Day 49: Much Better and Mommy Wars

Darcy’s home for the weekend, thankfully. He leaves Sunday night for two more weeks, but today he made me stay in bed, took care of the twins, made me good, hearty food (steak, baked potatoes) and got me girl scout cookies. I feel loads better.

He rules.

On my enforced bedrest, I’ve been trying to read some parenting blogs. (I’m avoiding the term mommy blogs.) It’s a jungle out there! What’s up with the strident, controversy-provoking craziness out there? I’m referring to “The Stir”, “Feminist Breeder”, and other mommy war zones that I shall not name.

It all reminds me of a Chris Rock stand-up routine I once saw. He made the point that women are smarter, work harder and know much more than men, yet they don’t rule the world even though they should. Why? “Because women HATE other women!”

I’m going to provoke ire here, but I would never profess to have a one-size fits all philosophy on parenting, co-sleeping, breastfeeding and disciplining. Dr. Sears has caused much pain and suffering among some mothers who can’t physically or mentallly live up to the exacting demands of attachment parenting. Do I admire people who try? Sure! Do I hate people who are human and can’t do it? No. No, I do not.

Why all the hate? I think it’s cool you breastfed for two years. I ran out of supply at four months even after seeing the most devoted lactation consultant ever who was at my house three times a week at least, who after having me feed on demand every two hours, try special teas and herbs, a glass of beer, domperidone (which caused corrosive acid reflux I’m still dealing with), nipple shields, having me feed, then weighing the babies after, pumping, finally concluded “you have run out of supply.” Yes, I tried everything, no I didn’t want to fail. But I did. It happens. Why do you have to make people feel bad about it?

Arghhh. Women! But not you, beautiful readers

Day 48: Asking for Help

Photo image: By Pavel Novak [CC-BY-SA-2.5 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons

I’ve never climbed Everest. It’s a source of fascination to me, those who climb it, putting themselves through inhuman conditions just to achieve some personal glory. “Into Thin Air”, by Jon Krakauer, is one of my favorite books. It describes a slow-moving catastrophe among two guided tours attempting the summit. My father, and many others, see the climbers as selfish and vain. I see them as utilizing their bodies and minds so fully, so exhaustingly, so completely. How do they do it? It’s a marvel to me.

Last night, I felt like I was in the Death Zone (higher than 26,000 feet). “Extreme Fatigue” is one of the symptoms of Whooping Cough. Krakauer’s descriptions of altitude sickness: shallow breathing, coughing severe enough to break ribs, severe headaches. Check, check, check.

If I drag out this metaphor, if I was on Everest, I would have been a guide in charge of weaker, less experienced clients, or, the twins. They were miserable last night, and kept crying for food, water, bathroom help, anything, because they couldn’t sleep. For two hours I trudged through trying to give them what they needed until I finally collapsed on the floor in a near-swoon.

All I could think to do was say “help”. I’m not sure who it was directed at, but I said it over and over, as if in a meditative state. Part of me felt foolish, but I kept saying it for a few minutes. Then, I felt better. Not fully cured or anything, but well enough to convince the twins to fall asleep. (I guaranteed them, like George Zimmer, that they’d be able to sleep.)

Hmmm…I guess we’re all alone here, really, in the end. (Wouldn’t that make for an uplifting Hallmark card.) But maybe asking for help from the universe at large (or God, or whatever you believe) can help get us through our toughest times? Is that sappy?

Bad words, bad words!!

Have I ever sworn on my blog before? I don’t think I have. I’m afraid my mother will find out.

Sorry, I’m going to have to break that rule this one time.

FUCK!

I have whopping cough. Which means me and the kids are in total isolation for at least 5 days. Thankfully, the kids are fully vaccinated against it, so they won’t get it. Which is all I really care about.

But I feel like shite. I haven’t felt this ill in ages. I think I felt better when I had pneumonia.

No one can come near us unless they’ve had the adult vaccination. Which I am painfully learning, almost no one has had.

I mean, really. Fucking whooping cough. Really?!?!?!?!?!?!

Sorry mom.

Day 46: My Friends, Both In the Internet and On T.V.

Photo credit: By Beleg Langbogen (Own work) GFDL (www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), via Wikimedia Commons

Thanks so much everyone for the well wishes and offers of help. You make me feel much more supported – and you guys rock. I definitely think I have bronchitis, so it’s off to the doctor for me tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted.

In the distant past, I used to watch the show Friends when I was sick. I know it’s cooler to say that Seinfeld, its biggest contemporary of the day, was the better program, but something about Friends was like eating chicken noodle soup, wearing your most threadbare cardigan and fleeciest sweats and settling into your softest chair. In other words, Friends was the comfort food for my soul.

Tonight, as I lay prostrate on the bed, hearing my lungs rattle with every breath, I knew what I had to do. I downloaded a few of my old favorite episodes from iTunes.

Impressions:

1. A lot of 90s fashion has come back in style. I really hope those ugly mom Levis don’t come back. They flattered NO ONE on the show and those girls had awesome bodies.

