Sitting, waiting, wishing...

You don't forget the look on a woman's face when she confides in you that she and her husband are having difficulties conceiving a child.  I know because there was a day not too long ago, when I sat across from my friend Kelly (as we gorged on chips and salsa and drank margaritas) and she told me exactly that.  Though I didn't know it at the time, Kelly and her husband were just at the beginning of a long, hard journey.  I have no idea what I said in that moment.  I'm sure it was the wrong thing.  But, I do know that I knew exactly how she was feeling.  No, I did not suffer from any reproductive struggles, but I did know the longing that you feel the instant you officially decide to try to have a child.  You want to be pregnant in that instant and obviously, it doesn't work that way.  So, to hear my friend had been struggling with that feeling (as well as with the very real situation that she may not be able to conceive without major intervention) for 6 months - I was devastated for her.  These are two of the nicest people I've ever met and Kelly and I had shared several conversations over the years about her hopes to become a mother.  I invited Kelly here to share her story, because I know people will benefit hearing this story.

Because sometimes the paths to becoming a mother are as varied as the paths of actually being one.

Because I know there are so many women out there who have been through this and can relate.

Because I know there are so many women who are currently weighing their options and could really use a hopeful story right now.

Because sometimes even though someone doesn't have a child, it doesn't mean they don't desperately want one.

And this is one such story - with a very happy ending.

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“It’ll happen.”  That's what everyone said.

“Give it time.” 

“Just don't think about it.”

If you're a woman trying to conceive, you want to slap any person who utters the words "don't" and "stress" in the same sentence...regardless of their good intentions. Through gritted teeth, I'd respond with a "Thanks, I'm working on it," and a half-hearted chuckle, while baby bumps danced through my head and doctor visits started monopolizing my calendar. 

Let’s back up a little. 

At the time, I was a very healthy (albeit holding onto probably 15 more lbs than I should have) 26 year old woman. I didn’t smoke. I exercised. I brushed my teeth and took my vitamins. I did everything I was supposed to do. I was very happy with my husband who’d been my better half for over a decade by then…but something was missing. We had been trying to conceive for about a year with no progress. I know what you’re thinking. That’s not much time to start panicking. However, I started charting my cycles and taking ovulation tests with no indication that I was actually ovulating. 

This brought me to my doctor and I was diagnosed with poly-cystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) and cannot ovulate on my own. My OB/GYN put me on Clomiphene (Clomid) for 7 months which regulated my cycle, but we saw no results (as in, no baby). My husband had been tested a few times using a standard system with no red flags. We even went to an urologist; if only to rule out more reasons why we didn’t yet have a 3^rd member of our family, to no avail. Then, once we were referred to a reproductive endocrinologist (RE), they took his sample, sent it across the country to one of the only labs that tests DNA fragmentation and sustainability, and a few hundred dollars later, we got some definitive bad news. Our doctor concluded that we had about a 1% shot at conceiving naturally due to Male Factor Infertility and my PCOS combined. At least we were in it together!

I. Was. Devastated. 

Our RE was very honest about our options. We could keep trying and maybe a few years down the road, it could happen. Miracles happen every day, however, I wasn’t going to risk my child bearing years on the hope that I MIGHT have a child one day…maybe. 

He didn’t recommend the less invasive (see also, less effective) IUI procedure which is basically the turkey baster method. Oh yes. That’s what he called it. 

Our RE basically told us we had the best shot with IVF, but of course that is physically, emotionally, and financially draining and we could still revisit that option a few years down the road if we weren’t interested in committing right away. We would, however, have a great chance at conceiving this way because of the way they fertilize the egg at this particular clinic. Instead of a traditional IVF where they put an egg and some sperm in a dish and let nature do its thing, science intervenes even further by having a doctor inject a single, perfect sperm into an egg. This is the best way to overcome male factor infertility. He all but guaranteed us a child by the end of the process. Science rules. 

I’d wanted to have children since I was a child myself. My husband and I were ready, or as ready as you can possibly be…which is kind of not at all. We’re good people. We’re young. We have a wonderfully loving, stable relationship. We have good paying, full time jobs. How could we be getting the news that having a baby would be such a challenge?? That wasn’t in my plan!

