Simple Questions

I am sitting in the doctor’s office on the examination table. I’ve had a fever for six days and have finally come to ask for some relief.

The nurse starts in with a litany of questions.

“Do you have any allergies?”

“Are you currently taking any medications?”

“Any surgeries?”

That question.

“Yes, I’ve had a C-section.” My Silas. My love. My miracle. His giggle is the happiest thing I know. His (rare) snuggles make any bad day better. His intelligence amazes me. His stubbornness frustrates me. His mere existence humbles me. 

“And I’ve had a D & C.” The baby I’ll never know. The natural pregnancy I still mourn and don’t understand and wish desperately I could re-create. November 24 will never be the same – the birthday never known. Nine weeks of excitement shattered by only a few words. The sadness and confusion still ever-present.

A few simple questions which really are not simple at all.

I’ve been putting off this post for a long time, but I feel like it’s time to suck it up and share, partly for my own mental health and partly to perhaps further explain why staying home with Silas this summer is weighing so heavily on my heart.

A few days ago a student asked me, “Mrs. Cordle – how many kids do you want?” I thought for a moment, as I felt my stomach knot, and then I went with my standard answer. “Four,” I replied. Then I added the quick follow up, “Or however many God wants me to have.” It’s that little addendum that I’m trying hard to focus on these days.

When Silas was six months old, Ryan and I started trying to have a second baby. Silas will be two years old in April. A little-known fact that I don’t share with many people (because for so long I felt real shame about it) is that Silas was a Clomid baby. So when we were getting ever closer to the one year mark of trying for baby #2, I went to see my doctor. He said that since Clomid worked before, we should try it again as the first course of action. So I left his office with a prescription for three rounds of Clomid, feeling nervously giddy as I assumed I was basically holding baby #2 in my hand, in a roundabout sort of way.

That’s funny.

Round one came and went with no pregnancy. No big deal – we didn’t conceive Silas until round two before, so I was able to stay fairly calm this time around. Round two came and went, also with no pregnancy. I started to become a bit unnerved, but there was still one last shot. It came, and it went. And now, over a month later, I am still sort of baffled and sad. How could it work the first time and not this time? I will probably never understand.

So we have followed up with the doctor, and he wants to do some bloodwork and see if there is any kind of obvious problem with a simple fix. That will pretty much be the end of it. Ryan and I have agreed that this is not going to be something which takes all of our time, energy, and money. The bloodwork will be our last course of action. That’s a tough pill to swallow, but I’m working on getting it down. I know it’s the right thing for us to do.

I say all that to say, when I consider staying home with my son during the summer, as much as I anticipate it not being a walk in the park (except for the times when, you know, we are taking a walk in the park in order to expend energy and keep Mommy sane), I kind of can’t entertain any other option realistically. It could quite possibly be so much more than just “enjoying those toddler years.” It could be enjoying the only child I ever have. When I put it in those terms, there is no possible way I could choose summer school.

This makes four years of struggling with unanswered fertility questions, and to be honest, I think I’m just spent. I keep marveling at how calm and put together and mature I am being 97.89999% of the time on this journey the second time around (because the first time around I was a total jealous, self-loathing wreck). I know I have gained some perspective and maturity – that comes with time. But I also think I’m coming into my own.

Little Women (starring Winona Ryder) is my all-time favorite movie. A few months ago I started seriously pondering why in the world I adore this movie so much. I first saw it when I was only 7 or 8 years old, but even then I remember thinking, “This is my movie.” I recognized that it touched my soul in a way that other stories and movies had not done. The older I get, the more I identify with Jo and understand why even as a little girl I found so much of myself in this story. In the movie there is a scene which I am starting to feel epitomizes my life. Meg has just gotten married and Amy has been asked to go to Europe with Great Aunt March (“the crabby old miser!”). Jo has just turned down Laurie’s marriage proposal because she knows they are not a suitable match, and she finds herself flying around her room in an emotional rage while Marmee simply listens. Jo proclaims, “I feel as if I’ll never fit in anywhere!” Marmee replies, “Jo you have such extraordinary gifts – how can you expect to live an ordinary life?”

