On [Not] Keeping Score

Not too long ago, I had this really bad habit of keeping score. Here's what I mean. In my head I kept a running list of all the stressful events that had occurred in my life over the past five years or so. It was a breathtaking list, too, that involved moving out of state twice, dealing with a major death in the family, buying a house and undergoing therapy for nerve pain. Anytime anyone asked about my life or my stress level, they got a full rundown of the list. In detail.

Surely no one else had endured so much stress in such a small space of time. It was almost like a competition: look how crazy my life is! Or maybe, I hesitate to admit, it was a plea for sympathy or attention.

I used the list to justify bad attitudes and reactions to stress. I used it to assure myself that I was doing ok...under the circumstances. I used it as a cosmic scorecard. Ok, I've had my fill of stress now. Time for a break. 

Then I miscarried. I started to add the event to the list. And then, I started thinking: Why am I even keeping this list? 

Why don't I have a corresponding list in my head of great memories I've made over the past 5 years?

Why don't I tell people about all the cute stuff William has said and done?

Why can't I remember half the cute stuff he's said and done??

Why am I always complaining and painting a tragic picture of my life?

See, right after the miscarriage, I had a dream. One of those realistic dreams that wake you up from sleep. In this dream, I was wearing my wedding dress at some kind of event. Calvin was in a suit. And we were spinning across the floor, dancing and laughing. Carefree. Obviously deeply in love.

I was watching myself from the sidelines. Watching that young woman I was with the glowing eyes and beaming smile. She looked at me as she whirled by, so young, so beautiful. She said something to me as she passed. I'm not sure what it was. But I think it may have been, "Look at what you have."

So I did. And I discovered something. I have so much. Not just food on the table or cars in the driveway. I have the love of my life right here with me. I have a wonderful child with this man. I have a heart that's full of love and peace. Enduring a parade of stressful situations has been worth every minute I get to spend with these people I adore. I have no reason to keep score.

So I'm throwing away the scorecard. No more complaining. No more dwelling on the past. I need room in my head for all the great memories we're making.  

Finding the Value within Myself

It's been two weeks since the loss of my pregnancy, and I think I may be finally coming to terms with it. Of course, that has involved a lot of gardening...and writing...and jewelry making. Anything that isn't crying. Not that I haven't cried. I have.

It's not just that I wanted this child and lost him. It's all the other emotions that come with it. I had to adjust to the whole idea of becoming a mother again after deciding I wouldn't. Plans to get a job were interrupted, rearranged. William and I talked about the baby, especially when my belly started to grow. I had just bought maternity clothes, had just got over the persistent morning sickness. The baby's heartbeat was strong at 10 weeks. My big ultrasound to confirm the gender was only three weeks away. I expected to feel the kicks at any moment. And then I go to the doctor to find out that the baby had been dead since week 13. Now I'm back to square one, unsure of how I will move forward. My mother-in-law calls it "emotional whiplash."

I think that description is quite apt.

It's amazing the kind of clarity that can come out of these situations. For instance, working as a way to cope with my pain has shown me exactly how much I am still capable of doing. Being stuck in the hamster wheel of housewifery for the past three years had made me think I had lost the energy, creativity and initiative that I possessed in college. Now I know that it's still inside of me.

I think it's very difficult for young women to realize the full extent of their value. Society says women are basically useless unless they're bringing home a paycheck. The problem is, even when we are bringing home a paycheck, our work isn't as appreciated. Women still earn 77 cents for every dollar earned by a man. And for those of us who stay home to raise our kids, the enormity and (sometimes) drudgery of what we do is overlooked. "Oh, well YOU didn't have to battle morning traffic, or sit through a boring meeting, or miss lunch because an overbearing client was breathing down your neck," husbands will say. No, but I spent the day wiping up urine and puke, wrestled a cranky toddler, and ate a sandwich that had fallen on the floor. Sitting through a boring meeting sounds like heaven. Do you get to pee there without someone watching you, too??

So how do I cope? I find the value within myself.

And that's hard to do when people's expectations of what you should be doing are numerous and unrealistic. Breastfeed until your child is 3. Socialize this many times per week. Cook breakfast for your husband (or you don't really love him). Iron his underwear. Shine his boots. Don't let your child cry, ever. Use that degree you earned. Work off that belly fat. No VOCs. No GMOs. Organic only. Co-sleep. Don't co-sleep. Use only rear-facing carseats. And for heaven's sake, no more than an hour of TV per day. Really, WHAT do you do all day?

