have from the beginning, that for her to have an additional sibling so young will be damaging to her emotionally. I imagine her feeling brushed aside, resenting the new baby, wanting my attention all the more when the new one arrives. She will be a month over 2 yrs, mas o menos.
The anxiety has waxed and waned over the past 5 1/2 months or so, but is peaking. She has become extremely clingy--wanting me and only me when we are home--especially over the past few weeks. Now, we have moved recently. I don't know if that has anything to do with it. Also, rather than teaching only twice a week like I did in the spring and fall, I am teaching every day--delayed separation anxiety?? She has never been so clingy. She sometimes grabs my legs and repeats "momma, momma" or the more recent "mommy, mommy" and won't let me move. She frequently shoos my husband away when he tries to rock her to sleep--a very recent development!!--or even when he tries holding her! This is, of course, worse when she is cranky. Tonight, she made herself gag and choke--very, very scary--from crying when my husband took her off of my lap (under protest) to rock her to sleep! (They didn't get very far, and even when I took her, she had a difficult time regaining her composure.) Granted, she was crankier than usual around nap and meal times, but this is very disturbing behavior. I am seriously concerned about the trauma that a 2-3 day (depending on the length of labor) will cause her in October/November. Especially since we may not have any relatives left in town by then to watch her! Just one more thing to worry about. I think I had just read about a woman who had an extended hospital stay because of postpartum psychosis and the affect it had on her older daughter when I had the "fatal bee sting" dream I mentioned earlier. I guess it's good that I have 3 1/2 or so months to deal with this because I just can't handle it right now.
An interesting thing is that, though she has been weaned completely for 3 months or so, she still seems to remember nursing, and in recent--well, days, actually--she has been increasing nuzzling, lifting my shirt, and other behavior that suggests a desire to nurse. Not that she really remembers what to do, mind you. . . I dread seeing how she will react when the new baby nurses. It can only be a sticky situation that I certainly won't want to face as I'm facing the already-difficult first weeks of nursing a newborn!! But I can't possibly not nurse the new one. Such an omission would be a clear act of neglect as compared to the previous 2. I already fear not being as attentive to #3 as I was/have been to #1 and #2.
My daughter has a beautiful personality, but is becoming increasingly willful and throws increasingly violent tantrums. Could she possibly tell that something's up? We have talked about a new baby, could she be anxious? Is she picking up on my anxiety? She has been the center of my anxieties since she was conceived--perhaps because she was the one we really "tried" for. It's odd. . . It's as if I've got more emotionally invested in her, though when I think back to how I felt about my first, that's not really true, of course. The difference is not quantitative--it's not a question of feeling more, but of feeling different(ly). And yet I somehow fear that I do--and will--feel less for the new one. But I tell myself that it can't be, because she (?), too, (the new one) will be my baby.
Perhaps I should stop thinking about it and go read some more horrible news stories. Or write a dissertation. Or grade papers. Or put the daughter in her bed, as she's been sleeping on my lap since a few minutes after the gagging on saliva incident. . .
The anxiety has waxed and waned over the past 5 1/2 months or so, but is peaking. She has become extremely clingy--wanting me and only me when we are home--especially over the past few weeks. Now, we have moved recently. I don't know if that has anything to do with it. Also, rather than teaching only twice a week like I did in the spring and fall, I am teaching every day--delayed separation anxiety?? She has never been so clingy. She sometimes grabs my legs and repeats "momma, momma" or the more recent "mommy, mommy" and won't let me move. She frequently shoos my husband away when he tries to rock her to sleep--a very recent development!!--or even when he tries holding her! This is, of course, worse when she is cranky. Tonight, she made herself gag and choke--very, very scary--from crying when my husband took her off of my lap (under protest) to rock her to sleep! (They didn't get very far, and even when I took her, she had a difficult time regaining her composure.) Granted, she was crankier than usual around nap and meal times, but this is very disturbing behavior. I am seriously concerned about the trauma that a 2-3 day (depending on the length of labor) will cause her in October/November. Especially since we may not have any relatives left in town by then to watch her! Just one more thing to worry about. I think I had just read about a woman who had an extended hospital stay because of postpartum psychosis and the affect it had on her older daughter when I had the "fatal bee sting" dream I mentioned earlier. I guess it's good that I have 3 1/2 or so months to deal with this because I just can't handle it right now.
An interesting thing is that, though she has been weaned completely for 3 months or so, she still seems to remember nursing, and in recent--well, days, actually--she has been increasing nuzzling, lifting my shirt, and other behavior that suggests a desire to nurse. Not that she really remembers what to do, mind you. . . I dread seeing how she will react when the new baby nurses. It can only be a sticky situation that I certainly won't want to face as I'm facing the already-difficult first weeks of nursing a newborn!! But I can't possibly not nurse the new one. Such an omission would be a clear act of neglect as compared to the previous 2. I already fear not being as attentive to #3 as I was/have been to #1 and #2.