For me, I think I decided then and there in that office that I wanted to do IVF…like…yesterday. I remember talking to my husband that night, or rather, sobbing to my husband, about how I much I wanted this. I know he shared in my enthusiasm for expanding our family, but maybe not so much my knee jerk reaction to go all in with this procedure. We hadn’t exactly been saving our money with this expense in mind and I was going to have to give myself shots. HE was going to have to give me shots. Big ones. 

Of course, I also doubted myself and thought that if we weren’t able to conceive naturally, is that somehow a sign? Should we just accept that it isn’t meant to happen and we aren’t meant to be parents? Maybe we were meant to adopt. Maybe we were meant to have a surrogate or lots and lots of dogs instead. Maybe we were supposed to do something else with our lives. God knows those are all fantastic, valid life options. 

Then again, why have all these advances in medicine if we won’t use them?! If we didn’t try everything in our power to have a child with our own DNA, we would always wonder, “what if?” If we go through with it and it doesn’t work, at least we know we tried, and we can move on to pursuing another option. 

Some people are meant to make the laws or enforce them. Some feel like their purpose in life is to teach. Some help to save lives and keep people healthy. I was born to be a mother. I would make that happen, one way or another. That much, I was certain. 

We considered waiting a few months, but I couldn’t see how waiting any longer would change our situation. Not long after that last doctor visit, my husband and I made the decision that would change our lives. It was April 2012 when I made the call to our RE telling him we were ready to start the process of IVF. I was signed up for the June 4 cycle. 

Suddenly, I felt relief. It obviously wasn’t an ideal situation, but we were given hope that this could work. We could have a baby. There was an end in sight and while I didn’t have a lot of control over it, I was confident in those that did. It’s amazing how having a plan of action can be so satisfying, even if it isn’t what you thought it would be. The wheels were at least in motion. I could breathe again. 

We signed and notarized our documents, contracts, medical records, etc. I wrote the biggest check I’ve ever written in my life and ordered my meds. Panic set in once I opened my box of meds. 

Even more so once I got my schedule. 

I could write a novel of everything we went through that month: needles, blood draws, ultrasounds, surgery, tears, laughter, and LOTS and LOTS of waiting. Somehow, though, the details don’t seem that important anymore. Not compared to our happy ending, anyway. 

On Tuesday, June 19, 6 days after the doctor transferred 2 (yes, 2!) blastocysts to my uterus, I took yet another blood test. 

My HCG level had to be over a 5 for them to consider it a positive pregnancy test. It came back a 32. I was pregnant! I got the news in my office at work and just stood there with my cell phone, back pressed against the wall, happy tears filling my eyes. I can’t believe I even worked the rest of the day. 

Once home, I took a home pregnancy test and it was positive. I cried again. I had never seen a positive test of my own before. I can’t tell you how much money I spent on them over time, always seeing that stupid single line staring up at me; mocking me. All of a sudden, there were 2 lines. (I must’ve taken more than 10 more tests over the course of the next few weeks…just to make sure!)

I surprised my husband with the news that evening and from there, we told a few friends and family who knew about our IVF journey. It would be another 3 weeks before we would learn that I had just one baby growing inside me, not two, as we originally thought. In that time, I also experienced a fairly common side effect of IVF called ovarian hyper stimulation syndrome. Because my ovaries were stimulated to the size of baseballs (not an exaggeration), some fluid was leaking from them with a surge of HCG (caused by pregnancy), and filled my abdominal cavity. It was as pleasant as it sounds. Luckily it subsided within a few weeks and I got to enjoy the rest of my pregnancy. And did I ever. 

From then on, everything was smooth sailing, and I can honestly say I LOVED being pregnant. Maybe it was because I understood the magnitude of the blessing and miracle I was experiencing and maybe it was just because I knew that in 9 months, I would fulfill my dream. 

Sure enough, at exactly 40 weeks, my son was born. I was a mommy. 

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t cheap. It wasn’t painless. 

It WAS worth it…and so much more. 