When I get so caught up in having that big family, I sometimes have to check myself. I want more children, yes, but I also am fully aware that it is what is expected of me. If I had a dollar for every time someone asks me when the next one is coming along…That’s what causes me so much distress and shame, buying into the Lies My Culture Tells Me concerning my role as a woman being to reproduce and nurture. I can’t deliver that right now, so shame on me? I don’t think so. The fact that I only have one child and currently can’t produce another does often make me feel like an outsider, like I’m not meeting my Higher Calling as a Female, but you know what? I’m really starting to not give a flip.

I enjoy my job, and I know I am good at it. That’s enough.

I’m pursuing graduate studies and am genuinely excited about it. That’s also enough.

I’m learning more about who I am each day – what I enjoy and what makes me happy, what avenues I should pursue for further self-discovery. That’s really enough for me.

And so my point is that I have a lot to be proud of. There is a lot about me which I feel like makes me different from the average 27 year-old married woman, but that’s OK. Instead of agonizing over the fact that I don’t necessarily fit in, I’m going to try to focus on continuing to live outside the lines and enjoying that moment, which also translates to enjoying my son because the truth is I am blessed to have him, no matter what else the future may or may not hold.

This, Too, Shall Pass?

Before we had children, Ryan and I would often talk about what it exactly it meant to have children. We agreed that it was, essentially, letting a stranger into our home. Yes, Silas is my own flesh and blood and has some of my DNA, and yes I often recognize things in him which I recognize in myself, but ultimately he is a stranger. When he was placed in my arms on April 15, 2011 I did not honestly know anything about him. Seventeen months later, I am still learning.

These days, I am struggling. I am struggling with a toddler who seems very unhappy all of the time. I know he is just that – a toddler – so I hate to over dramatize the situation, but I really feel as if God has entrusted me with a puzzle which is impossible to solve. This child is my child but I feel as if he could just as easily be the child of someone halfway across the world for as well as I know and understand him.

For the last month or so, Silas wakes up angry. He used to wake up and sing to himself, or talk, or play with the stuffed animals in his crib. Now, he screams. And even if he doesn’t scream, as soon as I walk into his room he then begins to scream. If I walk out of the room in order to give him some space, he screams. I don’t understand it.

We then move out of the crib to change his diaper and get him dressed. He screams. He tries everything in his power to get away. He rolls over and over again as I try to pin him down. He kicks me. He hits me. He screams. If I wait and give him a drink of milk and then try to change him, the same process occurs. I don’t understand it.

He does not like to entertain himself. For the past month or so, he does not even like to be away from my side. Literally, if I even say something about getting up, moving to a different room, etc. he bursts into tears, let alone if I actually make a covert movement. I know that this is sweet and heartwarming to a point, but there is also a point at which I need to cook dinner and need to use the restroom. I need a moment to myself.

I don’t understand what has happened to my son. He has always been high-maintenance – I won’t deny that – but it has never been like this. I know that he is a toddler and it is a phase, but I wish I could know how long to expect this phase to last. It hurts my heart when he screams at me or hits and kicks me. I become sad when I see him throw a temper tantrum for no good reason. I wish I could get inside his head and understand what is causing so much anguish and turmoil. I hate feeling like it will be a relief to walk out of the door and get him to daycare because he is being so miserable to me.

This, too, shall pass?

There’s Nothing in My Water

It seems like everybody is pregnant, right? People at whose blogs I lurk are pregnant. Friends who have amazing sewing blogs are pregnant. My two best friends are pregnant. And then today Cassie announced that she was, in fact, pregnant.

I have to admit that when I read Cassie’s pregnancy announcement on top of all of the others, I just felt sad. I said aloud, “I am sad. I want a baby. Quick, Silas, do something bad.”

Silas then proceeded to come over to my computer while I was attempting to engage Cassie in a celebratory G-chat. He pressed some random button, making the screen go black and rendering all buttons useless. While I proceeded to be confused and finally succumb to an entire system restart, he went into the kitchen, opened a cabinet, found a container of oatmeal, and spilled it all over the floor.

And then I said, “Ah, birth control at its finest.”

I have also put him to bed and made myself brownies. I feel a lot better about life.