My daughter has a beautiful personality, but is becoming increasingly willful and throws increasingly violent tantrums. Could she possibly tell that something's up? We have talked about a new baby, could she be anxious? Is she picking up on my anxiety? She has been the center of my anxieties since she was conceived--perhaps because she was the one we really "tried" for. It's odd. . . It's as if I've got more emotionally invested in her, though when I think back to how I felt about my first, that's not really true, of course. The difference is not quantitative--it's not a question of feeling more, but of feeling different(ly). And yet I somehow fear that I do--and will--feel less for the new one. But I tell myself that it can't be, because she (?), too, (the new one) will be my baby.
Perhaps I should stop thinking about it and go read some more horrible news stories. Or write a dissertation. Or grade papers. Or put the daughter in her bed, as she's been sleeping on my lap since a few minutes after the gagging on saliva incident. . .
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Pregnancy Over-Achiever?
So in spite of the fact that I suddenly realized a couple of weeks ago that I couldn't fit my clothes the same way, I have been having doubts and anxieties about whether everything was progressing the way it should with the pregnancy--specifically, I have been worried about the baby growing. I think I have been responding to a combination of factors, here. My last doctor's appointment was not particularly satisfactory. I was not measured because the nurse midwife doubted her ability to measure me at 13 weeks. The heartbeat was faint and hard-to-find and, I realized today, was not actually the baby--rather, 9 times out of 10, they are listening to the placenta! I guess that's a good indicator, too, but it's a little disingenuous to tell the mother she's hearing the baby when it's actually the placenta that she's hearing! Also, the trend in doctor's offices that don't want to eat the insurance offset for testing is not to test the mother's urine at each visit--only the "later" visits. So I had very little to reassure me at the last visit.
Also, I've been influenced by all of the accounts of miscarriages and pregnancy complications that I have been reading all over the web. Some from those whom I know personally, others, first-hand accounts from bloggers I "know" and others' first hand accounts in response to others' experiences, and then third-hand or more accounts of someone who had this thing happen, usually in a pro-life, don't-abort-imperfect-babies context. So these have been preying on my mind.
In addition, there is this "rhetoric of suffering" in Catholicism. I think it depends on how susceptible one is to such things, but I have a very vivid imagination where pain is concerned--physical and emotional. It's like an enhanced empathy. It has its good points with connecting with people, but also its drawbacks, like when I can visualize the accounts of grizzly murders, etc., on the news and imagine myself as the victim. I've done this from a very young age. I still suffer from memories of reading about Dr. Mengele at Auschwitz when I was a pre-teen. So the Catholic "rhetoric of suffering" (as I'm calling it). . . It's mainly intended to stress that God is present during times of suffering, to comfort those who are experiencing or have experienced pain, and to teach that those in pain deserve the chance to live through their suffering because God manifests himself in a special way in the lives of those who suffer. There is this idea that these people have a special "cross to bear," and that they will or should "join their suffering to the cross." It can be a difficult thing to wrap one's mind around, and of course, the lives of the saints and of the faithful who have survived trials and emerged recognizing their own strength provide examples to help with the concept of this special kind of holiness. Well, with my imagination, I find myself, in a kind of odd thankfulness for my own situation, waiting for an unfortunate event--for "my turn," if you will. Now I know that different people have different trials in their lives, and I know I have some, but they seem increasingly small as compared to people I have read about. So a very small, fearful part of me dreads that I might be "joined to the cross" in such a manner. Perhaps I'm experiencing what some young Catholics feel in idealistic fervor when they wish that they were saints and/or martyrs. Only, I feel it more realistically, perhaps knowing what it would entail. So what better locus for anxiety (and time, given the hormones) than pregnancy?
So I have been worried. And last week, I made an appointment with a lay midwife (not the nurse midwife I saw last--this woman is not affiliated with a doctor's office), to get some peace of mind about my progress. Apart from confusion about the day of the appointment (she had written down next Wednesday), the visit went well. The heartbeat was very hard to find, but she did eventually find it. But first, the measurement--I'm at about 15 1/2 weeks. The midwife measured me, then she asked how many weeks along I am, then she asked if I had had an ultrasound, and whether my due date was "adjusted" or whether it confirmed the original estimate. Well, I adjusted the due date by 3 or so days myself because of NFP--I knew my ovulation date pretty certainly (after-the-fact, but that's a different subject!), but the ultrasound confirmed my own estimate. It seems I am currently measuring at 19 or so weeks--a good 4 weeks larger than where I should be!