I could go on. But here's the thing: life is more than living up to arbitrary standards of perfection. And that's a HUGE admission coming from a self-proclaimed perfectionist. Just because I'm a wife and a mother doesn't mean I stop having my own dreams and goals. I need to learn, to try new things and fail at them, to be a human being. It's through exercising my talents and pursuing the unique opportunities available to me that I find a life worth living. In that regard, I'm no different from a man. My child is not going to remember in 10 years whether he ate homemade baby food or not. And he's not going to feel less loved because I bought him Gerber peas instead of growing my own in the backyard. What he will remember is the time we spent together. And whether I was a happy, secure, fulfilled individual or not.

I feel like I've hit a major milestone with this epiphany. I have value within myself that's not defined by a paycheck or a pat on the back. What I do matters to me, and that's what ultimately matters to those who love and depend on me.

Catch-up

Since I've been out of the loop for a while, I should update everyone on what's been going on in my life for the past few months.

My husband and I recently celebrated 5 years of marriage and, really, things couldn't be better in that regard. We worked through the baby blues and finally reconnected on a very tender level. Reading over my past entries recently, I've realized that we've both matured a great deal over the past couple of years and have settled down to family life. My husband, while still pretty much agnostic, is now very supportive of my Christian faith and willingly attends church with me, even though he knows he doesn't have to.

A few months ago, my depression got really bad, so I finally broke down and asked for help. I saw a counselor for a few weeks and went to a psychiatrist for meds. Shortly after that, I found out I was pregnant. Now I'm not on any meds, but my depression appears to be well under control. Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones??

It helps that this pregnancy is going much better than my previous one. I'm about 15 weeks along now and haven't been physically sick in well over a week. I've been able to eat and gain weight normally, and haven't needed any trips to the ER to get rehydrated. It's been really nice. The only real complaint I have is occasional, excruciating back pain.

The one dark cloud in all of this is the situation with my parents. After thirty years of marriage, my mom asked my dad for a divorce. And she's well within her rights to do so. One thing I haven't talked about on this blog concerns what's been going on with them for the past couple of years. Just before William's first Christmas, my dad confessed that he had been unfaithful. And not just a little unfaithful, either. He had been involved in some pretty sick stuff. Turns out he's been a life-long sex addict. The whole family was just devastated--myself included. I fell into a very dark depression, went through the five stages of grief, and then told my dad if he wanted anything to do with my family in the future, he would go to counseling. And he did. He graduated from a 12-step program a couple of months ago.

My mom has been working this whole time on trying to forgive him. She's gone to counseling as well, read books on sex addiction, and has taken vacations with my dad to try to rekindle their marriage. But nothing has really worked for her. Her trust has been shaken too deeply. And Dad's been showing signs of falling off the wagon.

Now she's trying to figure out how to take the next step. Divorce means she will have to sell her house (which she adores), split any assets with my dad, and try to make it on her own. She won't stay in Tennessee; she wants to move closer to me. Which is fine by me. I'd love to have her spend some time with her grandkids.

As for me, I'm dealing with it ok. I'm disappointed that things couldn't work out for them, but I don't want Mom to stay in such a bad situation. I'm sure it will hit me a little harder later. It's hard to believe things have come to this.

A Lull in the Music

Hello, my dear readers. It's been a while since I've written. I've been extremely busy writing for my new client, who has put together a website on economics. I've been writing lots of articles on Adam Smith, Karl Marx, and economic theories of all kinds. I feel like I could publish my own textbook at this point.

Lots going on in the world, too. Occupy Wall Street. Wow. This is the kind of stuff I dreamed about years ago. I just wasn't sure if I'd ever see it. Oh, and in case there's any question, I absolutely 100% support these protests. If I didn't have a child and a husband to care for, I'd be right out in the streets with the protesters, sporting my own array of placards. The corruption in our government and financial institutions has simply reached a level beyond belief, and it needs to change.

Also, I just found out that a friend of mine from high school is in cult recovery. She joined a Christian discipleship program that everyone thought was legit, but it turns out the program indulges in a great deal of physical and spiritual abuse. I couldn't help but feel appalled at the situation. I get outraged when I hear of someone corrupting the gospel that I love so much. This friend of mine is a wonderful person, too, and did not at all deserve to go through that. Shame! Shame and fie!

