Tag Archives: Miscellaneous

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From Behind Those Thin Walls

I remember having problems growing up with my “lady week”. Finally during a doctor’s appointment with my pediatrician, my mother asked her about it. Rather than referring me to the OB/GYN office, I remember the doctor saying “no need, she’ll never have kids anyways”. It didn’t shatter me as much as I’ve seen people on TV shows when they are told this. I never dreamed of being identified by who I was associated with. I wasn’t “_____’s girlfriend”, I was Brianne. So the idea of not having to be defined by who my children were or who my husband was, actually relieved me. Marriage and children weren’t a priority in life, it wasn’t something I aspired for. I aspired to be a writer, write some short stories and plays. If I got married and had kids, then fine. If not, I didn’t think it would be something earth-shattering to me.

Then, I had my first son and that changed. I realized my problem wasn’t with having kids; my problem seemed to be getting along with kids that weren’t mine. It does give a certain purpose, even if you’re 19 and a single mom. He was a blessing, and I treated him as a miracle because he was never supposed to have existed. Even though the doctor was obviously wrong, when my husband and I started talking about having kids I began to worry that maybe she was right and my son was just a miracle child. I made sure he knew that it might not happen for us, and 2 months after stopping the pill we were excited to announce that we were expecting.

Since then whenever I come across a show where people are having fertility problems or other complications with their pregnancy, I get sad and feel guilty. I wasn’t even supposed to have one, and now I’m on my second perfectly easy and healthy pregnancy. I’m reminded of this when I overhear things in the doctor’s office. When I see tears on a woman’s face because she was just told that he baby was either going to be born with problems or not even make it that far. Or the idea of having to terminate a pregnancy because of complications. This makes me feel guilty too, and I know it’s nothing I can control. But it doesn’t make me feel less guilty about the idea of “what makes me more worthy to have an easy time with it, when these nice seeming people have all these complications”.

I usually take a deep breath and decide not to question the good things. Every pregnant woman or mother or especially a combination of both has enough to worry about. Feeling guilty for things that are beyond  your control just adds stress to one of the most stressful times of your life. Plus, I’m sure they would rather not have “pity” for their situation either. We should just be thankful for the good things in our life, because it could always be worse.

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When Old Men Attack

Saturday was a hot day. By 9:30am, the sun was already setting us on fire while we were getting ready for the last little league game of the season. I mentioned how a nice iced drink would be perfect, and we decided to hit McDonald’s drinks to cool off with. No big deal, and our son in the back seat was excited for his day of baseball then a picnic with his teammates. The day was supposed to be a good and stress free day, and so far so good. That was wishful thinking too soon, I should’ve known better.

As we pulled away from the “drive thru”, barely out of the corner of my eye I notice a car too late. The guy saw that we didn’t notice him and decided to continue his drive anyways. He stopped so we went ahead, and we thought that it was all done with. We were wrong. In my view I could see that he pulled up next to us, and was yelling at us through his window. When my husband opened his window, and a slew of profanities came out of this old man’s mouth. He apparently expected my husband to climb out of the car and bow down to this obviously superior white man to beg for his forgiveness. My husband calmly said “I’m sorry I didn’t see you, I already said I’m sorry. What more would you like?” This man continued to yell, and I swore I heard him hurl a few racial slurs towards my husband. Luckily the light turned and we went on our way trying to forget this incident.

A few things bothered us about what happened. The obvious thing was that this man (who was easily in his 50’s-60’s) felt that he had a need to belittle my husband over a mistake. A grown and supposedly mature man was acting like a 16-year-old. The fact that he hurled obscenities and slurs at my husband was bad enough, but we had a 9-year-old in the back seat listening to this person act this way. He listened as a person referred to my husband with words he’s never heard before and words he knew were negative towards him. If my son wasn’t the kid he was, that man could’ve shown him that it was acceptable to use that language in that situation. Luckily, my husband is a good person and obviously a much better man than this guy twice his age.

