Guess who’s back

Back again. 

I’m in the waiting room at our infertility office after over two years. I’m seeing Dr. G today. I used to dread these appointments, I would sit here with sadness following me like a cloud wondering if I’d ever become a mother. But not today; I walked in with my heart pieced together by the miracle boy Dr G helped make a reality. 

I’m here because my cycles are outta whack…9 day heavy periods every 16 days. Yeah, not normal. Dr. G indicated he thinks I might have PCOS given my infertility, weight, and gestational diabetes so I’m here getting blood work drawn and an exam. He suggested metformin (which I’ve heard terrible things about) so that’s not something I’m looking forward to taking. 

My goal is to get my cycles sorted out, lose about 50 lbs before year end, and then transfer our last two frozen embryos in hopes of bringing home baby 2. I haven’t thought much about how I feel if that doesn’t work out. I’ve learned with infertility that I can’t lose myself in the what ifs of the future. So I’m here today fixing my cycles. I’ll cross the next bridge when I get there. 

Surgical consult

Today was not what I wanted to hear but what I prepared myself to hear. My son’s follow up with his eye doctor resulted in a referral to the nation’s leading pediatric eye institute for a surgical consult. 

The silver lining to this news is this medical center is less than an hour away from where we live. We are fortunate enough to live so close to the best care for my boy. Thank god for that. 

Our doctor said we have two options: a surgical consult at his office or sending us down to the eye center. He said “this is not about my ego, this is about what’s best for your son so I suggest you go for the consult due to the advanced research grade technology they have there.” From there we can decide if we want to have surgery down there or with our doctor’s office with the technology report from the eye center. Our doctor is one of the leading pediatric opthamologosts in the area so we are in good hands all around. My guess is I’ll opt for surgery at the eye center given their resources and ratings.

There is a chance they will tell us he won’t need surgery which I pray like mad is the case. He has partially accommodative esotropia. Basically, he’s both terribly far sighted AND has muscular issues in his eyes. The surgery would correct the muscular issue.

So now we wait for the eye center to have an opening for our appointment which could be a few months. As for positive news: he’s doing great and his doctor is pleased with how he responded to the latest prescription in his glasses. 

After our appointment, we were near a children’s art museum he loves so we spent the rest of the afternoon playing. Seeing him have a blast helped take the stress of the appointment off and we made some memories today. 

Thank you for your prayer yesterday.

Tornadoes all around

I’ve been a horrible blogger. I, for starters, haven’t actually blogged in a while. Or with any consistency. I’ve also neglected to comment on posts I’ve read simply because there is not enough time. But I read them and I pray for those who are having a rough go. You know who you are and I’m thinking of you. Constantly.

And it seems more and more that I am surrounded by sadness. For the past few months, there’s been an oppressive cloud of shit dousing people with crap. (Don’t even get me started on the state of current political affairs.) It’s like I’m surrounded by a bevy of tornadoes swirling all about, watching as they destroy those around me. A friend’s husband had recently passed away at age 37. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she finds out she has cancer. And another friend put his son in hospice this week. At 7 years old. And they wait day by day for an end to his suffering. Yet they dread knowing what’s coming and try to enjoy each fragile moment with him while he’s still here. I can’t fathom being faced with that decision and my heart pains for them. And my childhood best friend’s son starts experimental chemo next week for his terminal illness. He’s 15. And a co-workers 6 month old just has his SECOND open heart surgery. WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS. GOING. ON.

My heart is so, so heavy for these friends. And despite all they go through, I selfishly ¬†worry about my woes. Tomorrow, we have another pediatric ophthalmology appointment for my son where we find out if he will need eye surgery. His glasses are at the highest prescription for his age and we were given 3 months to adjust to new lenses. His eyes still cross (less but they are not 100% better) and I am dreading tomorrow’s appointment because I feel in my gut they will bring up the ‘S’ word. And despite knowing that eye surgery is worlds better than the hell my friends are going through with their families, it’s still surgery. On my baby boy. And I am not ok with that.

So if you’re the praying type, please send up one for my boy tomorrow…and if you could send a few more up for our friends, I’d be most grateful.


I’m not proud to be an American today

My son just woke up crying as if he knew what happened in the election. I had hoped I’d tell him when he woke up that we were part of history, that love and hope and progress still prevail, that bullies don’t win. I can’t tell him that anymore. I hold him now sharing his tears and weeping for our nation…Worried about a future with such anger and hatred bubbling in our country. 

My God bless America, we sure need it. 

October 15.

It’s the day I met my husband for our first date 11 years ago.
It’s the day the world remembers my lost two pregnancies. Two hopes that never came to be.

It’s the day – two years ago – I got a sign from God. When I was a week pregnant, I prayed to God to give me a sign that this time would be different because my heart couldn’t handle another loss. A balloon then floated over traffic and landed in front of my car. It was a teddy bear holding a sign that said “it’s a boy.” My son is now 15 months old and I cant help but feel grateful to have been given that sign.