I'm gonna pick up the pieces and build a Lego house...

To any mother (old or new) who has ever stepped on one of those tiny, incredible, creative devices of torture known as Legos - this post is for you.  Bonnie of The Joyful Organizer was kind enough to send this post to me and while The Incredible Hulk is still a few years away from playing with Legos - after reading these ideas, I'm TOTALLY inspired to get started organizing RIGHT NOW.

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Legos are some of the best toys out there.  They allow kids to be creative, play independently, and they are a toy that can span many age groups.  However, they are also one of the biggest organizational challenges that parents face.  Here are a few organizing tools and methods for those Legos!

First of all Lego has tried to tap into the organizing of their own toys.  They have specialty organizing bags available.  They are cute, and useful, but can be cost prohibitive.

I like to establish a system and then stick with it.  You can sort by size, color, or even project.  Once you’ve decided how you want to sort, the next step is getting a container that will help you keep pieces in order.  I like organizers that allow you to take a set out, play with it (possibly even in a different location from the storage unit) and then put it away.

Ikea sells great organizers that can be easily labeled.  The drawers pull out easily so your child can play and then put away.  {Editors Note: And, it gives you an excuse to go to IKEA.  Win. Win.}  Above is an organization system established by color. 

Sets of plastic drawers can be purchased at almost any super store and are a great way to allow kids to have a visual of what’s in each drawer.

If you have a smaller amount of Legos, or want to use them on the go, small pencil boxes are a great solution.  You can buy them on sale after the back to school season or at a dollar store.

If you’re tired of Legos all over the floor, try a “pack and play” system like this.  The mats spreads out for your child to play on and then you can scoop it up and store it away with ease.

There are also custom sorters available that allow you to dump the blocks in and the organizer does the sorting for you. This is great for kids who help in the put away process.  It also allows you to move your Lego collection all over the house.

And here's how we organize things at the NMOTB house.  Kidding, it's Legoland.  (Awesome, right?)

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If you'd like to keep up with The Joyful Organizer and find more of these wonderful ideas, check out The Joyful Organizer blog, Facebook page, Twitter, Pinterest boards, and my favorite, The Joy of Organizing Radio Show.

Everybody hurts sometimes...

It's quite amazing who the blogosphere can introduce you to.  I met a woman who happened to live in the same city, frequented the same restaurants, was a new mom herself, and who worked only miles from me.  We never actually met in person before I moved, but I stalk her read her blogs regularly.  She keeps parenting real and often says many of the things I'm thinking, but have never said out loud.  A healthy dose of that realness comes from the amazing love she has for both of her adorable kiddos.  I have never forgotten the first time I read her post about "Having a Sad Moment" and thinking, "This woman is a Guru."

I tried this method out with The Incredible Hulk only a few months ago while my husband was traveling.  I cooked dinner (and by cooked I mean, I actually turned on an oven instead of my usual microwaved chicken nuggets) and when I set it on the table, TIH had a meltdown of epic proportions.  He wanted to eat anything besides my carefully prepared dinner.  We were having breaded pork chops and he wanted a hot dog, pizza, cereal, chicken nuggets (aren't breaded pork chops just glorified chicken nuggets?)  At my wits end, I took him away from the table, set him on the couch with a small cup of milk and a pillow, and said "Do you need to have a sad moment?"  With tears rolling down his face, he sat on the couch, drank his milk, and stroked his hair (touching his own hair is his ultimate self-soother).  Within 5 minutes he was visibly calmer, he set down his milk, and I tentatively asked, "Do you want to eat some bites of your dinner?"  He nodded.  I gave him some ketchup (a compromise) to dip his pork chop in and he ate every. single. bite.  Sad moments?  ARE A DAMN MIRACLE.

Julie is allowing me to share this method on the blog today.  Make sure you add her blog to your list of daily reads.  You will come away laughing so hard you pee and also really appreciating the all of the little things that motherhood has to offer.

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Whether you are in the trenches of the terrible twos or have a child who always runs with high emotions, you are probably looking for a way to both help them through the tantrums and keep from losing your ever-loving shit every time they have a meltdown. In our house, that way is the "Sad Moment".