I have an awful temper, I know this and I know well enough to swallow my words most of the time before something is said that would make me ashamed. That man should’ve been ashamed of himself, and I could see from the look on his wife’s face that she was ashamed enough for all of us. Road rage is awful enough, but what gives that man the right to say what he said? He would’ve been just as much as fault if we did actually get in an accident, as he didn’t look like he was going to stop when he realized we didn’t see him. So what, my husband is Asian and the joke is that Asians can’t drive. There’s also a joke that old people shouldn’t drive, should we have said “get your eyes checked old man” or “you people shouldn’t be on the road after 50”? No, if we had it would’ve been appalling and they would talk about how the younger people don’t respect their elders. Yet this man is able to shout racial slurs and people probably wouldn’t care except people that are negatively called “liberals making a big deal out of something minor”. This incident scares me more than I was before about my child being mixed race in this society. I hope that either things change or my children will help make this change.

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When Pregnancy Meets Summer

I’m a bit of a wuss when it comes to heat. I’ve fainted more than a handful of times due to the heat, and it’s not ever even all that hot. I’m fairly certain my body just slowly starts shutting down when it hits 75 degrees, and for every 10 degrees after that I become more miserable. I apologize, I don’t just get more miserable. I become incredibly intolerable as well. I’m a January baby, I love the cold. If whatever means controls the world had wanted me to be a summer baby, they would’ve made me a little less gingery and a little more into beaches and pools.

Last pregnancy, I wasn’t very big at all during the pregnancy only gaining about 10 lbs maybe at most. The summer only bothered me as much as summer normally bothers me. This summer I’m shamefully admitting being an extra 30somethinglbs of baby, and it’s not comfortable at all. In fact, I would rank it pretty low on my comfort scale. I think that my plan on having a child during a time when it can have a party it can enjoy without fear of snow or being too cold backfired on me. Sure he gets a pool party, but I get to sweat through all 5 of my maternity shirts and wish I could just sit around in my underwear in front of my AC, nicely nestled against my bed. Maybe I should get a mini-fridge for there too, so I could just stay in my bedroom all summer long and wait this fetus out.

I can probably take comfort that I’m not the only miserable pregnant woman fighting 90+ degree weather, but I’m a New Englander. I’m used to snow and rain and awful weather, while crying about how humid our summers are wishing to move to Alaska. I won’t go to Alaska though, I saw 30 Days of Night. There’s a political joke in there somewhere, but I’m not touching it. Just like I’m not touching a vampire. Twilight was wrong, vampires aren’t sparkly they just look that way as you transform into one of them. They are just as uninteresting as the movies make them out though.

So while pregnancy books all say “go out and swim and keep hydrated in this heat”, I’ll deal with this my way. I’m going to alternate between laying next to my AC and an ice tub filled bathtub, while wanting to migrate to Canada. If you nuts can go south for the winter to stay in summer heat, I can go north to frenchieland to keep winter. I’d take a fjord over a beach any day.

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And Then, He Went Down

Children are just like us: no matter what, there’s a risk to everything they do. We want them to go out with friends, but I don’t know any parent that doesn’t worry when their child isn’t in their sight. Anything can happen and if something did, we’d second guess our decision to let them be free. The truth of the matter is we can’t bubble wrap them as much as we’d love to. All we can do is protect them in the best way we’re capable of, and hope that fate or whatever you believe in follow suit.

Case in point: putting your child in a sport. Organized sports are an incredible thing for our children. It teaches them sportsmanship and discipline. They get a ton of exercise, and they get to befriend people outside of their little circle at school. I fully support those youth organizations that help our children both physically and mentally. I would dare to argue that putting a child in some sort of organization that teaches discipline and sportsmanship helps that child grow up with team building skills. After all, they do enforce that there is no I in team. For the record and on a side note, I do hate that expression but the song is good.