A Part, Not the Whole

Cassie has inspired me to get on it and write a blog post I’ve been putting off for some time now. I often feel like I don’t fit into the traditional category of “mother,” and I am still a bit unable to put my finger on why exactly I feel this way. I just know that usually when I am around other moms, I feel like I’m not matching up to their kind of normal. Although Silas is 15 months old, I still feel like generally I don’t have a clue what to do with him. I still find myself looking helplessly at Ryan and saying things like, “What do we do?” or “Is there a book to help me with this?” I have no answers, I don’t feel experienced, and I certainly don’t feel qualified to give anyone advice. I certainly don’t feel like Mommy is my primary identity.

I often hear other mothers say something to the effect of, “My children are my life.” That usually pits my stomach and makes me start sweating because it’s totally not how I feel. Does that make me a bad mom?

Silas is not my life. At all. Although he has moments when he runs my life, such as his new total aversion to high chairs which causes me to be unable to eat a meal in a restaurant, he is not controlling Noel Cordle. I love him like none other, but I would never say that he is my life. Is that wrong? Sometimes I feel horrible thinking such thoughts. Lord knows it took us a long time to get pregnant with Silas, so I don’t mean to undermine the blessing he is in my life, but he certainly does not define my life.

And frankly, I never want him to. I enjoy having a child and am learning (slowly!) to enjoy being a mom, but the reality is I find myself sometimes mourning the fact that being a mom has caused me to have to rearrange priorities, like the aforementioned restaurant scenario. When Silas is having a five-alarm restaurant high chair meltdown, I tend to find myself thinking, “It would be nice to be able to just eat in a restaurant again.” Is that awful? It’s not that I am mad at Silas or resent him, but I want him to learn to assimilate to mine and Ryan’s way of life. I know a lot of people say, “Forget it. You’re just going to be ordering take-out for the next ten years,” but I have to disagree. There is no reason to let Silas run my life like that, so I refuse to succumb to the take-out fate.

But this is bigger than just eating at a restaurant. My point is, when women say, “My children are my everything,” I just can’t relate, and I feel like I’d be a pretty crappy mom if I could. I don’t want Silas to look back on his childhood and think that all I did was mother him. I want him to remember me as a successful teacher. I want him to remember that I had hobbies and interests and friendships. I don’t want him to think of me as some bland mother who just stared out the window, sighing over the loss of her former life.

Silas is certainly a huge part of my life, but I hope he is never all there is to it.

It’s Nice to Have Reminding

Today I came across this post from Carrien at She Laughs at the Days. Wow, did I need it. See, tonight Ryan and I are going on the biggest date night we’ve had in a while, and most certainly the biggest one we’ve had since Silas was born. We’re driving to a town two hours away, eating dinner, seeing a concert, and then driving home. That will put us away from Silas from approximately 3:00 P.M. until 12:00 A.M. (and that, of course, is after having not seen him all day while we work). I’m excited about this special night out, and I’ve been looking forward to it for months, but now that the day is here, my guilt about leaving Silas is stronger than my excitement. Carrien’s post was a nice reminder that it’s totally OK to not want to leave my child.

Ryan and I were just talking last night about how Silas is now a year old and we have never spent a night apart from him. That’s pretty rare, I think. It seems like every time I log on Facebook or talk to other moms they are spending nights apart from their kids because they “need a break.” Silas is not an easy baby, and when he was a newborn he most certainly was not easy, but even then I felt like being with him was more important than taking a break. I’ll never forget when he was six-weeks-old and we were visiting my in-laws. We had left Silas with them for a few hours while we went out for lunch. I sat there in the booth of a Japanese restaurant with tears streaming down my face because I just felt in my gut like it was wrong for me to be away from my baby. I’m sure some of that was still postpartum hormones, but I think some of it was real emotion as well.

Don’t get me wrong: Ryan and I frequently do ask my mom to babysit for a few hours, but this is typically so that we can go to the grocery without Silas or just have a meal in a restaurant without a demanding toddler. These are things which are simply done easier and faster without him, and it gives my mom a chance to spend time with him. I’m not sure it’s ever been because I simply felt like I couldn’t take it anymore. The thought of a night without him or, even worse, a weekend, is literally beyond my comprehension. I know myself well enough to know that I would not be able to enjoy myself because I would be so preoccupied with worry about him. Even tonight, I’m hoping I can just have a good time.