The Sad Moment is a way to help your toddler deal with their emotions when there is nothing really "wrong". For example, when they want to play with a toy their friend is playing with and get hysterical when you tell them "no". Or when they ask for a cookie before dinner and you tell them they need to wait.

After I explain to The Quiet Contemplator the right thing to do in the situation or why she can't have what she wants, I ask her is she wants to have a Sad Moment. She almost always says yes. I then give her her turtle pillow pet (or any soft stuffed thing you want) and she buries her head in it and cries until she feels better. Usually this lasts less than a minute. 

A Sad Moment with Turtle is kind of just a place for her to put her emotions when she doesn't know what to do with them. It almost always makes her feel better. I am amazed every time she says "yes" when I ask her if she needs a Sad Moment. It is like she knows that she just needs a release. Afterward, she totally rebounds and it is like nothing happened.

I guess this is kind of like a time out, only it helps your kid get rid of all the pent-up emotion while also giving them time to think. I hope this helps some of you. I know it has helped the crap out of us.

Heartbreak warfare...

Hey there.  Let's just pretend I have blogged more than once in the last month.  Fortunately, I have come back to the blog equipped with a great post from yet another sorority sister.  (Oh, you didn't know?  You have to be initiated in the mystic bond in order to post on this blog.  Truth.)

When I first had The Incredible Hulk, I remember breaking down (in one of my many hormonal tizzies) and telling my husband, "I mean, it's bad enough to have to do this when I'm exhausted.  But, what if he gets sick?  What if I get sick?  WHAT IF WE BOTH GET SICK AT THE SAME TIME?!  I can't handle it!  I can't!"

I tell you this so that you know how in awe I am of my guest poster today.  First, Ashley wowed me with her beautiful home:

That is her living room.  I DIE.

Then, she wowed me with her courageous post about fertility struggles.


And, of course...she floored me with her big nursery reveal:

Are you KIDDING ME with the argyle?  LOVE.

But, hearing the amazing story of the birth of her daughter and everything that followed it was when I knew this had to be one of the strongest women I've ever known.  So, I've asked her to share her story here with you today.  It's a long story.  But, if you're like me, you'll hang on her every word.  It might scare you.  But, let's be honest.  All things about having children are scary, and fortunately, this particular condition is one that only occurs in 1 out of every 1300 - 4000 pregnancies.  Read on.  You'll be glad you did.

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The happiest moment in my life will, coincidentally, always be linked to the worst time in my life.

On January 17, 2012, my daughter Audrey was born. Six days later I was diagnosed with a pregnancy-induced form of congestive heart failure known as post-partum cardio myopathy.

I realize I am now a pregnant woman’s worst nightmare (my sister-in-law is pregnant and my father-in-law has reached a new level of paranoia). But I’m not writing this to scare – I’m doing it to educate. I had never heard of PPCM, and I think it’s safe to say that most people haven’t either…and sadly, some doctors and nurses fall into that category as well.

Post-partum cardio myopathy is a disease that affects the heart’s left ventricular ejection fraction (basically you don't produce enough oxygen for your body, causing your heart to work overtime and become enlarged). While what causes PPCM is predicted to be hormone-related, what the actual trigger is, is unknown. What is known is that PPCM starts somewhere between the last month of pregnancy and the first five months post-partum. Somewhere between 1 in a 1,000-4,000 women in the U.S. are diagnosed with this heart disease.

As for me, I had a pretty textbook pregnancy, and then around the 34-week mark, things started to take a turn. It started with swelling and weight gain. While these are two common side effects in pregnancy, mine were drastic. My feet, ankles and legs ballooned up overnight, and in less than 2 weeks I gained 20 pounds (prior to this I had only gained 25). When I talked to my doctor about this, she told me it was normal, that my blood pressure was great and I had nothing to worry about.

Two days after 36-week appointment, I developed a cough. I thought nothing of this because there was a cough going around work. Each day though, my cough and energy level got worse. It got to the point where I had to take breaks on the stairs in my house and getting up to go to the bathroom was absolutely exhausting. My airflow was dropping dramatically.