And tomorrow marks one full year since I lost my nana. I miss her hard and often. So many times I go to call her or think “I should bring this to nana, she’d love it” and then I stop in my tracks because she’s gone. She loved my son during the brief moments she had with him. I cherish that memory. I can hear her voice in my head like I heard it yesterday. I can see the planes of her face as clear as day. Her crystal blue eyes. How she smiled and thrummed her fingers on the kitchen table ever so lightly when she was content. Her kitchen smelled of newspapers, coffee, and home.

I remember holding her hand in the days before she passed and how soft they felt. I hated seeing a woman so strong and fierce rendered so feeble. I wonder if she would think I am a good mother. I hope she would.

While I try my hardest not to be, I find that I am angry. My nana helped raise my brothers and I while my mom worked. She was our second mother. She was the person I came home to after school, who cooked me dinner, did homework with, taught me life lessons, kissed our scrapes and looked at us with unending love in her eyes. I am mad about that because my own mom accepted a job in MEXICO and while I never expected my mom to retire to take care of my son, I also never expected her to uproot her life away from him.

I am hurt because my son wont have this relationship with his nana. It wont be the same, it can’t be the same if she’s away. I am sad about that because of how important my nana was to me in my life. And if I’m honest, I am selfishly sad, too. I will miss my mom. I will miss having her nearby, having a little help when my son is sick, having her be a part of the boring day-to-day life we live because life happens in those everyday moments. He wont feel the love of two mother figures in the same way I knew it. Plus, I worry about her safety because Mexico City isn’t know for being particularly safe.

Tomorrow will be a tangled mess of emotions as I remember the balloon and meeting my husband and seeing my beautiful nana take her last breath and asking her to take care of my two lost babies in heaven.


I don’t have a tribe

I have a group of “friends” at work. We go to lunch together most days. Except today, I walk by the front desk and see these folks leaving for lunch. I was excluded. Ouch. 

And it got me thinking, I have a group of friends outside of work (we all met together before getting married) but they are stay at home moms who get together during the week. I’m obviously not included because I work and I’m ok with that because it’s reality. I’m not upset about that. But they refer to one another as their tribe. And I guess all of my unspoken insecurities about fitting in came to a head today because I realize that I largely don’t fit in anywhere when I think about it. 

My closest friends live far away in different areas (save for one) and we’re all busy so we talk when life permits but it’s not the same as having a circle of friends nearby to help, to do the everyday with, to lean on, to feel connected. I have no tribe. 

And it got me thinking: do I even WANT a tribe? Is it like TSwift’s squad that no one realized they needed until she hashtagged it? I don’t know the answer right now. Maybe I do since I’m feeling hurt after all and I’m sitting in my car eating alone, feeling excluded and self conscious. Am I boring? Am I not funny, do people not like me? Am I not cool? Am I a crappy person?  

I’ve reverted back to 6th grade and I don’t like this place. Time to put on a brave face, straighten my back, wipe the cupcake crumbs off my shirt and be my own fucking tribe. 

The endless worry game

Perhaps it’s just me because I’m neurotic and anxiety prone, but for all the glory that is motherhood, it’s also a constant state of pucker factor. 

Is he eating the right foods? Is his poop normal? Is his cold gonna get better soon? Is he hitting his milestones? Is he happy? Am I fucking him up and will he need therapy for life because of the decisions I’making? And on and on. 

My son turned 15 months (omg what!) on Friday and he’s only taken a few steps here and a few steps there. He’s not walking fully. He walks holding the wall, a push toy, your hand, the coffee table, but has only taken at most three independent steps at a time. And I’m worried. He’s hit every other milestone early or right on time except this one. When we took him to his 15 month well check, the doctor said if he’s not walking in a month to come back. Cue panic. 

Why?! What’s wrong? A flood of worry washed over me. I shouldn’t worry I tell myself. He is advanced for his age when it comes to speech; he says almost 50 words – and he’s not just repeating things but he says them with intent and understands what it means, often pointing and the item on a book that he’s seen in real life. He knows where his head, nose, tongue, eyes, teeth, belly button and toes are. He knows the noises various animals make and he has started saying simple sentences. Yet despite trying to hone in on the good, I am super worried about the walking milestone. 

His pediatrician asked us about his left foot (it turns in a little) which was like lighting a match to my kerosine of mommy worry. The Doctor thinks it’s “probably normal” and something he’ll outgrow but wants us to see a specialist for an evaluation of his foot. On the referral paper, he wrote “club foot” and let me tell you, fucking googling that made my stress level go haywire. Those images online aren’t at all what his foot looks like so I’m very confused. I’m also upset for not noticing and thinking it’s perhaps why he’s walking late. Sometimes when he walks holding your hand or a push toy, his foot turns in and then his knee a little and then he gets  wobbly. 

I want the best for my son and I feel terrible that I didn’t mention his foot to the doctor sooner. I didn’t think it was anything – and trust me I worry about everything. So now I’m second guessing my ability to parent and feel like utter shit for not getting my son’s foot looked at sooner. I feel like the worst mother. How did I miss this?! 

After calling 20 offices, I got an appointment with a pediatric orthopedist next week. Thursday better hurry the hell up before I give myself a google-induced ulcer.