With my son, who was 9 lbs. 6 1/2 oz. and born pretty much on the due date, I measured about 2 weeks larger than I was supposed to measure consistently. This is quite a bit larger than that! Now, I may have had a slight uterine "firming"--I hesitate to call it a contraction, because I get them all the time and they're harmless, and contractions at 15 weeks sounds bad--and I don't know if that affected things. But her thought was that if she were my midwife and I had not yet had an ultrasound, she would suggest having an ultrasound to check for twins. Now, I have had 2 ultrasounds, but at 7 and 9 weeks. I don't know if a twin could have been missed at that stage. Anyway, I guess I will see if I continue to measure large, and I have the "big," diagnostic ultrasound in June, so that will clear up the mystery. So I'm worried about being too small, and this is what I find out!! Talk about over-achiever.
As for the twins, I have twin aunts (my mother's sisters), twin great uncles (my maternal grandmother's brothers), and my great grandmother (the same who bore my twin great uncles), had at least one--possibly two--additional sets of twins who, due to early 20th Century medical care and her rural location, died in very early infancy (family lore doesn't say how early, but I suspect shortly after birth). Now, these were identical twins, which, the medical community says, are not hereditary. Fraternal twins, yes. Identical twins, no. And yet there was always this "lore" that twins "skip a generation" and that it did not skip my grandmother's generation in our case, but did skip my mother's. So the next round of twins does fall to my generation. I don't think it's likely for me at this point, since the two ultrasounds didn't reveal any multiples. But given family history, I did think it sort of, well, funny that it was mentioned.
But I'm feeling better about everything, and it seems I have a happy uterus, so that's good too.
A related question: Why are "uplifting stories" always so darned depressing? I can't bring myself to read this one right now for the above-mentioned reasons. I'm rather afraid of what new fears it might breed. But it does rather illustrate my point about what's in the blogs these days. . . And, if you're curious, try here and here, also. Here's a whole collection that Melanie posted over at Wine Dark Sea. Good stories, but emotionally draining. . .
Also, I've been influenced by all of the accounts of miscarriages and pregnancy complications that I have been reading all over the web. Some from those whom I know personally, others, first-hand accounts from bloggers I "know" and others' first hand accounts in response to others' experiences, and then third-hand or more accounts of someone who had this thing happen, usually in a pro-life, don't-abort-imperfect-babies context. So these have been preying on my mind.
In addition, there is this "rhetoric of suffering" in Catholicism. I think it depends on how susceptible one is to such things, but I have a very vivid imagination where pain is concerned--physical and emotional. It's like an enhanced empathy. It has its good points with connecting with people, but also its drawbacks, like when I can visualize the accounts of grizzly murders, etc., on the news and imagine myself as the victim. I've done this from a very young age. I still suffer from memories of reading about Dr. Mengele at Auschwitz when I was a pre-teen. So the Catholic "rhetoric of suffering" (as I'm calling it). . . It's mainly intended to stress that God is present during times of suffering, to comfort those who are experiencing or have experienced pain, and to teach that those in pain deserve the chance to live through their suffering because God manifests himself in a special way in the lives of those who suffer. There is this idea that these people have a special "cross to bear," and that they will or should "join their suffering to the cross." It can be a difficult thing to wrap one's mind around, and of course, the lives of the saints and of the faithful who have survived trials and emerged recognizing their own strength provide examples to help with the concept of this special kind of holiness. Well, with my imagination, I find myself, in a kind of odd thankfulness for my own situation, waiting for an unfortunate event--for "my turn," if you will. Now I know that different people have different trials in their lives, and I know I have some, but they seem increasingly small as compared to people I have read about. So a very small, fearful part of me dreads that I might be "joined to the cross" in such a manner. Perhaps I'm experiencing what some young Catholics feel in idealistic fervor when they wish that they were saints and/or martyrs. Only, I feel it more realistically, perhaps knowing what it would entail. So what better locus for anxiety (and time, given the hormones) than pregnancy?
So I have been worried. And last week, I made an appointment with a lay midwife (not the nurse midwife I saw last--this woman is not affiliated with a doctor's office), to get some peace of mind about my progress. Apart from confusion about the day of the appointment (she had written down next Wednesday), the visit went well. The heartbeat was very hard to find, but she did eventually find it. But first, the measurement--I'm at about 15 1/2 weeks. The midwife measured me, then she asked how many weeks along I am, then she asked if I had had an ultrasound, and whether my due date was "adjusted" or whether it confirmed the original estimate. Well, I adjusted the due date by 3 or so days myself because of NFP--I knew my ovulation date pretty certainly (after-the-fact, but that's a different subject!), but the ultrasound confirmed my own estimate. It seems I am currently measuring at 19 or so weeks--a good 4 weeks larger than where I should be!