The downfall of sports is the risk of injury. My son plays baseball, and does well at it. Of course everything has a risk, but the risk always seems higher when your child is just as graceful as you are. And if you’re as impossibly clumsy as I am, you spend more time worrying than you probably should. Every bruise he gets from pretending he’s a goal tender with line drives, I wonder if I should’ve signed him up for a chess team for 9 year-olds. He hits himself clumsily with his bat, and you really second guess this.  He enjoys it though, and it’s something he’d love to continue on with. As much as we fear harm, sometimes we just have to take a deep breath and support them. It could be worse, he could want to be a skateboarder or an X-Game BMX star. On Saturday his team had a game against their bitter rivals, and yes I’m just as in awe that a little league team has bitter rivals that young. His first up at bat was successful, he drove the ball and took the base. The next up at bat he did make it on base, but it was a lot less successful. The batter before him gets hit in the leg, he shakes the leg and takes his base. My son takes the plate, and he’s ready and determined to smack this ball in the outfield. The ball, it had other plans. The pitcher pitches and before my son could react, there he was on the ground. The ball went straight to his head.

As a parent on the sidelines, you don’t have time to react. If we had blinked, we would’ve missed this entirely. We didn’t blink though, and as soon as he went down, he stood up and gave us a thumbs up while running to first base. He was fine, and he was fine because we spent a few extra dollars on a well padded and sturdy helmet. Even though we can’t be there every second, we can still give them the tools to be safe. The bat he uses is second-hand, his batting and catching gloves are the same he’s had since he’s started. This year, we decided with kid’s pitch we’d rather be safe than sorry and bought extra protection for him. That moment, I was thankful we had. I was also thankful we’re crazy parents to know the signs of concussions or head injury. I’m also not ashamed to admit I didn’t sleep that night and constantly checked on him while he was sleeping. Sports are a great activity for your children, but the better thing you can do is to make sure they are well protected because you never know what could happen.

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A Letter To My Unborn Child

Dear Fetus,

Your father and I are overjoyed by the idea of your presence. I’m certain that it was an incredibly happy day when he found out he was going to be a father again. We’ve watched you grow for 29 weeks and it’s been a miraculous journey. However, it occurs to me you’re getting overcrowded in there and sharing a body with another person has become uncomfortable for me too. I would like to propose a small list to make these last few weeks more enjoyable for both of us, because I’m certain that your life will be miserable otherwise.

1) We need to discuss your sleeping. I know that I’m a bit of an insomniac normally, but since pregnancy I’ve grown used to sleeping at night. That was until you decided your prime time for activity occurs during my prime time for sleeping. I’d like you to consider changing your time of activity to daytime so I’m not too tired to feed us both. Cereal is not filling enough, and I’m too self-conscious to go for seconds.

2) I know we all have certain positions we like to sleep in. I appreciate that, except I don’t appreciate that your favorite sleeping position is on the major nerve on either side of me. I enjoy walking, I enjoy not having a searing pain shooting down to my toes. My theory is that this wouldn’t be an issue if you were to change the time of your sleeping. Let’s be reasonable, compromise is something all roommates need to work out.

3) Finally, no I don’t like pepperoncinis, buffalo wings, or artichoke hearts in oil. Don’t make me want them and make me regret ignoring you after, it’s not happening. This proves you already are your father and brother but since neither of them are carrying you, you’re going to have to just deal with it.

With these few requests, I hope that we can learn to live out these next 10 weeks in peace. I promise to continue to make sure your large appetite is well fed with food that doesn’t make me want to vomit. Let’s work in harmony to make this enjoyable for the both of us, because when you’re born I know that we’ll both live in chaos for the first few weeks. A nice, well-rested mother before labor will benefit us both.

Love always,

Mom

P.S. You can’t keep kicking people who “invade your territory”. The doctors need to hear  your heart and see you, and they think you’re a silly little ham of a boy. I think you’re just being a pain in the butt. Prove me wrong.