I knew something was wrong three days after the cough started. That night in bed, each time I tried to recline at all, I felt like I was drowning and wasn’t able to breath. I would quickly sit back up and gasp for air. My chest felt so heavy, like someone was sitting on it. I ended up staying up all night watching TV, because it was just easier.

That afternoon I went to labor & delivery and was monitored overnight. While I had various symptoms – cough, couldn’t breathe, won’t recline below 90 degrees – I was diagnosed with preeclampsia, discharged and put on bed rest until my induction date 8 days later.

The next day, Audrey was born. I could write a novel about the drama of that day alone – but the take-home lesson is this: if you don’t think something is right, listen to your gut and speak up. That decision most likely saved my life. After 8 hours of labor, I was seeing spots, on oxygen and yet completely out of air. I still couldn’t tolerate lying flat. I knew I was not well and something was wrong, so I started asking for a c-section. One of the RNs kept telling me I should do what’s best for “you and the baby” and to keep on pushing.  [Editor's Note:  Is it just me, or does everyone else want to square up on that nurse right now?] Thankfully, my doctor showed up soon after that and honored my request after taking one look at me. I was so grateful, I passed out.

The first thing that happened after the c-section I don’t remember was getting chest x-rays done in the recovery room. Once that was situated and I was put back on oxygen.

I was in labor & delivery for 5 days and no one really discussed my x-ray. A respiratory therapist visited me twice a day, and each one said something different  – I didn’t have pneumonia; I have the beginning stages of pneumonia; I definitely have pneumonia. The only general conscience was to do my breathing treatment every hour and to take my antibiotic.

The day Brent, Audrey and I went home – I knew something was wrong again. The night before, I went off the hospital pain meds, and once again couldn’t lie flat. My condition wasn’t improving, it was getting worse and this realization had me in constant tears. The doctors and RNs assured me that post-partum anxiety and blues were completely normal, and we left the hospital

Four hours later, Brent and I left Audrey with the grandparents and went to the ER. I lucked out with an amazing ER doctor – he actually listened to me about my symptoms. After a chest x-ray, EKG and cat-scan, he found an extreme amount of fluid in my lungs. I was then admitted into the hospital and started lasix (this is a pill used to get ride of access fluid in your body.) 

Ashley, Audrey, and Brent, after Ashley had been readmitted to the hospital.

Taken less than a day later,  one week after Audrey's birth.  It is estimated Ashley lost 6-10 LITERS of fluid.

I naively remember thinking that next morning that I would soon be released from the hospital and life could resume to what it should be with a newborn.

My confusion started when I met with a cardiologist the following morning and realized I was on the cardiac floor. She explained to me that I would be having an echocardiogram done to rule out a rare condition called post-partum cardio myopathy. I tried to listen to what she was saying about PPCM and the success rates, but I couldn’t – my mind was racing and I kept thinking “why are you telling me about this, if it’s rare.” Then she said something that made me freeze – if I do have PPCM it is not recommended to get pregnant again.

Once it was official and I was diagnosed with PPCM, the only thing I could think about was that I couldn’t get pregnant again. Brent and I had just started a family, and all ready doors were closing. It wasn’t until several days later, when I met with the transitions life coach and she handed me a book on congestive heart failure that I truly saw the bigger picture in what was happening to me. She started talking about my new low-sodium diet, but I just kept staring at the pictures in the book – they were all senior citizens. How was this fair? Why was this happening to me? It took us a year to get pregnant, wasn’t that pain enough?

It took me 3 days in the hospital, before I had the courage to google my condition. I was so terrified I’d read something about low survival rates or a shorten life expectancy – I just couldn’t do it. Fortunately, all the statistics were in my favor. With proper medical care, 95% of women diagnosed with PPCM survive, and 50% make a full recovery.

It’s now been 4 months since Audrey was born, and I still don’t know which category I will fall into. While my heart’s ejection fraction has improved 6-10%, it still has a long way to go and the moment my heart stops improving (if it hasn’t reached 40%), a pacemaker is in my future. No matter which direction my health goes, I have a long road ahead of me and I want that road to include educating the world on PPCM.