And those feelings are OK. I need reminding of that. It truly does seem like our society is always encouraging moms that it’s normal and good to want a break from your kids, and I often feel like moms exploit that to their benefit way too much. I often say to Ryan something to the effect of, “I chose to become a mom, so I am responsible for raising my child through the good and the bad. It isn’t right for me to just hand off the child-rearing to the grandparents when it’s not convenient or easy for me or I’m tired or overwhelmed. That’s why we have a partnership together,” and I firmly believe that. But it’s still nice to have reminding.

One Year

Silas’ first birthday has almost come to a close. I feel like it was all a blur. I guess that’s the blessing and curse that comes with planning a big birthday bash. I was so busy that I did not get to relish much of it, but that’s ok because I think Silas had two great days of celebration.

All day long my mind has been wandering to what I was doing a year ago. As I kept looking at the clock, I kept thinking how slowly it seemed like time was passing whereas last year when I was in the hospital, it seemed like time was flying by. I kept asking Ryan, “What was I even doing at X time? I don’t even remember.” He replied, “That’s nature’s way of tricking you into having more kids. You can’t remember anything about how difficult it was to have the first one!” He may be onto something.

I have no way to not make it sound cliche, but I am so blessed to have Silas in my life. The difficult journey we were on to bring him into the world pales in comparison to that of many, I know, but that doesn’t make me appreciate him any less. The past year has certainly had its trying moments – I would never call Silas an easy baby, although he gets easier every day – but I would not trade them for anything.

I know some people think it is crazy to have a big party for a one year-old, but I felt very strongly about celebrating not only Silas’ first year of life, but also Ryan’s and my accomplishment of keeping him alive and healthy for a year! Honestly, today I felt like I was able to breathe a little easier for the first time. I know it sounds completely stupid, but I think that subconsciously I had been holding my breath for the past 365 days, just hoping I didn’t do some major first-time-mom mess up at the expense of my son. I don’t claim to be any wiser or seasoned than I was a year ago, but I am at least starting to feel more relaxed. I feel like if I actually was able to successfully weather newborn to infant to (almost) toddler, that’s something at least. That makes me happy.

But saying I have a one year-old makes me sad…so I’m not going to say it. I’m glad that at least for another year I can still say his age in months. I don’t want my little boy growing up so quickly, but I am glad that he is growing up and that Ryan and I have been entrusted with the immense task of helping him grow. It’s been a great weekend to celebrate little Silas Michael, and I can’t wait for many more celebrations to come.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar Party

So Silas had a big birthday bash yesterday, in case you didn’t know. This party would not have been possible without Pinterest. Some say that logging hours on Pinterest makes you a bad mom because you are taking time away from your children. I say it makes you the best mom if you actually implement all of the fabulous ideas that you pin. Did I just call myself the best mom? Yes, for one day, I think I earned that title. Today I’m just back to mediocre, though.

The theme of Silas’ party was The Very Hungry Caterpillar (like the Eric Carle book). I wouldn’t say that’s his favorite book (these days he favors Where’s Spot by Eric Hill), but he likes it OK and I thought it would make an adorable party theme, which it did. Now, to brag on myself and give you some creative ideas for your next soiree:

 I made this “hungry caterpillar” out of Chinese lanterns and then just used construction paper on the red head to make the eyes and antennae. I got the green lanterns from Oriental Trading company for a good deal.

I used construction paper to make this caterpillar which was taped to the wall facing our front door, so guests saw it as soon as they came in. On each circle is Silas’ monthly photo, labeled with the month in ascending order so that everyone could see how much he grew and changed!

For an easy centerpiece, I filled a vase with jellybeans (on clearance after Easter – score!) and stuck #1 candles on each side. I then tied balloons around the vase. Obviously the Very Hungry Caterpillar book is there as well.

This is not the greatest photo, but I don’t claim to be a photographer. I had this amazing idea to use some of the leftover fabric from Silas’ monthly photos to make a banner. As you can see, it turned out super cute, and I know will be a keepsake which we use for every birthday…that just about makes the 25 million hours I spent hand sewing it worth it.