At times like this, I feel like I should do something to get my voice out there and speak against the world's abuses. But what? I've thought of perhaps starting another blog or writing some articles, but I haven't really been focused enough to do it. On top of everything, I've been ill. A couple of weeks ago, I was having some tests done to investigate a medical problem I've been having. Then I had to go to the ER yesterday and found out I have an infection and early signs of pneumonia. So I've been sitting around for the past week watching my house deteriorate into a hazmat zone while hacking up a lung or two.

Better yet, in two weeks my entire family will be arriving at my house for Thanksgiving. Oh, joy!

Transformed

Wow, what a month. My brother arrived, and life suddenly took on a whirlwind rush. Bedtime came after 11 p.m. almost every night, and then I got up early every morning to feed William breakfast. During all this, I started writing on another website for a client, and William started cutting his last four teeth--morphing from a happy, lovable little Jekyll to a monstrous, destructive Hyde. Good times, good times.

At least I have some comfort. I started reading a terrific book called The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel. It's a book that investigates the validity of the biblical New Testament through interviews with top New Testament scholars and other experts. Some of the insights are simply profound and have encouraged my faith in a big way. I think all Christians and skeptics should read it.

I also have more inner peace than usual. Not long ago, I wrote a devotional that spoke of the Bible's description of the secular world. The Bible points out five basic characteristics of the world: (1) lust and pride, (2) immorality, (3) materialism, (4) division, envy and strife, and (5) a lack of compassion. That got me thinking about lust. Lust has been one of my biggest problems for years. Whenever I wanted to escape reality, I'd just fantasize about having an encounter with someone--who was not usually my husband. I felt guilty about it, but it was easy for a long time to just write it off as harmless imagination.

But it wasn't harmless. It was dishonoring my marriage. It was tempting me to cheat on my husband. It was making me feel anxious and on edge. However, after I wrote that devotional, something clicked inside of me. I suddenly didn't want to fantasize about other people anymore. Whenever my thoughts began to stray in the wrong direction, I stopped them. My love for my husband began to deepen further, and my anxiety vanished. I decided that my desire should be for my husband only. After all, isn't that what is marriage about?

There are other things I'm meditating on as well. Materialism. Lack of compassion. Is that really me? I spend a lot of time thinking about things I want or might eventually have when I already have so much and give very little of it away.

The Bible says, "Do not conform to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Not transformed by a simple repeat-after-me prayer. Not transformed by a song and dance. Not transformed by wearing the "right" clothes, saying the "right" things or shouting "Amen!" every other breath. Transformed by thinking differently about the world. Wow. How often does that come up in church?    

It's a Complicated Life

Sorry I've left all my dear readers hanging for so long. I'd have written sooner except my laptop died, and now my only computer access is limited to the room off of the kitchen--a place that is currently unfit for my child to play while I write.

Depression? Well, it's sometimes still bad. I've cried in bed a couple of nights thinking about the relationship between past hurts and current problems. Life has also been very stressful. My husband is not at all enjoying his job. He hates it and complains about it greatly. Yesterday, he was kept at work after 7 p.m. He's supposed to leave at 3 p.m. And he has duty today, which means he won't be coming home until tomorrow evening.

Even though my husband could potentially receive a bonus of $75,000 for reenlisting with the Navy, he's decided not to do it. That was tough to accept at first because he had been trying to reenlist for months and we had planned to pay off some bills with the money. A friend of ours in the same division reenlisted and received half of the money last week. Now I listen as his wife talks about her various shopping sprees, thinking, "We could have paid off my car! Put $10,000 in savings! Replaced all the ancient, broken windows in our house!" And then I want to shake her because she's talking about having bought a third set of dishes and now doesn't know what to do with the first two sets. But reenlisting even for that kind of security just isn't worth having a husband who is stressed, unhappy, and often absent from our son's life.

Now that I know money will be somewhat tight for a while, I've decided that I probably can't afford to go back to school for my Master's degree and teaching license. It's not that affording tuition is a problem--because I can get good financial aid--it's the childcare. My last sitter charged $9 an hour. That was fine when the hubby and I needed only a couple of hours to go on a date, but that adds up quickly when you're talking about attending classes full-time. So I've decided to put off school and look for work until we've paid off some of our bills. But even then, my husband and I aren't fully comfortable with leaving William in someone else's care all the time, and the situation is further complicated by my husband's wacky work schedule. Should I just be content that we're getting by for the moment and wait until William is in school to pursue my career? These are the questions that plague me. And it's tough because I'm used to working and finding fulfillment in achieving concrete goals.