2. A lot of the jokes have aged well. The ones about Ross’s monkey did not. I hate Marcel.

3. It was strange to relive the show’s 90s/twentysmething vibe and remember the days when all I thought about was dating, my job, getting my laundry done and clothes.

4. At one time, I definitely identified with Rachel the most. I was the most like her. (Fashion-obsessed, a little spoiled, not super well-adapted for living in the “real world”.)

5. Now, I admire Monica. I imagine her living in Westchester County with her twins in a sparkling clean house, cooking all the time, running the show. She was a tough cookie.

6. How STUPID was the depiction of infertility on that show – and it was addressed surprisingly often! Joey’s participation in a fertility study is ridiculed; Phoebe acts as a surrogate for her brother, has a completely normal and full-term pregnancy with TRIPLETS, delivering them all vaginally!?!; Monica and Chandler are diagnosed with insurmountable infertility in one month, immediately move on to adoption and are quickly matched with a woman who is unaware she’s having twins, the delivery of which is a shock to everyone, doctors included.

Can I get a HELL NO?

But, I must say that the show still makes me feel better when I’m sick. It’s funny, but without that challenging edge I just don’t have a tolerance for when I’m indisposed. (Watching “Curb Your Enthusiasm” or “Larry Sanders”, which I love normally, would just make me feel worse).

So, thanks bloggy friends and other Friends for being “there for me”. It helps more than you know

Day 45: Digging in, Seeking Fortitude

It’s too bad I broke up with the stoics: I need some real, inner strength and am unsure where to get it. My husband will be traveling for the next three weeks, and I will be on my own completely with the twins. The family that lives nearby doesn’t do childcare on demand. (It’s a complex affair that demands planning weeks in advance, their dance cards are very full.) Now, on the eve of Darcy’s departure, I have fallen ill with something I fear is bronchitis. I have hypochondical tendencies, so hopefully it’s not, but on the other hand, I get bronchitis a lot. Last year, I had it five times.

I’m freaked, I don’t mind telling you. I wish I had one of those strong, iron, peasant constitutions like Ma Ingalls, who could endure starvation, hours and hours of manual labor and general hardship. Instead, I was built with the constitution of one of those stupid Victorian ladies, always ill, always needing to return to the fainting couch. It. Sucks.

I’m thinking about dipping into our meager savings and flying my mom out here. But it’s time to pull on my special super strong big girl pants, suck it up, and be strong.

It’s time to be stoical, I daresay?

Day 44: Evany, Fametracker and Mr. Rogers

Back a million years ago, when I was young and fearless, I entered a world completely out of my league. That world was a community board (I’m sure they called it something more clever than that, but early senility is kicking in) called “Fametracker”. It was run by the same people who created “Television Without Pity” and it was an absolutely ruthless place where grammar and spelling were prized, arcane rules were strictly enforced (you were not allowed to comment on any topic unless you had read the ENTIRE thread of comments, sometimes hundreds of pages long) and some of the greatest wits of the Internet would come and give their sharply critical digs on some celebrities (Jennifer Garner was especially hated) and gushing praise of others. (Like Michael Vartan, which, random, and who I think at the time was dating Jennifer Garner. Which maybe explained the hate for JG?) Off the top of my head, some of the seriously funny commenters of the day were the Fug Girls, Sars from Tomato Nation, Pamie and Evany. I think they were all recapers for TWOP, too. Obviously in the company of such modern-day Dorothy Parkers, I was the equivalent of pond scum. My greatest coup on the board was starting a topic about Tawny Kitean. Which, yeah.

I follow/stalk the Fug Girls still (they are better than ever, BTW) but I hadn’t read Evany’s blog in a while. Back in the day, I loved her, but I guess she hasn’t written in a year. Which is a great shame. I came across her link at Smitten Kitchen, and went back and read her again, and found a wonderful Mister Rogers story.

I am a huge fan of Mister Rogers. There is no smack talking of him allowed in my presence. My dad interviewed him when he came out with a book, and he inscribed it: “Jjiraffe, you are special and I like you.” It made me smile for a week, and that was during my surly teen years. Mister Rogers rules.

Here’s Mister Roger’s story:

Have you heard my favorite story that came from the Seattle Special Olympics? Well, for the 100-yard dash there were nine contestants, all of them so-called physically or mentally disabled. All nine of them assembled at the starting line and at the sound of the gun, they took off. But not long afterward one little boy stumbled and fell and hurt his knee and began to cry. The other eight children heard him crying; they slowed down, turned around and ran back to him. Every one of them ran back to him. One little girl with Down Syndrome bent down and kissed the boy and said, “This’ll make it better.” And the little boy got up and he and the rest of the runners linked their arms together and joyfully walked to the finish line. They all finished the race at the same time. And when they did, everyone in that stadium stood up and clapped and whistled and cheered for a long, long, time. People who were there are still telling the story with great delight. And you know why. Because deep down, we know that what matters in this life is more than winning for ourselves. What really matters is helping others win too. Even if it means slowing down and changing our course now and then.