Here’s the spread. I wanted to do food from the book which the caterpillar ate. He eats a lot of food, so I just picked the ones that were most feasible for me and the party. I chose strawberries, oranges, apples, cheese, salami/pepperoni, and pickles. We also had chips and guac because avocados are Silas’ favorite food.

I made place cards for each food item with a picture of the Hungry Caterpillar and the blurb from the book.

With one custom-made place card, of course.

The birthday cake! One of my mother-in-law’s employees makes cakes as a side job, so she had him make Silas’ cake. I loved it!

He also made a little smash cake for Silas to enjoy.

I wanted some crafty options to keep some of the smaller, more impatient party guests busy. I made butterflies out of toilet paper rolls and cardboard boxes, painted them, and let the kids decorate them with stickers. I also printed off a coloring sheet from the Eric Carle website and made my own coloring sheet which said “Happy Birthday Silas” and had a #1 and the caterpillar.

For party favors I gave out lollipops with a tag which read: Our caterpillar friend ate all that he could eat. Silas’ party is at an end, so here’s a special treat. I also got a good deal on the lollipops from Oriental Trading Company.

This is my favorite photo from the day. I think Silas had a great time, and the party was a success in my book. Now to start a pinboard for next year…

Uncharted Territory: The Birthday Conundrum

As I’ve often detailed before, being a new mom has taken me into a lot of uncharted territory. Silas will soon be a year old, but I still find myself completely confused about so many topics. Today we will focus on a lighter one: birthday parties.

I’ve got to be honest here: I couldn’t even tell you the last time I went to a birthday party. Whenever that was, you can bet it involved something way more advanced than ponies and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. February is birthday month at Silas’ daycare, apparently, and so I am about to sojourn into a new phase of my life: birthday-party-going. I’m not sure how I feel about this. Currently, I’m feeling a lot of anxiety.

See, here’s the weird deal with having a baby: while technically my baby has been invited to these parties, I am the real person having to go. It’s not like I can just drop Silas off or just sit back and relax while he chills with his buds. No, this is going to be a hands-on thing…meaning Silas can’t yet walk, so I’m going to be very hands-on for two hours. I’m confused.

He also can’t really eat anything at a birthday party. Or do a craft. I’m really confused.

Don’t get me wrong – I am really glad that Silas has “friends” and has been invited to parties, but I just don’t really know what to expect in this situation. I’m new to this crazy party scene, and my personality is such that I panic when I don’t know what awaits me.

And then there is the issue of  Silas’ own birthday party. Because I am a super-crazy overachiever, I’ve been planning his birthday party for months in my head. But now that the date looms closer, I am starting to second-guess myself. Do I really want a houseful of people who need me to entertain them because, let’s face it, the birthday boy can’t really do much. I see visions of me wearing myself out, planning this spectacular party for someone who very well may cry throughout the entire thing. I also see visions of me having to corral a dozen of the tiny party guests while their parents enjoy some cake. Yikes.

The other day I asked Ryan, “Can we just rent out a Starbucks for Silas’ birthday party? They have cake pops.” He kind of gave me a crazy look, but I was serious. Isn’t Silas first birthday party going to be more for me anyway? I definitely need some espresso.

Every night I fight it.

I hold Silas in my arms and feed him his bottle. I sing the same three songs and we pray the Lord’s Prayer. Then I pull him up on my shoulder, rub his back, and rock him.

And the fight begins.

That little voice kicks in and reminds me…

You have laundry to do. You need to wash diapers. The bottles are waiting, and you need to prepare food for tomorrow. Don’t you have papers to grade? When are you going to have time to wash your hair? Have you swept the floor this week?

On and on it goes, tugging at me, pulling at me, that inexorable list of things that always need to be done.

I try to fight it.

I try to remind myself that he will only be this little once. He already does not fit in my arms like he used to, and I can tangibly feel that he is not a little baby anymore. I try to breathe in his scent, close my eyes, and shut out the other voice.

Sometimes I win, and sometimes I am too weak, laying Silas in his crib guiltily as I march onward toward the next task.

He’s only going to be this little once. When will I ever learn?

I received this reminder today. I need more like it.