Meanwhile, I picked up my Bible a couple of weeks ago and read Romans 8:5-6: "Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace." Peace. That's what I need. Peace for this mind that is so troubled by pain, fear, and uncertainty. I have been meditating on this scripture at times, studying what it means to desire what the Spirit of God desires...and in doing so, I have found myself less focused on past wounds. Even though churches, pastors, and many Christian friends have failed me, nothing they have done has negated the power and truth I find in scripture. This is how my faith has survived even when others have given up theirs. Perhaps, if you are interested, I shall share my insights with you sometime, dear readers. Until then, enjoy this glorious spring.

Gimme Three Steps

So I've been battling it out the past few weeks with a pretty bad bout of depression, and I think I'm finally starting to come around. The relief I felt after my floor-mopping therapy lasted a good full day, and then I was back to wanting to put my head through a window. Thank God for my best friend who helped me through it, despite being a thousand miles away in Chicago. What saved me after that was a cold I caught from my husband. Sounds silly, I know, but finally getting several full nights of sleep (thanks to NyQuil) did wonders for my state of mind. After that, I decided to let family problems work themselves out.

Now I'm back to working my way out of the fog. Except I get about three steps forward before I'm ready to take a couple of steps back. When did life become so scary? Why is it so hard to make decisions these days? Case in point: I'm right back to square one when it comes to my career. Again. This is quite literally the umpteenth time. I have a choice: I can find a good day-to-day job with the qualifications I have now, or go back to school for two years and try for a teaching position. Choice one means my best skills will probably be underutilized. Choice two means adding the expense of college tuition to babysitting fees for William's care, plus risking that a teaching career will be less fulfilling than I expect due to state budget cuts to education and the stress of teaching to standardized tests. This may be one of the most agonizing decisions I've ever made, and it's made even more agonizing by the thought that it should be an easy one. I just want to work and be happy.

Meanwhile, William is learning to walk. So far, he's managing about one step at a time, but two nights ago he struck out with three whole steps. I know he'll be off any day now, and it's so exciting. Just gimme three steps, baby!

An Eve of Mourning

It is a new year. Normally, I would be celebrating. I like new things, including years. It's a chance to leave the past behind and make a fresh start. It's a time to make new goals and look forward to exciting possibilities.

I sorely wish that were true this year.

Shortly after Thanksgiving, the past came back to bite my family. The fallout has been devastating, and the situation continues to unravel, even if slowly. At times when I think it couldn't possibly get any worse, it does. Right now, I honestly don't know if I could be any more frustrated. Grief has me in a vise. All I want to do is sleep and stare at the walls. I'm lost in an anxious fog. I'm powerless, and I don't know how to cope. If it seems I have been remiss in my writerly duties, this is why. My mind can hardly form a thought.

The only bright spot has been my son, who knows no grief. He is getting close to his first birthday now, and he is rapidly transitioning from babyhood to boyhood. About a month ago, he came off the bottle completely and started taking liquids through a straw. He feeds himself with amazing dexterity, and will eat just about anything. He can play peek-a-boo with me by raising and lowering a blanket in front of his face. We can spend the day playing games, and he loves every minute. He is here, in this form, for such a time as this. I don't know how I'd stay sane any other way.


He simply embodies happiness.

Eventually, I will have to make a decision about my family as far as what my relationship with them will be. That decision will depend on what happens in the next few weeks and months--and what I work out in counseling. As of now, though, it is not a new year for me. It is just the turn of the calendar, a strike of the clock. The sense of newness has been tarnished. Forgive me.

Angry Again

I should have been asleep three hours ago. I know I'm going to wake up so exhausted in the morning to deal with my 9-month-old son, and I'm going to be miserable most of the day. That's how it always happens when I stay up late.

But I'm sooo freaking angry right now, too angry to sleep. You see, I've torn my house apart looking for the year's supply of contact lenses I just purchased a month ago, and I can't find them ANYWHERE. I can't find them because my husband packed them when we were moving from the apartment. He doesn't remember seeing them, or what box or bag (if any) he put them in. The same goes for the really nice Oakley sunglasses I also just purchased. And the brackets that attach some of the shelves to our set of bookcases. And I'm not sure he cares.