With my son, who was 9 lbs. 6 1/2 oz. and born pretty much on the due date, I measured about 2 weeks larger than I was supposed to measure consistently. This is quite a bit larger than that! Now, I may have had a slight uterine "firming"--I hesitate to call it a contraction, because I get them all the time and they're harmless, and contractions at 15 weeks sounds bad--and I don't know if that affected things. But her thought was that if she were my midwife and I had not yet had an ultrasound, she would suggest having an ultrasound to check for twins. Now, I have had 2 ultrasounds, but at 7 and 9 weeks. I don't know if a twin could have been missed at that stage. Anyway, I guess I will see if I continue to measure large, and I have the "big," diagnostic ultrasound in June, so that will clear up the mystery. So I'm worried about being too small, and this is what I find out!! Talk about over-achiever.
As for the twins, I have twin aunts (my mother's sisters), twin great uncles (my maternal grandmother's brothers), and my great grandmother (the same who bore my twin great uncles), had at least one--possibly two--additional sets of twins who, due to early 20th Century medical care and her rural location, died in very early infancy (family lore doesn't say how early, but I suspect shortly after birth). Now, these were identical twins, which, the medical community says, are not hereditary. Fraternal twins, yes. Identical twins, no. And yet there was always this "lore" that twins "skip a generation" and that it did not skip my grandmother's generation in our case, but did skip my mother's. So the next round of twins does fall to my generation. I don't think it's likely for me at this point, since the two ultrasounds didn't reveal any multiples. But given family history, I did think it sort of, well, funny that it was mentioned.
But I'm feeling better about everything, and it seems I have a happy uterus, so that's good too.
A related question: Why are "uplifting stories" always so darned depressing? I can't bring myself to read this one right now for the above-mentioned reasons. I'm rather afraid of what new fears it might breed. But it does rather illustrate my point about what's in the blogs these days. . . And, if you're curious, try here and here, also. Here's a whole collection that Melanie posted over at Wine Dark Sea. Good stories, but emotionally draining. . .
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Go Ahead. Laugh. I don't care.
You may recognize these lines as the ones Mowgli utters in the Disney version of Jungle Book when he finds himself lost among the vultures. That's about how I feel right now. The whole "academic motherhood optimism" seems ill-placed. I know that I can do it, but I do need some cooperation from others, and it's not happening.
I was assigned to teach freshman comp. No problems there. I long ago gave up playing the "I deserve to teach lit more than (insert name or category of grad student)" game. I know I have seniority; I don't need it proven to me. It's a silly game and I'm not going to play it. If I ask for freshman comp, guess what? I get freshman comp. No surprises. And I've taught it a bunch, so the prep is easier--as long as I don't change textbooks every semester. But then, I became pregnant. Aha! The plot thickens.
So it seems that the powers-that-be declare that freshman comp (at this university, anyway) can not ever be taught in a way that resembles a distance course, even for a limited amount of time while the instructor is delivering and caring for a newborn. First mistake--asking permission. But the powers-that-be include the dissertation director, so I would have been found out eventually. At least, I think he would have noticed. And he offered helpful solutions--teach advanced comp, which is taught as a hybrid course (in-class and online). I would only have had to report one day a week. However, they who give the assignments did not comply--or even answer his request, and I believe he has been too busy to follow-up, or has had nothing to report. Meanwhile, I could not submit a request for a specific days/time because the times/days for advanced comp are very different from the times/days for freshman comp, so if I gave preferences for one course, they would be irrelevant to the other course, should I be switched. Of course, when I received my schedule, it is the worst possible schedule in addition to the course I am not allowed to teach.
So I am supposed to teach freshman comp from 3-3:50 MWF. First, I can't afford 3-day child care. I can't really afford child care at all, especially when I'd rather have my child with me. But a 2-year-old would at least be able to play, unlike a younger baby (but I'm being told that because she doesn't turn 2 before Sept. 1, she would be in the 18-24 month class, which is a whole different frustration!). Second, part-time child care (and I refuse to do full-time, even if I could afford it!) ends at 2:30. Third, there's that other child of mine who gets off of school in the 3-3:50 window. And then there's that whole taking off the last month of the semester thing. Even if I deliver on time or late, I would need an extraordinary number of substitutes to cover 12 classes!!
