Beaver Girl (was Ambivalent Infertility)

Grounded

Some travel questions:

Why is it that all my mom friends are so blase about flying with kids?   Why were they all like "Oh, it's not that bad." and "It's no big deal." and all full of simple advice like "Have some new toys.   Bring some snacks." etc.?

Either my kids are horrible or I am severely sensitive to their shrieking in public but our recent flights between Chicago and California were fucking nightmares.   Yes, both ways.

We bought them both seats, we had a carseat for Pearl.   I had 20 new toys and a shitload of snacks.   Nothing amused her for more than a minute or two at a time.   The benedryl only bought me a 20 minute nap.   She shrieked, cried, screamed.   You might say no one noticed or the engine noise drowns it out, but my friends, when the flight attendants gather around to "help" you are officially a problem.   Fred was nice enough to let out a few screams too.

Next question:

You know what makes it worse?   Besides security, besides the hour-long ride to the airport (during which Pearl already began to cry) and renting the car on the other end which also took an hour?   They are flying planes slower.   To save gas.   What used to take four hours and change now takes five.   Hours.   On a plane.   With screaming/crying.    So the bargaining you did with yourself, counting down the fucking minutes, "fifteen minutes until it's only two more hours", etc. doesn't matter when you don't land until an hour after you expected.

Another query:

Why don't any other babies cry?   Why weren't all the kids/newborns/babies around us crying?     The people ahead of us had a two-month-old.   Not a peep.   The people next to us had a one-year-old.   They held him in their lap the whole time and had no toys, food, etc.  He seemed interested in whatever finger puppet, battery fan, electric toothbrush, I was trying to amuse Pearl with, so I shared.   The parents thanked me in broken English saying they hadn't brought any toys.    That kid never cried and slept on his mom's lap.   

I thought maybe if I held Pearl too that would help.   She head-butted me giving me a fat lip.

Last question:

Why do only parts of prayers/affirmations get answerered?   

On the return flight a kid a few rows up silently (of course) puked.   We could smell it and saw her folks undress her and get many paper towels from the flight attendant.   I thought "I'd rather have a puker than a screamer/crier."   I thought it and thought it and added to my repertoire of praying that Pearl would shut up and sleep, wishing both of us were never born, and writing imaginary horrible letters to my in-laws for making us come to California for their 50th anniversary party.   I added to all this the mantra "I'd rather have a puker than a screamer."   

After we landed and were pulled up to the gate at O'Hare - I helped Fred stand up and he puked.   All over himself and the plane floor.

So then I had both.

Alec Baldw!n - Misunderstood?

So here's a good one - I had to be told to be nice to my 10 month old daughter.   

Ha!   

Isn't that great?   I'm such a great mom.    Aren't you glad I'm blogging again?   Blogs by boring good moms are easy to find.   This one is by a real loser.  You can feel better about yourself every time I post!   Subscribe now!

Fred was so easy.   Especially in retrospect.  I remember when he was a baby - I could sip my tea while he quietly read the Wall Street Journal for hours.   Or something like that.

But Pearl was a problem right from the beginning.   The birth was a little bumpy.   We'll save that for another post.   But she was difficult from the start.

It started as a joke.  My husband and I would kid around about what a pain she was.   She had colic for her first three months - that nebulous word that means nothing, just means screaming inconsolably for hours each evening.

So in between fighting about what to do about the colic (nothing helps but it's fun to try every fucking thing people recommend) and blaming each other for not doing whatever we were trying right - we started joking about this damn free baby that we didn't even plan and didn't even have photos of as an embryo for pete's sake!  I mean, here we had our wonderful, expensive IVF son and then here's this free baby.   Who didn't even cost anything.  Who'd never been graded as an embryo.   It was a joke, people!

Then there were sleep problems, long and grueling sleep training, and lately - daily hours of shrieking.   Not because she was hungry or in pain or needed anything - just top of her lungs, slasher movie, Excedrin sponsorship opportunity shrieking.   It would stop your thoughts and shake your spine.   I bought earplugs.  I tried ignoring it.  I tried shrieking back.   

Before you know it - ha ha - we were calling her "crazy", "maniac", "pain in the ass" and worse all the time.   Isn't that great?    Ha!   As a joke!   Except sort of not.

Of course we love her.   We kiss and cuddle and snuggle and think she's beautiful, a miracle,  etc. etc.   But in between - this "joke" about her being a problem was a bad habit.

My therapist suggested that I stop saying that stuff.   I thought of it as my outlet for the daily frustrations.   It never occurred to me that it mattered and when she said that I was seriously , deeply, ashamed. 

It's been 10 days and she's a different baby.   We say she's "energetic", "curious", "vocal".   There has been much less shrieking - even the babysitters noticed it this week.

All the times I googled "shrieking baby" I never got: "Try being nice to her, dumbass".

Hello Again

I paid $4.95 to Typepad to reinstate my account so now what should I say?

Is anyone still out there?

Fred is 2 1/2 now.   He's very cool - still wears glasses and is smart and funny.   

When his food is hot he asks me to blow it.   So when he was hot and sweaty the other day he asked me to blow him.   Trying to get him to stop repeating this request has only frustrated him and made it even more hilarious.

"We don't say 'blow me'."   
"WE DO SAY BLOW ME!!"
"No, we don't blow people."
"WE DO BLOW PEOPLE!!!"

I had another baby.    By accident, by mistake, and underwater.   She's 10 months old and her name is Pearl.

I never bothered with birth control after having Fred because I just didn't believe all those stories about people getting pregnant after infertility.    And insurance didn't cover the cost ($900) of an IUD.    After Pearl was born we shelled out the $900 for the IUD.

Not that we weren't happy.  I found out right after Fred's first birthday and right before turning 40.   All the baby stuff was gone - car seats, bouncies, infant tubs - all sold or given away.    We had only wanted one anyway.    Change in plans.

My husband must have heard the phrase "two under two" somewhere because he kept saying it for awhile and irritating me.    "Well, we've got two under two!".    I was happy when Fred turned two and he had to drop that shit.

My best blog buddy, Debbi from the Trying Game, moved to Chicago and now we have playdates and go to the same Montessori school and our kids take dance classes together and see each other at birthday parties and it's wonderful.   They've been here a year and are moving into a new house next week. 

Having two is really hard for me - but my little brother told me that it gets easier as you go.   He said nothing is as hard as the first year.   So I'm reaching the end of that and I do feel better all the time.    But this was a reassuring thing to hear - so if you believe differently - as I know many people do - please don't tell me it gets harder.