I'm also not sure he listens. For his occasional requests to "Talk to me; talk to me," I don't think he remembers a word I say. The last time we moved (from SC to VA), I complained about his packing methods--which are, shove everything into a box or Rubbermaid container and move it. No labeling or organization involved. Then he spends the next two weeks asking ME where everything is since I'm the one who has to put most of it away. This time, he moved some of our stuff in trash bags. I warned him that doing so could cause confusion about what was actually our possessions and what was trash. So I'm now convinced that my contact lenses and sunglasses are taking up space in a local landfill, because there's no trace of them anywhere in this house.

I'm so sick of always trying to be the better person. I try to work on my personal flaws, but the effort doesn't appear to be reciprocated, and I'm tired. He sees that I'm unhappy and asks what he can do to make it better. I've got an answer: listen when I say shit and act accordingly. And while you're at it, act like you give a damn.

Old World Suburbia

At last, after three weeks of moving and settling in, my life has reached a state near enough normalcy to write. For a moment there, I didn't think I would survive. Here's how the move went down:

Since we were moving only six miles, my husband decided to save a few hundred bucks and borrow a friend's pickup truck for the move instead of renting a moving truck. This translated into three days of many small trips between the house and the apartment. Not bad, except I'm slow at packing and the apartment had collected lots of piddling items that didn't seem to go together in any box. Not that it mattered to my husband, who threw them together into boxes anyway...and didn't label them. Then, he spent the next two weeks asking me where everything was. We still haven't found my $100 sunglasses that I bought a month ago. Yep, he packed them. Somewhere.

Three days before we had to relinquish the apartment, my husband informs me that he has duty the day before we have to be out, which means he won't be able to help with the last two days of moving and cleaning. It's all up to me. And I'm in therapy for my back. The nerve pain in my leg has flared up so bad at this point I can hardly stand. I have William to take care of, too, and his response to the move is to cry and whine constantly. During the whole ordeal, I had thoughts of "I'm not going to make it." And then I did. I pulled it out somehow, and turned over a spotlessly clean apartment with hours to spare. Some nights I fell into bed so stiff that I could hardly move, but I managed to get the last of our stuff over to the new house. And now, we're never moving again.

Last night, we handed out candy for Halloween in our new neighborhood, and some of the neighbors came over and introduced themselves. They're all a few years older than me and my husband, but nice. At the same time, I got a vibe that this neighborhood might be secretly hosting its own version of Desperate Housewives. Two of the women were drinking wine while escorting their children around the neighborhood, and one of them looked like she was on her third glass. Not to judge, but most of the people I know don't get hammered while outside with their kids.

The elderly gentleman to our right has a lawn that hasn't been seen since the Garden of Eden. It's greener than most golf courses. I wonder if he shoots people who walk on it.

The family to our left appears to own five cars, at least one with huge chrome rims on the tires.

Things could get interesting around here.

Lonely

This will not be an uplifting post full of optimism.

This will not be a brave attempt to put a smiling face on a cloudy thought.

I am lonely. In the midst of all the stress and craziness that has been my life for the past three months, my loneliness has become blindingly, achingly apparent. Aside from my husband, I have no kindred spirit with which to connect. I absolutely hate when my husband asks if I would like to get out or take up a social activity, because I'm embarrassed to admit even to him--even though he already knows--that I have no one to go out with. So when he asks, I just mutter something, or say "I'll think about it," and end up staying at home. Like a hermit.

The last good friend I made was two years ago when I lived in South Carolina. She was around my age and had some education. When we got together, we talked for hours. But she struggled very hard with depression, so she rarely went out. Heck, sometimes she rarely got out of bed before mid-afternoon. And then my husband found reason to despise her husband, so hanging out became too awkward. The situation deteriorated further when she and her husband became influenced by some hardcore Christian fundamentalist doctrine--the same kind my husband and I had been trying to get away from for the past few years. Needless to say, the friendship dissolved like bubbles in a pond.

When it comes to making friends, I seriously wonder if I'm just too picky. Is it too much to ask that I have someone close to my age? Married? Educated--or, at least, intelligent? Funny? Interesting? Emotionally stable? Ambitious? Loyal? Heck, if I could just find someone who hit four out of the eight, I might consider the search a success. But it seems I always end up with the dysfunctional ones, or the ones that are too soon 1,000 miles away.

Ah, so much of the world is lonely.

Strain

So I'm finally ready to talk about my physical strain.

It seems I'm suffering from a problem that has hit a few decades early: degeneration of the spine. One of the disks in my lower back is bulging out slightly, which is getting uncomfortable and putting pressure on the nerves that run into my left leg. When I walk or stand for long periods of time, a burning pain and numbness begins a few inches above my ankle and spreads up my leg and down into my foot. It has become somewhat limiting in the past few weeks, especially because I fear going hiking with my husband. I don't want to get a mile down a trail and be unable to get back.