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Worst Expectations

I have a problem with expectations. Granted I have a problem with a lot of things, so that probably doesn’t shock you much. I blame this on the cynic in me, the part of me that believes the minute you allow yourself to believe something good that the universe finds a way to screw it up. The rest of me doesn’t fare better in this aspect, even the most optimistic part of me. Yeah, that optimistic part of me I pretend I have when things go wrong and I need to assure everyone else everything is ok.

What’s my problem with expectations? In truth, I think one of the worst things you can do in life is go into a situation with expectations. I’m not suggesting you go in with complete ignorance and end up surprised what you’re walking into. I would never suggest a surprise because I hate surprises. For instance, when you vote you’ll ideally know the candidate you want to vote for based (hopefully) on the informed decision you make. However, don’t expect he’ll keep his promises because he’s a man and they lie. (That was a joke.) The real reason is because he’s a politician and they lie.

The main point is expectations on pregnancy, labor, and the result: the child. The worst thing you can do is expect that “you got this” and go in there blind. Even worse, going in there and expecting “I’ve done my research, this is my birth plan and I’m sticking to it”. Why not? Because in life, you can’t expect anything because anything can happen. Sure you might go in expecting that the knowledge made you invincible and that because you’re informed, you can do it without pain medicine. You know what statistically is more likely to happen? You’re going to beg anyone who will listen for relief. If you go in expecting a calm water birth, you’ll probably end up with a scalpel cutting out your insides.

I know you’re probably thinking, “what’s your plan?”. I’m a “just go with it” type of person. I researched what medicine I’d want if I wanted it, and made sure I was ready for any situation that I could come across. Do I want an epidural? I managed the first time without it, I’d like to not have it this time either because I don’t trust anyone with a needle near my spine. In fact, I generally expect the worst. For instance, I imagine this one will be a colicky pain in my butt. If he ends up as angelic as the first one? Well I’ll be pleasantly proven wrong and I’m ok with that.

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A Lesson All Men Should Learn

Recently I was at a BBQ with my friends and my husband. One friend asked me  how the pregnancy was going and I responded how well it was. I then began to mention about how awesome my husband was, how I hadn’t experienced insane mood swings, and I felt generally pretty good. In mentioning how awesome my husband was I noted that I could have a craving and before I could say I wanted it, I had it. My friend laughed and said “that’s called ‘preventative maintenance’. You stop the problem before it even starts.” He laughed mentioning if he knew then what he knew now.

That idea of preventative maintenance was hilarious to me. What am I, a car? When I stopped laughing at that idea, I realized that it’s true. Maybe that’s why my husband is a unique and incredible person that convinced me to marry him. I never had a moment of “oh I wish”, because before I could wish it I was given it. He knows something no other guy I have ever met knows: prevent the argument by figuring out exactly what she wants before saying it. It seems so simple, and yet so complicated. It’s almost ingenious. Is she feeling stressed? I know, I’ll do the dishes for her. Imagine how easier life would be with your partner if they figured out this secret to relationships!

I can’t help but to brag. It’s like when your children do something amazing and you just want to tell the world. I think men should take a lesson from him, and realize it’s easier to prevent the problem then buy flowers and jewelry after you screw up. Maybe you should think of us as cars that need regular maintenance to stay in happy condition. And if we’re happy, your life is a little less miserable. This goes double true for your pregnant wife, because we all know how insane things can get with hormones very quickly. Does this sound a little sexist? Probably, but just because it sounds sexist, doesn’t mean there’s no truth in anything I just said. Remember men, “preventative maintenance”. Maybe she’ll let you get that you’ve wanted.

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Spending Nights on the Bathroom Floor as Parents

I’m sure we’ve all had those nights after staying out late where you made your bed on the bathroom floor so your evening’s mistakes would end up in the toilet and not your bedroom floor. Eventually we grow into parenting, and these days we spend our time sitting on the floor while our child vomits away a fever. It’s heartbreaking watching them moan and shake while getting sick, but it’s good to know that they can curl up in our arms afterwards to comfort them. It doesn’t make you feel any better though, and I think all parents hate it when they watch their child feeling miserable.