In past regimes, the grad student with the schedule conflict would inform the professor who makes the schedules. If the concern was pressing, it was remedied; if not, the grad student had to cope with the difficulty of life for a semester and, basically, get over it. But whining has become increasingly tolerated, and everyone thinks his/her situation is more important than everyone else's. There used to be an acknowledgment, among grad students and faculty, that some people's scheduling needs were more pressing than others. First, class schedules were considered for those who were still taking courses. Second, families or those who had long commutes. Other concerns--like whims, not wanting to work 3 days, or that "other" job that we're not supposed to have--were considered afterwards, if at all. And generally, if one wanted consideration for family concerns, etc., one had to be up front with them early in the request process. I rarely had 8 A.M. sections, for example, because I had to drop my son off in the mornings. The responsible faculty member also took responsibility for rearranging assignments as necessary. Now, we are left to seek the mercy of our peers, which works in some cases, but not all. After all, who really wants a 3-day a week freshman comp? When I first started, we didn't have a choice--pretty much everyone taught freshman comp. And while there was a little grumbling about unfair favoritism, everyone knew that you paid your composition dues before teaching lit. Not so now. And it complicates matters.
I have had a babysitting offer, and one offer to exchange an unknown day/time of freshman comp for my section, but neither offer, while appreciated, takes care of the postpartum dilemma.
Had a mini-breakdown last night. Let's call it hormones. I had two stressful days of making phonecalls and sending emails, finished a nursing top and made a nursing nightgown--neither of which came out as I expected. Found out that even though student loans are being paid, the Department of Education felt the need to confiscate the tax return for the second consecutive year. I'm worried about the baby because no measurements were taken last appointment and I haven't gained any weight (unusual for me). So I went to bed, I cried, then I nearly threw up because my nose was clogged. I cried because I don't want to buy new baby clothes if it's a boy. I cried because I sound like a really strong, self-assured person and all of my plans (which worked for the first 2 babies) are failing. And I cried because there are legions of people (faculty included) who would kill for the opportunity to gloat over a failure to make academic motherhood work.
I had a teacher in high school who used to say that we frequently "set ourselves up for disappointment." I suppose she might apply this phrase to me. I think the idea is that if you don't aim high, if you don't reach for impossible ideals, you will not fall so hard when, in fact, you do fall, as is inevitable. I think I thought her advice was sensible and pragmatic at the time. It seems defeatist to me now. I can't actually see this teacher saying, "Why believe in anything if you'll just be disappointed?" Perhaps she didn't realize the implications of her words. But I remembered her words yesterday.
I was assigned to teach freshman comp. No problems there. I long ago gave up playing the "I deserve to teach lit more than (insert name or category of grad student)" game. I know I have seniority; I don't need it proven to me. It's a silly game and I'm not going to play it. If I ask for freshman comp, guess what? I get freshman comp. No surprises. And I've taught it a bunch, so the prep is easier--as long as I don't change textbooks every semester. But then, I became pregnant. Aha! The plot thickens.
So it seems that the powers-that-be declare that freshman comp (at this university, anyway) can not ever be taught in a way that resembles a distance course, even for a limited amount of time while the instructor is delivering and caring for a newborn. First mistake--asking permission. But the powers-that-be include the dissertation director, so I would have been found out eventually. At least, I think he would have noticed. And he offered helpful solutions--teach advanced comp, which is taught as a hybrid course (in-class and online). I would only have had to report one day a week. However, they who give the assignments did not comply--or even answer his request, and I believe he has been too busy to follow-up, or has had nothing to report. Meanwhile, I could not submit a request for a specific days/time because the times/days for advanced comp are very different from the times/days for freshman comp, so if I gave preferences for one course, they would be irrelevant to the other course, should I be switched. Of course, when I received my schedule, it is the worst possible schedule in addition to the course I am not allowed to teach.
So I am supposed to teach freshman comp from 3-3:50 MWF. First, I can't afford 3-day child care. I can't really afford child care at all, especially when I'd rather have my child with me. But a 2-year-old would at least be able to play, unlike a younger baby (but I'm being told that because she doesn't turn 2 before Sept. 1, she would be in the 18-24 month class, which is a whole different frustration!). Second, part-time child care (and I refuse to do full-time, even if I could afford it!) ends at 2:30. Third, there's that other child of mine who gets off of school in the 3-3:50 window. And then there's that whole taking off the last month of the semester thing. Even if I deliver on time or late, I would need an extraordinary number of substitutes to cover 12 classes!!
In past regimes, the grad student with the schedule conflict would inform the professor who makes the schedules. If the concern was pressing, it was remedied; if not, the grad student had to cope with the difficulty of life for a semester and, basically, get over it. But whining has become increasingly tolerated, and everyone thinks his/her situation is more important than everyone else's. There used to be an acknowledgment, among grad students and faculty, that some people's scheduling needs were more pressing than others. First, class schedules were considered for those who were still taking courses. Second, families or those who had long commutes. Other concerns--like whims, not wanting to work 3 days, or that "other" job that we're not supposed to have--were considered afterwards, if at all. And generally, if one wanted consideration for family concerns, etc., one had to be up front with them early in the request process. I rarely had 8 A.M. sections, for example, because I had to drop my son off in the mornings. The responsible faculty member also took responsibility for rearranging assignments as necessary. Now, we are left to seek the mercy of our peers, which works in some cases, but not all. After all, who really wants a 3-day a week freshman comp? When I first started, we didn't have a choice--pretty much everyone taught freshman comp. And while there was a little grumbling about unfair favoritism, everyone knew that you paid your composition dues before teaching lit. Not so now. And it complicates matters.