When I first heard the results of the doctor's diagnosis, I was devastated. It's not cancer by any means, but...I'm only 27! What will this mean when I'm 40? Fifty? What if I lift something heavy (like my child) and further injure my back? Will I need surgery? Or will I simply become limited even further?

But since I've had some time to think about it, I'm ok. Still unhappy and a little scared, but ok. The doctor has put me on medication for inflammation, and I'll call my insurance to schedule some physical therapy next week. If these two things can help me, maybe my life can get back to normal.

Bittersweet

After all the frustration my husband and I have suffered while trying to purchase our first home, it finally appears that we will succeed. A few weeks ago, we put in a bid for a beautiful 1940's house in the historic district of our city, not far from the shipyard where my husband's ship is stationed. After much haggling over the contract and a few bumps in the process, everything is set to go through. The house passed inspection and is being appraised today. All that is left is to sign the final papers, which should happen at the end of this month. One of my joys lately has been dreaming about that house and all the room William will have to play in it.

He needs more room. He is crawling much faster, pulling up to low surfaces, and getting into everything. Watching him has become exhausting. I've had to remove him countless times from electrical wires (which he LOVES to play with), fish fuzz and rug fibers out of his mouth, and comfort him from all the times he's fallen or crawled head-first into the coffee table. I'm pretty much confined to the living room while my husband is at work, unable to let William out of my sight for more than a handful of seconds. A designated play area just for him would be a godsend.

But there is a cloud hanging over me as we prepare to transition to our wonderful new home. I finally saw my doctor concerning the physical strain I have been suffering, and the news is not good. I do not have all of the information yet, so I do not know how serious my condition is or what my treatment will be. But the initial diagnosis has me pretty devastated. There's a reason I feel like I'm 27 going on 80--it's because, in a way, I am. That's all I feel comfortable saying. For now, I'm just waiting until I can get more answers, which should happen in two weeks--and trying to keep my head together.

Unexpected

Somewhere in my city tonight is a man named Deo Cosita. It supposedly means "little man who honors God." I don't think that's his real name.

Today is his 62nd birthday. He is homeless and nearly blind. He walked around town for hours today before finding someone who would speak to him.

He is a former Marine. His service is the cause of his blindness. Agent Orange is eating away at his sight.

Deo doesn't stand on street corners. He doesn't have a cardboard sign. He isn't panhandling in parking lots. He just wants someone--anyone--to see him as a fellow human being.

He asked me to pray for him. So this is my prayer:

Dear God,
Please watch over Deo Cosita.
Let him prosper and meet with kindness.
Give him hope for the future. And remind
all those who passed him by
that there but by your grace go we.

Amen.

Shock

(This is going to get sticky.)

Two days ago, my best friend told me that she's in love with a woman. This wasn't completely out of the blue, so I can't say I was totally surprised. But when I read the words--so emphatically expressed--in black and white, I felt like I had been stabbed in the gut.

Part of me doesn't think she's really gay. I've known her for 10 years, and up until the past year or so, she's always been interested in men. She had at least two major crushes on guys when she was in college. I have no idea what to think now.

My friend is in the ministry. She wants to become ordained. She just graduated from seminary after spending three years there beyond college. But if she decides to publicly pursue a homosexual relationship, the church will never ordain her. She may even lose her current job. Everything she has worked for will be for nothing--not to mention that her mom will be crushed at the prospect of never having a grandchild. I would feel better about supporting my friend through this if I believed this was more than the result of social influence.

I feel like I'm in an awkward position now. First of all, my father has been a pentecostal minister for most of his adult life. You can imagine what his views on homosexuality are, and he considers my friend like a second daughter to him. I can just picture his disappointment, as well as my becoming at odds with my parents over my choice to support her.

The situation is made more awkward for me because of my personal feelings on the subject. I openly admit here that I'm not totally comfortable with the idea of homosexuality. That does not mean I'm homophobic. I gladly befriend gays, hug them, hang out with them, and genuinely listen when they talk about their lives and loves. If a gay person confessed that she found me attractive, I would not be offended or repulsed. I would even vote for their right to marry. But I'm not 100% convinced that homosexuality is a natural, inherent attraction. Maybe it is, but I can't convince myself.