That is awesome beyond all measure. Thanks to Evany, and also, to the late, great Mister Rogers.

Day 43: Climb Every Mountain

Like many impressionable young American girls, I grew up watching The Sound of Music. My favorite song from the film was “Climb Every Mountain”. It was sung by the Mother Superior and the song’s lesson was to  face your fears, climb above your struggles, and when you do, you will be free. The song still gives me the chills 20 years later.

The song famously plays at the very end, when the Von Trapps are literally climbing for their very lives, in hopes of escaping the Nazis.

Today, there was snow upon our closet mountain. Snow only falls every 10 years or so, so we decided that we would climb the path to reach the snow. I envisioned us carrying children on shoulders to make it to the frozen ice. Instead, neither child wanted to walk in the snow, or wear their sweaters or coats, although it was 35 degrees out. So constant battles ensued until we finally had to turn around without seeing the full winterland of snow.

It was disappointing, and yet I’m proud we attempted it. As a family.

 

Day 42: Pregnancy Goes Viral, Philosophy Goes Sour

I’d noticed something strange during the drop-offs and pick-ups at pre-school lately. The moms are usually dressed in their finest Lulumon gear. They are on their way, presumably, to the gym or to yoga class. With a few exceptions, all of the moms are fit and trim and spend a lot of time maintaining their figures. (I assume, because of the gym clothes). But lately a few women seemed to be relaxing a bit, wearing baggy clothes, not looking that slender. Cool, I thought. Maybe people are loosening up a bit and not being so focused on staying thin.

Nope.

Turns out FOUR moms in our class (of twelve) are pregnant. All of them are pregnant with their third or fourth child. I learned this today and it hit me like a physical blow to the diaphragm.

I think at this point that we are done pursuing ART, which is the only way I could get pregnant again (and even then, absolutely NO guarantees, and most likely much more heartbreak). But letting go of the dream is rough.

I’ve been trying to stay positive, focus on what we have, use philosophy to try to get me to a more joyful place. Lut C. said something in the comments section a few days ago which made me laugh, but also made me think:

I decided years ago that philosophy was invented by men with too few household chores.

I don’t want to give up on philosophy yet, but I think I do need to say adieu to the Stoics. This particular way of thinking seems to be dishonest, a way to lie to yourself to make you feel better. Unfortunately, my mind sees the way the world IS, which is not necessarily a good thing, but it is unable to fib to me, to see things through rose colored glasses, as it were. I also don’t believe in my heart that bad things happen to those who aren’t thinking positively, don’t want something enough and thus DESERVE misfortune. No. Just, no.

What’s next? I don’t know. Do you have any favorite philosophers who help you? I’m open to suggestions!

Day 41: Book Club

One fun thing I’m adding to my life (hopefully) is a book club. My friend has invited me to it, and I hope I fit into it, and it’s not a clique-y nightmare. The book we are assigned is “The God of Small Things” which I read 10 years ago and HATED! I mean, really detested. Like throw across the room hatred.

I’d forgotten the plot so I went back and reread it. I didn’t remember that the book was narrated from the point of view of 8 year old boy/girl twins, so that was of interest.

I still detest the book, that hasn’t changed. What I hate about it is how strident it is. All people are EVIL, SELFISH, except one perfect saintly character. So many terrible things happen in the book but only to make a POINT about HOW EVIL PEOPLE ARE. Meanwhile, the author writes from with the all-knowing impeccably moral voice of someone who never makes mistakes and only delivers social justice. She’s sanctimonious, shrill and totally annoying.

Or am I wrong? I’m afraid to say these criticisms at the book club. What if people liked it?

UPDATE: Everyone else in the book club hated it, too. YAY!

Day 40: The Stoics Can Stuff It

Right now, I’m not feeling the stoics. I’m wondering if there’s maybe something in the male DNA that responds more to a philosophy which espouses this:

“Our lack of confidence doesn’t come from difficulty; the difficulty comes from our lack of confidence.”

Seneca

Um, REALLY? This sounds a lot like a crappy book which got a lot of play a few years ago. I am NOT going to give it any credit other than to say that it was spotlighted on a popular TV show, and I believe that it has caused immeasurable damage. I don’t think that unhappiness befalls people because they are not confident and don’t want happiness enough.

Instead, I believe that honesty might be the key to releasing unhappiness. What’s up with the bravest writers being Australian? First Lori at RRSAHM, and now The Miss Ruby. She’s one of my favorite bloggers, because she reveals tremendous honesty and truth in each post. She is unblinking and tough and strong, because she is so vulnerable. That sounds like a paradox, but I think that those who reveal their greatest fears about themselves are the people who understand life the most. They know their souls, they are self-aware, and they humble me.

The Miss Ruby could use a little love right now, so please feel free to go over and give her some virtual hugs.

So, in sum, shove it, stoics.

Xoxo

Jjiraffe

I AM feeling this song right now, BTW. LOVE!!