Once my son, then around 1 1/2 or 2, had a fever during a weekend he was away from me. I received a call at work telling me he had a high fever and wasn’t feeling well. I heard myself repeating “take him to the doctor’s” and restating the doctor’s information. He was never taken to the doctors and when I had gotten him back, his eyes were sunken in and he was lethargic.  He wasn’t my son, he was a zombie form of my child. I was scared, and luckily my doctor’s office had a nurse that was able to calm me down and told me to head to the emergency room.

I’ll remember that trip forever I think. The nurses were urgent with him, and hurried him into a hospital gown. I remember the look of terror in his eyes when they put in the I.V. and taped it to his arm and splint, and pumped him full of fluids. They took vials of blood and I sat and watched helplessly while this happened. He was sick and needed me to comfort him, but I couldn’t. They wanted us to walk around with him to make him thirsty enough to drink and my now husband got him a snack to coax him into drinking enough to get discharged. Several hours later he was released, diagnosed with a rhinovirus and severe dehydration. Ever since then, I’ve been neurotically overprotective every fever he’s had since then.

Mothers have this natural ability to tell when they’re kids are seriously sick or not. From the phone call, I knew instantly he needed to be seen by the doctor. Other times, I knew he had an ear infection and while the doctor’s argued with me, they checked and discovered I was right. We have this child inside of us for 9 months, and that gives us the ability to sense something wrong with them. This isn’t just true for the child being sick; I find that it applies to knowing when he’s had a bad day at school or similar situations like that. It’s hard to explain until you’ve experienced it.

Sometimes we are irrational and overprotective, but sometimes you need to trust our maternal instincts. It might not make sense, but there’s usually a reason for it and it pays off when you listen. It still bothers me today when I sit there with the doctor and they don’t listen to me until they see that I’m right. “No, there’s nothing wrong he’s just small because that’s the way he’s supposed to be. That and he didn’t exactly hit the genetic lottery in the height pot.” The worst thing we can do is let our kids see us buckle under the pressure, whether it’s crying with them when they get a shot or getting nervous in the hospital. Kids get sick, everybody does. It might be heartbreaking, but as the parent it’s your job to make them feel as awesome as possible.

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Where Did The Time Go?

It seems like yesterday I was my normal skinny self starting my long list of Christmas baking that needed to be done, and on a whim based on my female dog Zoey acting funny around me, I took a pregnancy test without any expectations. Now, it’s 7 months and my husband and I have already established a sappy bond to this fetus we haven’t met yet. Then after all that excitement passes and you start seeing your collection of baby supplies grow, you get that moment of “oh crap” realizing you have 2 months to prepare if you’re lucky enough to go on your due date.

I sat staring at my assorted supplies and realizing that I’m not ready. Emotionally, I’m definitely prepared. I mean I’m not ready for it to actually be here, with 2 months it doesn’t seem like I’ll have enough time to get everything I need done. With my shower next month, I need to step it up. By that I mean, I have to go into crazy pregger nag mode on my husband to get stuff done. I’m not going to lie, I’m getting anxious with preparations of setting up the household to accommodate the new addition. That preparations are more unnerving for me than the real process of birth. Last time it was easier, I was smaller and more capable of doing grunt work. This time I can’t even tie my shoes or put on shoes that aren’t slip-ons. This time, I have no control over anything getting done and can only sit back and pray it gets done.

At least I have my birth plan all set. It’s pretty simple and straight forward: unless I can stick a needle in your spine with you hoping you don’t get paralyzed, you’re not doing it to me. It’s simple and to the point I think, and I’m praying since I went sans epidural the first time around that I can repeat this. Also, the fact I was only in active labor for less than an hour last time and they say the 2nd one is easier, that I’m going to just have him slide out. I know, it’s unrealistic, but sometimes you need to let us pregnant women hope. And let’s find a way to safely knock a pregnant women out for a c-section. I don’t like the idea of being awake while watching the shadows of the doctors pulling out my insides to retrieve a stubborn fetus., and I don’t think I’m the only one.