I know admitting this is dangerous. I know that dozens of people will argue otherwise. They may even provide scientific evidence to suggest that it is. Trust me, I've heard all the arguments. But all that can do is change my mental understanding of what it means to be homosexual. It cannot change how I feel about it. Maybe that's because I live as a heterosexual woman and, therefore, will never truly understand what it means to be gay.

All I know is that I love my friend and will support her in whatever she chooses to do. I can only imagine what she is feeling right now--facing the possibility that she is different from what she always thought she was, that many of her friends and family may reject her, that she may have to choose between her convictions and her career. I just wish I knew for sure that this is the right thing for her. I'm also afraid that one day she'll ask me what my true feelings are, and that will be the end of our friendship. I'm willing to meet her halfway on this. I just hope she'll agree to meet me on the other side. I want to be there.

Thanks for reading...and understanding.

Murphy's Law

Sick, exhausted, heartbroken: those are the words that describe me today. The house hunt isn't going well. We made an offer on a charming little house on a quiet cul-de-sac just one street over from a city park. The way the sun streamed into the lush backyard was simply idyllic. But the owners refused to negotiate with us, so we had to take our money elsewhere.

A couple of days ago, we found another house: a historic home with large bedrooms and stunning wood floors. My husband fell in love, as did I. We also met the owner, who told us she was very motivated to sell and had just dropped the price by $12,000. So we made an offer. As we waited to hear from our agent, my husband insisted on celebrating with Chinese take-out. It seemed like a sure thing. Then our agent called: our offer was fair, but the owner had just revealed there was asbestos in the house that must be removed before the deal can go through. The cost and time to remove it may put our purchase out of reach. We were devastated.

What started as a fun and exciting process has turned into a demoralizing drudgery.

Now we may have to start searching for a home a third time, despite having looked at 30 houses in the past 3 weeks. The problem is that we're running out of options. And three days ago I submitted our "intent to vacate" to the apartment property manager. If our apartment sells in the next 57 days, we will have to move whether we have a house or not.

Furthermore, I've been dealing with all of this--including shopping for houses and signing contracts--while sick with a cold.

In a way, though, I'm not surprised. After everything I've experienced in the past three years, I've come to accept that nothing is ever simple. I'm actually shocked when any process goes smoothly. I'm convinced there will always be a snag, or a hidden concession, or a major hangup down the line. Every time we have moved, I've been sick. Every time we go on vacation to visit family, there's tension. Every time I think I have myself sorted out, another issue pops up. I'm 27 going on 80 at this point. I could use more effective ways of dealing with stress.

Under the Bus

I feel like I haven't slept in a week. Probably because I haven't...much.

The past two times my husband has been on duty, I've stayed up until one and two in the morning. Something about turning out the light in a big empty bedroom just isn't appealing. On top of that, William has woken up a few times in the night on more than one occasion, which has robbed me of sleep. Then on the one night I seemed set for uninterrupted rest, the fire alarm in our apartment malfunctioned, sending us outside at 3:30 a.m. to escape the deafening noise. Now we've just made an offer to buy a house, and I keep tossing with restless dreams about everything that could go wrong.

My husband and I appear to be reconnecting--probably because house hunting has put us back on the same page--but not all is entirely well with me. William is becoming increasingly more active and mobile. I recently spent an entire day removing every electrical cord in the living area from William's mouth four times over. (The drill has been as follows: remove child from problem area, place child in a central location near toys, sit down for five minutes, get up, remove child from another problem area, repeat ad nauseum.) Naps are getting shorter and feedings are becoming messier. Thank God he's happy and manageable most of the time, or I'd lose it. I love my son dearly and don't regret becoming a mother, but I realize now that I'm not meant to have a house full of children.

There are other things weighing on my mind that I'm not ready to share. But I will say that one of the reasons William's care has become a little troublesome is because of a physical strain I am experiencing. It has me very concerned. Hopefully, I'll be able to see a doctor soon...and maybe get some sleep, too.

Thanks for reading.

Sad

I thought I was becoming a mother again.

I didn't say anything to anyone. Not even to my husband. I just noted that my cycle was late. I wasn't sure how late at first: a week? Two weeks? I just knew it was off. Way off.

I retreated back into that quiet space inside of me where I used to go when William was still in the womb, where I contemplated the unfolding complexities of my life and emotions, and just waited. And listened.