I have had a babysitting offer, and one offer to exchange an unknown day/time of freshman comp for my section, but neither offer, while appreciated, takes care of the postpartum dilemma.
Had a mini-breakdown last night. Let's call it hormones. I had two stressful days of making phonecalls and sending emails, finished a nursing top and made a nursing nightgown--neither of which came out as I expected. Found out that even though student loans are being paid, the Department of Education felt the need to confiscate the tax return for the second consecutive year. I'm worried about the baby because no measurements were taken last appointment and I haven't gained any weight (unusual for me). So I went to bed, I cried, then I nearly threw up because my nose was clogged. I cried because I don't want to buy new baby clothes if it's a boy. I cried because I sound like a really strong, self-assured person and all of my plans (which worked for the first 2 babies) are failing. And I cried because there are legions of people (faculty included) who would kill for the opportunity to gloat over a failure to make academic motherhood work.
I had a teacher in high school who used to say that we frequently "set ourselves up for disappointment." I suppose she might apply this phrase to me. I think the idea is that if you don't aim high, if you don't reach for impossible ideals, you will not fall so hard when, in fact, you do fall, as is inevitable. I think I thought her advice was sensible and pragmatic at the time. It seems defeatist to me now. I can't actually see this teacher saying, "Why believe in anything if you'll just be disappointed?" Perhaps she didn't realize the implications of her words. But I remembered her words yesterday.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Pregnancy Anxieties, part 1
At the time that I wrote my two blogs about Catholic moms, careers, and unplanned pregnancies, I had a strong suspicion that I was pregnant with my third child. Turns out, I am. If you know me in the world outside the blog, please don't mention it just yet, as I am not quite ready for the news to go public (especially since my first doctor's appointment isn't until April 2, and I'm always rather afraid of something bad happening in the meantime). Also, pleeeeease don't make with the Catholic jokes until later. I can't really handle them right now. You can save them for the series of posts I'm planning: one in which I ask for people to say happy, excited, cheerful things; one in which I ask for people to tell me all of the obnoxious things that people tell to women who are pregnant--especially who are pregnant again, too soon, and then perhaps one that asks about Catholic large family jokes or even perhaps blessings. I need all of the blessings I can get!
You see, I really wasn't ready. I thought I would perhaps wait until my daughter was 4 or 5--after all, her brother was about to turn 9 when she was born. I wanted to determine how her very strong little personality would develop for a while, and I feared that she would be a "middle child"--the attention-seeker who feels persecuted by his/her siblings and parents. I did not want this for her. She has a sweet disposition, but has entered the most frustrating age!! I remember being frustrated with her brother at this age, and the frustration didn't lessen until he was 4 or 5, though the later frustration was perhaps a symptom of his ability to communicate rather than the inability, which is what we are facing now. She is very needy, and wants my (usually) or my husband's (frequently) attention most of the time. Brother is a big help, but it is a real challenge to keep her happy these days. I also need to investigate the possibility that she has recurrent urinary tract infections, a fear with which the doctor poisoned my mind when she had a UTI at about 9 months. The "asserting her will" phase is further complicated by the fact that my house is NOT baby proof--not even remotely baby proof--not baby proof in any sense of the word. So all is not well in toddler-land.
I worry that no one will be excited for me. That I will be greeted with pity, which, I believe, has already happened. That I will be regarded as foolish. That those who express joy will harbor a secret pleasure in seeing me humbled. I did not have a baby shower with my daughter on purpose, because I didn't know who would come anyway, and it was never custom in New Orleans to have a baby shower for a second pregnancy. But for this one, I feel like I might like one. This might be because a baby shower forces people to at least pretend to be happy for the pregnant mother. I was most insistent that I receive a baby shower for my son, also unplanned, but more so, and so dreadfully afraid (with reason) that no one would step forward to give it that I organized it myself, for the most part. Perhaps I felt confident enough in myself not to need other people being happy for me with my daughter--they were already, and it didn't necessarily matter, because I was happy.