When you get to this point in the pregnancy, the lovely 3rd trimester unless it’s just me, that you’re less excited about the idea of the newborn baby in your eyes and alternate between “get this thing out of me” and “I’m not ready for this”. You can still revel in the fact that you can eat what you want, and if you’re lucky like me, take advantage of the massages your partner is willing to give. Just focus on what you need to get done, and then allow yourself time to sit back and imagine the newborn about to take over your life. It’s worth it, and after all you go through to get them here, it better be.

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I’m Sorry For Your Loss, I mean…

I consider myself a master at attending wakes and funerals. They are the few events I can maintain grace and poise and not feel completely awkward. Maybe because the guest of honor can’t really tell so there’s no pressure. I extend my condolences in a sympathetic way while nodding or hugging with sincerity. Most people do well at weddings or work holiday parties, but I can’t be normal can I?

What I haven’t quite mastered the full sincerity of my condolences. When someone dies, people say “I’m sorry for your loss”. I never understood that. Why are you sorry? Did you somehow cause the <insert natural cause here> that killed this person? Unless of course you did something that caused that person’s death, in which case I’m pretty sure something as simple as an apology isn’t really going to help the case at all. I can’t say “I’m sorry for your loss”, it doesn’t make sense to me.

So I say the usual “my condolences”. It’s simple and to the point, but nothing said seems more than hollow words. However, I found that outside of the funeral ritual, I’m awful at this idea of comforting someone. A friend of mine’s grandfather had passed away recently. He mentioned it on Facebook, saying “if you see someone with my name in the obituaries, it’s not me it’s my grandfather.” I was the first commenter and my reply was “I’d hope not, otherwise we’d be in a lot of trouble with talking zombies and no good could come of this.” It wasn’t until a mass of people followed with “I’m sorry for your loss” that I cringed at their apology and my sounding like the worst person in the world. Luckily, in seeing him over the weekend, I found that he was amused and glad for the laugh. I suppose it’d be worse if they didn’t expect that sort of comment from me.

Now I have to teach these lessons to my son. When he was in kindergarten my grandfather had passed away around Christmas time. He wanted to come to the funeral and despite my hesitations of him being too young for something like this, I agreed thinking that he could always be with my other family members in another room while I paid my respects. That wouldn’t fly with my little adult, and I had to give him a brief 5 minute lesson on what you’re supposed to do, how you’re supposed to behave and that at the end of it he was going to be kneeling down praying in front of a real dead body. Without being scared and with grace that I’ve never seen in someone his age, he did everything he was told and even used the word “condolences”. At the church, I couldn’t help but to try to fight my laughter while I watched him take a tissue like everyone in the room and dab his eyes to wipe away tears that weren’t there. He mimicked everything from the tissues to the proper Catholic church etiquette. It turns out all I had to do was give him a brief lesson and all he needed to do was take it from there. He just followed my lead, even giggling when I couldn’t contain my laughter at how silly he looked trying to mourn like everyone else. He learned the lesson of the mourning rituals, and was even more excited that he got free food out of it. Plus, he always did fancy an excuse to wear a tie.

This ties together 2 points I have made in my previous blogs. Point #1: I’m a terrible person that lacks social skills of how to behave in an acceptable manner. I could either change this or learn to accept that no one will really appreciate or accept me for this. I’m not changing, I don’t believe there is anything so wrong with me that I need an emotional soul-searching makeover. Point #2: Kids learn by example, there’s no denying that. My son didn’t know how he was supposed to behave so he behaved exactly like he saw everyone else behaved. There’s an emphasis on the “everyone else”. Children learn from everyone in a social environment and from things they see at home. Remember kids are sponges for knowledge, and unless you want an awful and inappropriate joke I’m probably a terrible person to console you.