My Sentiment, Exactly

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There is this uplifting scene towards the end of How the Grinch Stole Christmas where the Grinch’s heart expands to three times its normal size. Having a kid is somewhat like having this happen-except throw frustration, sleep deprivation, anxiety and abject terror at the responsibility for keeping this totally helpless tiny human alive into the mix.

To be honest, ever since our daughter Ellie was born six weeks ago, I have walked around with a totally different perspective on motherhood. I have looked at other mothers-especially those with multiple children-and wondered just how the hell they do it.

I don’t mean how do they do it on a day to day basis.

Yes, the sleep deprivation outright sucks. But no matter how long and frustrating the nights get, things always seem a little brighter once the sun comes up (because, let’s be honest, the first few weeks are mostly just about survival).

And yes, the constant crying and occasional screaming (newborns are sort of like dachshunds – a body that tiny really shouldn’t be able to produce that loud a sound, it just can’t be natural!) is frustrating, but at some point it always passes.

No – caring for a baby is hard work for sure, but it’s something that slipped into our lives like it was supposed to, because loving our daughter just made it so. What I wondered about these other mothers-now that I am one-is how they walk around with this expanded heart. A heart filled with boundless love but also what must be boundless anxiety and a fierce sense of protection.

I wondered – how have these women managed to temper these feelings and carry on with their daily lives, appearing so nonchalant? I wanted to know the key – I wanted to know their secret to somehow resuming a relatively normal life and regaining some sense of who I was before the baby. I wanted to know once I found her-this old Jenni-how I could marry who I used to be with this new identity as a mother. I reasoned that surely this must be possible.

Everyone else seems to be able to do it.

A few weeks after Ellie was born, I got on my horse for the first time since last October. At the barn, I felt a curious blend of emotions – a brief taste of independence and its joy mixed with the absolute visceral need to get back to my baby. Still, I pressed on and enjoyed a brief ride because it’s a part of who I am.

I also recently began running again, slowly re-building my stamina. It’s just 30 minutes, but something about getting outside, pounding the pavement with my two (giant) feet and just sweating helped me to slowly start seeing that it just might be possible to still be me

Perhaps becoming a mother for me doesn’t mean that I need to accept a completely new identity – maybe it just means accepting that I am capable of having my heart expand as such.

Becoming a parent has been everything and nothing like what I expected. I expected the day to day to be exactly like the way it is – the constant nursing, the dirty diapers, the lack of sleep. But while I knew instinctually that I would love my child, I couldn’t have braced for the depth and degree.

I learn something new about Ellie literally every day. It’s amazing to watch her grow and experience the world – at times, I definitely feel like I’m fumbling my way through this, but a few days ago, she cracked her first really big smile at Paul, and I thought there is nothing I would rather see.

I wouldn’t describe myself as overtly sentimental on the surface – but, I will take that memory and store it inside my ever expanding heart.

 

 

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Baby Steps

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I was never that girl who spent much time dreaming about being a mom. I am not overtly “girly,” nor do I consider myself overly maternal (though I would bet our plethora of animals might say otherwise).

Rather, my desire to have a baby just sort of developed naturally over the course of time. During that timeframe, several of my friends and acquaintances became pregnant and had children. Yes, it is entirely possible to be thrilled for someone while feeling a tinge of sadness and regret that you are not the one sharing such news. I had to realize that feeling that way didn’t make me a horrible, selfish friend. It just made me human.

Time went by and I became pregnant at the end of last August. I shared our news very early on. I didn’t have misgivings about doing so because I figured that if things went wrong, I would want the support. It didn’t make sense to me to hide something I had wanted and waited for – if I had had a miscarriage, I would have been devastated. But what if no one knew? Paul and I would have been alone, and I didn’t see the point in that. It’s such an individual preference, I know.

I have shared so much in this blog about my recovery from grief and my injury. Yet, I could never had quite prepared myself for the entirely different door that being pregnant opens. And I have to say, it’s been at times very uncomfortable for me.

Don’t misunderstand – I am thrilled to have this baby. It’s just everything else that has thrown me for a loop. For someone who has shared so much, I am a very private person, and so many things have been a rude awakening for me.

I expected the advice – some welcome, some not so much. Paul and I have an idea of how we would like to raise our child, and I don’t think that always jives with how other people might want to do things – that’s okay, too, as long our wants as parents are respected.

As I pointed out, for example, I am not overtly girly, and I don’t plan to raise my child that way. If she grows up and wants to play with dolls and play dress up and watch 500 movies about princesses, then so be it. But I also don’t intend to push her toward being any one way. I just want her to have the opportunity to be herself.

As soon as people found out that I was having a girl, I found myself struggling with their reaction. Here is a news flash. I have one pink shirt in my own wardrobe. What makes people think that I need 500 pink shirts for my baby? Why do we just automatically assume that girl=pink? I don’t begrudge the color – it’s just not my preference. That hasn’t changed because I’m pregnant.

Which points toward the bigger issue and what I have been struggling with the most – yes, being pregnant and having a baby changes your life. But being pregnant in and of itself doesn’t mean that I am a different person or that my personality just changed randomly.