Which perhaps brings me to the real cause for my anxiety over what others will say. Anyone who knows me will know that I rarely care for other's opinions. Except that I feel, in spite of the fact that I am happily married, a deep sense of embarrassment and shame. Because, as I mentioned before, intelligent, mature women don't have accidents. I don't really believe that, but that is what feminism would have us believe, isn't it? And regardless of the issues I have with feminism, it's hard to eject the poison from our consciousnesses. The Catholic arguments aren't really working for me, because as a self-styled intellectual and a long-time skeptic, I have deep reservations about doing, feeling, or thinking something because a religion tells you to do so. Conversion or no conversion, I can't purge something so closely embedded in the fiber of my being--or at least I haven't been able to do so yet. This is a point that was not helped by the homily I heard on Sunday, in which the priest discussed ecumenism. He mentioned that while we believe that the Catholic Church holds within itself all of the necessary elements of salvation, that we share with other denominations some of the elements necessary for salvation. While his point was that we can enter dialogue through this common ground, it rather sounded like, if you can't be Catholic, other options can lead you to salvation also. While this is the grounds according to which Catholics recognize the potential for those outside of the Church to achieve Salvation (an idea my mother was not taught in parochial schools), it is not necessarily something that one wants to banter about to Catholics who are feeling discouraged. And as if to illustrate the point, I saw someone in my department yesterday whom I know to have been ordained a Catholic priest. He left the clergy, married, and is now an Episcopalian priest (and a conservative one, from all accounts). So instead of regarding him and wondering the reason for his decision, albeit a difficult decision, this homily allowed me to see the rationale according to which he must have acted, making the choice for the love of his now-wife that he felt, from the weakness of our common human condition, to be necessary at the time. There is, of course, more to the theology issues, but I will leave them for now. . . perhaps forever.
I worry about being a bad parent, particularly to this new one. I have high standards for everyone, but my highest standards I reserve for myself. If I am frustrated with my beautiful little girl right now, how much more will I brush her aside to care for a new one? I don't know how my mother did it. Especially without any support from her husband. And already I am making compromises in my high ideals in anticipation of the new arrival. It was a matter of pride for me to wait until delivery to find the sex of my first two. I am now considering finding out in advance, simply to make it easier on myself--not to enhance the excitement, but to know whether I need to assess the situation with boy clothes, or if I can rest assured that I have things covered with clothes from my daughter. My son and daughter never did take bottles. I now feel that I will probably pump and give the new baby at least one bottle a day. I can not decide whether I am compromising my beliefs about child rearing because I am not mentally or emotionally prepared for this baby, or if I am simply being practical, given the fact that I still need to complete a degree while caring for a toddler and an infant.
And of course, I worry about finances. My husband is woefully underemployed given his education and talents, and has settled for his present position in support of my academic pursuits. My financial aid is exhausted, and I'm not sure I will qualify for alternative loans next academic year. I'm not even going to address bills, but while we have made significant progress on the credit card-type debt over the past 4-5 years, student loans and car notes (of which we have 2, though only one car) pose significant problems. We will be moving into a better school district, which brings additional expense, and would like to get a 2-bedroom, though with a baby on the way, a 3-bedroom would be more legal, if less practical in terms of layout (and price!!). A good friend who will shortly be giving birth herself has told me of a Mexican proverb that a baby is born "with a loaf of bread under its arm." This could be taken more or less literally, assuming that the family situation will work itself out, or that, specifically, families find ways of making things work financially in order to support a new baby. I believe both of these things to a degree, though I must confess to a weakness of faith with regards to God's intervention in financial difficulties. It has just never been something I believed--that God intervenes in financial matters, perhaps because of the emphasis in the Bible on relinquishing one's material possessions.
I have always felt that a baby is indeed a blessing, and precious, and that babies are a joy, and help people to cope with situations in positive ways, so I know things are going to work out somehow. I also maintain the belief, expressed elsewhere, that motherhood does not restrict the mother to the home, and that, in particular, an academic profession and parenting are perfectly compatible. But I know I have significant challenges before me, and I can use all of the prayers and encouragement that you have to offer.
You see, I really wasn't ready. I thought I would perhaps wait until my daughter was 4 or 5--after all, her brother was about to turn 9 when she was born. I wanted to determine how her very strong little personality would develop for a while, and I feared that she would be a "middle child"--the attention-seeker who feels persecuted by his/her siblings and parents. I did not want this for her. She has a sweet disposition, but has entered the most frustrating age!! I remember being frustrated with her brother at this age, and the frustration didn't lessen until he was 4 or 5, though the later frustration was perhaps a symptom of his ability to communicate rather than the inability, which is what we are facing now. She is very needy, and wants my (usually) or my husband's (frequently) attention most of the time. Brother is a big help, but it is a real challenge to keep her happy these days. I also need to investigate the possibility that she has recurrent urinary tract infections, a fear with which the doctor poisoned my mind when she had a UTI at about 9 months. The "asserting her will" phase is further complicated by the fact that my house is NOT baby proof--not even remotely baby proof--not baby proof in any sense of the word. So all is not well in toddler-land.