I secretly purchased a pregnancy test and waited to use it until first thing the next morning. I sneaked out of the bedroom and into the spare bathroom while my husband showered for work, too anxious to wait for him to leave. My stomach knotted as I read the directions. I don't know if I'm ready.

I take the test and wait for the results. One blue line. Not pregnant. My cycle began the same day.

I expected to feel relieved, and in a way, I do. William requires so much from me right now that another pregnancy would put me in a stressful position. But I'm also sad. For a moment I expected to feel life springing up in me again, the little kicks and nudges, and the excitement and anticipation of preparing to greet a new little person--full of smiles and wonder. All those emotions rushed through me as I tore the wrapping off the pregnancy test, and then drained out of me as I read the results. Not pregnant.

When did life get so complicated? And why do I feel betrayed?

Thinking

So, my husband and I are talking about having another child.

I feel like I have another child in me, another little person waiting to meet me...waiting to add another dimension to my life.

But it's not that easy. We want the second child close in age to our current baby, which means trying for conception right away. That means putting off graduate school yet another year, and higher childcare expenses for when I finally do start school. Also, the pain and frustration of my first pregnancy is still fresh in my memory. I vomited every single day from week six to week 20, and then twice a week after that until William was born. My libido and energy were practically non-existent the whole nine months. I spent my last month in nearly constant pain. Recovery from the childbirth took weeks.

Also, having a child is always a gamble. My husband and I are blessed to have a healthy, pleasant baby. But we might not be so lucky next time. The next baby could be colicky, hyper, or just plain difficult to manage--or, God forbid, have a disability.

Then there's handling the pregnancy and new baby with William around. I saw a young mother in the local Target parking lot lose her grip on a double stroller (which then went rolling into traffic) because she was busy wrangling three toddlers, and I thought: I know how she feels. When William was born, I felt like I needed two extra hands to be able to juggle everything: baby, bottle, burpcloth, blanket, remote control, cooking spoon.... Sometimes you succeed, and sometimes the stroller goes rolling off into traffic. Sometimes you leave the house without enough formula. Sometimes you spend half an hour searching for an important item you had in your hand just five minutes before and you can't imagine WHERE IN GOD'S GREEN WORLD you might have put it, and then you eventually discover that it was in plain sight all along, or in the refrigerator. And it's your purse.

And yet...there's this other little person calling to me from the void, saying "I'm here, Mommy. Come get me." There's an image of two little ones running to the door to greet their father, home from work, at the end of the day. There's the promise of laughter and discovery between siblings, of crayon drawings on the refrigerator, of school, graduation, weddings, and grandchildren. So maybe the complications multiply with a second child, but what about the joys? I'm not sure I want to miss out.


I'll keep you posted.

Quicksand

I'm still distracted. Every time I experience high levels of stress (such as a month ago when I was car shopping), I go through a time immediately afterward when I can't accomplish--or don't feel like accomplishing--anything. For me, that's been the past three weeks. I bought a video game a couple of weeks ago and completely vegged out in front of it for hours a day. Now it feels like I'm swimming in quicksand again. I just don't want to face anything.

One reason for my stress is that I'm planning a trip to TN to visit my family. This time, however, I'll be traveling alone with the baby. My husband has to work, so he can't come with us. And we're going by plane. Yes, I'll be THAT mother on the plane. I just hope to heaven that Will doesn't decide to scream the whole way.

Of course I'll be happy to see my family as always, but, as usual, there will probably be some type of drama or tension. Right now, my brother's two teenage sisters-in-law are living with him because their mom moved across the state and didn't want to take the girls out of their current school. However, she has given my brother and his wife next to nothing to support those girls, so after nearly eight months of raising teenagers, my brother is pretty much broke. Oh, did I mention he's turning 21 in July? Yeah, that sounds fair: a 20-year-old raising a 14-year-old and a 16-year-old on a waiter's salary while the girls' mother parties with her new boyfriend in another city. Sorry, I'm just a tad bitter about it. Every time I think about that situation, I want to reinstate public floggings. The type of advantage that woman is taking of my brother and his family is practically criminal.

And despite the discussion my husband and I had in December about revealing my darkest secret to my brother (see my post "Can O' Worms"), it has yet to be done. At first, I was glad about it. But while commenting on a relevant discussion thread somewhere on the Internet, I realized that, in all good conscience, I should probably reveal said secret after all. I'm sorry I can't reveal more about this secret to you, dear readers. Some things in my life are too sensitive and private even for this blog. I'm just hoping all goes well on this trip despite what drama may (and probably will) occur.