I am still me – I am still Jenni.

I didn’t like being touched randomly before – what makes people think I want to have my swollen, tender belly touched or rubbed? Especially out of the blue?

It’s like people consider my belly to be entirely separate from my body. Just to reiterate – it’s not. And as a public service to all other pregnant women, please stop reaching out and touching us without asking. Maybe there are some women who don’t mind, but I would bet the majority of us would at least like to be asked first. People didn’t reach out and randomly rub my stomach before I was pregnant. How weird would that be? Food for thought.

Paul and I also have struggled mightily to keep the baby “stuff” under control, which is difficult when people are excited and want to give you ALL THE THINGS. And again, I am so, so grateful that people are excited for us and want to help. I really, really am – but similar to the whole belly touching thing, be mindful of who you’re dealing with. Some people might welcome a plethora of random baby gifts, and that is totally fine. But some people might be more minimalist and just want specific items. Nothing wrong with either way of being – it just seems to be difficult for people to get sometimes.

I have struggled to maintain my sense of self over the last eight months. I have not ridden a horse or run a few miles in months, and it’s hard to lose that sense of self, even if only temporarily – but I don’t think people realize that sometimes. And so, it’s more important to me than ever to still be regarded as who I am and who I was before – even as I prepare to welcome this new life. Physically preparing for this change is challenging enough!

While grieving my father and then during my initial recovery from the TBI, all I wanted was to find some sort of sense of normalcy again. Emotionally, being pregnant has been a crazy balance between being so excited and so terrified. The only “normal” thing about this is knowing that in some way, everyone who has been there has dealt with these emotions in some way or another – it’s just always eye opening once it finally happens to you.

 

 

Two Lines

There is this hill on my typical running route that always gets me, no matter how many times I scale it. Some days I can tackle it with a little more enthusiasm, and other days leave me huffing and puffing with a stream of expletives running through my head. A lot of the time, I just put my head down and focus on keeping one foot in front of the other.

I guess the irony is not lost on me – that is how I have mostly approached the last (almost) three years. After my dad died, it was literally all I could do mentally to function, and a lot of the time, it was more about getting through the next five minutes without having a breakdown. Eventually, the minutes became hours, then days. Not that I didn’t think about him all the time, but I was better able to look at the big picture–the good times, the memories–than just keeping my head down and focusing on my emotional survival.

My recovery from a Traumatic Brain Injury has been much the same way. I wasn’t scared to look up toward the top of the hill–to set goals for my recovery–but I often had to focus on the smaller chunks of recovery. And many times, I had to re-set and adjust my goals along the way. I had to be flexible, which hasn’t always been my forte.

Recently, we took what may be our last trip down to the beach for the foreseeable future, as we finally sold my family’s condo there – the last vestige of our presence there. It was bittersweet saying goodbye, and for a long time, I didn’t want to believe that that chapter was finally closing. I worried that by leaving the beach behind, I would be losing a piece of my dad. I gradually came to understand, though, that it was never the beach itself that mattered – we could have gone anywhere. It was the memories we made together as a family. And while I can’t take the ocean with me, I will always hold the memories we made there in my heart.

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And I said goodbye, for now, to the beach.

I had no idea, though, that less than a month later, Paul and I would be writing another new chapter in our lives.

I am going to be honest.

A baby is something that I have always wanted, but not until the last couple of years did my desire to have one really materialize. Once we finally started trying, everything else happened. I lost my dad. We helped my mom move up here. We dealt with the properties, the radio station, and ourselves. And then I got hurt. In the mean time, several good friends were blessed with children, and I was so very happy for them, truly.

But it was hard. I guess it sounds selfish, and I don’t intend for that – because I truly, truly was happy for my friends. It was just hard to want something so badly and not have it happen month after month. It wasn’t really something that I shared with many people. I know other women have gone (and are going) through the same emotions. It took me a long time to realize that it was completely okay to want something to go right.

Still, this past Wednesday morning, I wasn’t expecting this:

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I probably shouldn’t repeat the exact words running through my head at the time. I was just in total disbelief. I still am.

Wednesday’s blood test confirmed it, and today’s blood test showed everything is on track so far.

As you can probably guess, it’s very early on. So why am I sharing? A lot of women wait until their second trimester. I just couldn’t. I understand that there is always a chance of something happening, but I have determined that I can’t live the next two months full of anxiety and “what ifs.” I have to live the life that I have today, and today I am thrilled and excited.

Through this blog, I have shared the ups and downs of my recovery from grief and TBI, and here I am. I am so excited to share this now.

I don’t have a due date yet – that will come in a few weeks with the ultrasound. But it’s looking like May. Again, the irony isn’t lost on me – my dad was born on May 8. While I am devastated that he won’t be physically here to meet his grandchild, I always carry him in my heart and can’t wait to tell our child all about him. I am grateful that I have my mom, Paul’s parents, and kind and understanding friends.

I am ready for this new chapter and can’t wait to share it.