I worry that no one will be excited for me. That I will be greeted with pity, which, I believe, has already happened. That I will be regarded as foolish. That those who express joy will harbor a secret pleasure in seeing me humbled. I did not have a baby shower with my daughter on purpose, because I didn't know who would come anyway, and it was never custom in New Orleans to have a baby shower for a second pregnancy. But for this one, I feel like I might like one. This might be because a baby shower forces people to at least pretend to be happy for the pregnant mother. I was most insistent that I receive a baby shower for my son, also unplanned, but more so, and so dreadfully afraid (with reason) that no one would step forward to give it that I organized it myself, for the most part. Perhaps I felt confident enough in myself not to need other people being happy for me with my daughter--they were already, and it didn't necessarily matter, because I was happy.
Which perhaps brings me to the real cause for my anxiety over what others will say. Anyone who knows me will know that I rarely care for other's opinions. Except that I feel, in spite of the fact that I am happily married, a deep sense of embarrassment and shame. Because, as I mentioned before, intelligent, mature women don't have accidents. I don't really believe that, but that is what feminism would have us believe, isn't it? And regardless of the issues I have with feminism, it's hard to eject the poison from our consciousnesses. The Catholic arguments aren't really working for me, because as a self-styled intellectual and a long-time skeptic, I have deep reservations about doing, feeling, or thinking something because a religion tells you to do so. Conversion or no conversion, I can't purge something so closely embedded in the fiber of my being--or at least I haven't been able to do so yet. This is a point that was not helped by the homily I heard on Sunday, in which the priest discussed ecumenism. He mentioned that while we believe that the Catholic Church holds within itself all of the necessary elements of salvation, that we share with other denominations some of the elements necessary for salvation. While his point was that we can enter dialogue through this common ground, it rather sounded like, if you can't be Catholic, other options can lead you to salvation also. While this is the grounds according to which Catholics recognize the potential for those outside of the Church to achieve Salvation (an idea my mother was not taught in parochial schools), it is not necessarily something that one wants to banter about to Catholics who are feeling discouraged. And as if to illustrate the point, I saw someone in my department yesterday whom I know to have been ordained a Catholic priest. He left the clergy, married, and is now an Episcopalian priest (and a conservative one, from all accounts). So instead of regarding him and wondering the reason for his decision, albeit a difficult decision, this homily allowed me to see the rationale according to which he must have acted, making the choice for the love of his now-wife that he felt, from the weakness of our common human condition, to be necessary at the time. There is, of course, more to the theology issues, but I will leave them for now. . . perhaps forever.
I worry about being a bad parent, particularly to this new one. I have high standards for everyone, but my highest standards I reserve for myself. If I am frustrated with my beautiful little girl right now, how much more will I brush her aside to care for a new one? I don't know how my mother did it. Especially without any support from her husband. And already I am making compromises in my high ideals in anticipation of the new arrival. It was a matter of pride for me to wait until delivery to find the sex of my first two. I am now considering finding out in advance, simply to make it easier on myself--not to enhance the excitement, but to know whether I need to assess the situation with boy clothes, or if I can rest assured that I have things covered with clothes from my daughter. My son and daughter never did take bottles. I now feel that I will probably pump and give the new baby at least one bottle a day. I can not decide whether I am compromising my beliefs about child rearing because I am not mentally or emotionally prepared for this baby, or if I am simply being practical, given the fact that I still need to complete a degree while caring for a toddler and an infant.
And of course, I worry about finances. My husband is woefully underemployed given his education and talents, and has settled for his present position in support of my academic pursuits. My financial aid is exhausted, and I'm not sure I will qualify for alternative loans next academic year. I'm not even going to address bills, but while we have made significant progress on the credit card-type debt over the past 4-5 years, student loans and car notes (of which we have 2, though only one car) pose significant problems. We will be moving into a better school district, which brings additional expense, and would like to get a 2-bedroom, though with a baby on the way, a 3-bedroom would be more legal, if less practical in terms of layout (and price!!). A good friend who will shortly be giving birth herself has told me of a Mexican proverb that a baby is born "with a loaf of bread under its arm." This could be taken more or less literally, assuming that the family situation will work itself out, or that, specifically, families find ways of making things work financially in order to support a new baby. I believe both of these things to a degree, though I must confess to a weakness of faith with regards to God's intervention in financial difficulties. It has just never been something I believed--that God intervenes in financial matters, perhaps because of the emphasis in the Bible on relinquishing one's material possessions.
I have always felt that a baby is indeed a blessing, and precious, and that babies are a joy, and help people to cope with situations in positive ways, so I know things are going to work out somehow. I also maintain the belief, expressed elsewhere, that motherhood does not restrict the mother to the home, and that, in particular, an academic profession and parenting are perfectly compatible. But I know I have significant challenges before me, and I can use all of the prayers and encouragement that you have to offer.
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