Last year in Ohio, an 18-year-old girl died of PPCM. She went to the ER 3 different times over the course of a month and each time she was told she had the flu. By the time she was given the proper diagnosis, she was already in a coma and passed away shortly after. This poor girl should still be alive. She did everything right, but her doctors failed her.

It’s my hope that by spreading the word, others don’t have to die. If you are pregnant (or were pregnant less than 5 months ago), know the warning signs for congestive heart failure: cough, difficulty breathing, lack of energy, water retention and trouble reclining. Also, thanks to a new study that came out on PPCM last week, we know also know that if you have preeclampsia or are carrying multiples – you’re at a greater risk of this heart disease. 

It’s important to know your risks and warning signs, because there is no guarantee your doctor will. You have to be your own advocate, and education is the key.

Check out Ashley's blog (one of my favorites.)
http://decoratingobsessed.blogspot.com

Don't give up your independence unless it feels so right...

As I've mentioned on here before, I was an active member of a sorority while in college.  Stop laughing.

After moving into the house my sophomore year, I quickly befriended Erin, a fellow pledge class member and we went about embarking on the deep sort of friendship afforded to me in my sorority days.

One of drinking and debauchery, of course.

Along with another girl we affectionately called "Alien," Erin and I were roommates for a semester.  I honestly can't think of a single memory from that year that doesn't somehow involve Erin or Alien or both, and the fun that would always follow when we would hang out.  Thank God for the Internets, or we would have lost complete contact when I transferred a year later.

Erin is one of the many non-moms who read my blog.  One of the many who I am slowly and single-handedly scaring out of motherhood.  (You're welcome, by the way.)  I asked her a few weeks ago to tell me exactly what scares her about being a mother.  Her response?  Had my spitting coffee out all over the monitor and letting a little pee out.  Oh, what's that?  You didn't know that childbirth may leave you with limited control of your bladder? 

Well congratulations, you do now.




[Passages that look like this are my interjections to Erin's thoughts on motherhood.  For a non mom?  She is SPOT. ON.]

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Motherhood. What an enriching, inspiring and truly unique facet to so many women’s lives. To be one of the many called “mom” can no doubt only be described as an honor and a privilege. I’ve been asked to share my views on this amazing transformation from simply “woman” to “mother” and I believe I can pinpoint my views in two succinct words:

Fucking. Terrifying.

(…oh. Am I not supposed to curse? Is this one of those things? Too bad. Non-mom is in charge now. *swigs wine*)

Hi. I’m Erin. I’m not a mother. I’m pretty certain I never will be. Why? Well, I’m sure many of you reading this will never be able to wrap your head around why I and my fellow empty-wombers are fairly certain we’ll never be holding your title. Here's my attempt to explain.

Childbirth is SCARY
Yours truly here may or may not have, at one point in her life (OK, many points), compared a baby growing inside of a woman to a “gloppy, alien-devil mix waiting to tear me apart.” What can I say? I have a way with words. I’m aware there are magical medical advancements to make you feel only a fraction of the pain of a natural childbirth, but I’m even more horrified of the after-effects. The fact that *that* comes out of *there* with rips and tears [Wait, do you mean “tear” as in rhymes with “year” or tear as in rhymes with “where”?  Nevermind.  Both are appropriate.] and poop…holy balls. Let’s put it this way: Watching the birth scenes of “16 and Pregnant” scares me more than any Chainsaw Massacre in Texas could.  [This is really okay.  EVERYTHING about 16 and Pregnant should scare the ever-loving crap out of you.]

Sleep Deprivation

I don’t function with less than 6 hours of sleep. I can barely work my BlackBerry, put on a pair of pants or properly spell my name, let along take care of another human being, without sleep. I’ve heard moms tell tales of their bundle of joy waking up every hour on the hour and that make me want to curl up and hibernate in my bed for life.  I see myself, circa 4 a.m. holding my hysterical child up to my face crying “What?! What do you want?! WHY CAN’T YOU ACT LIKE A DAMN ADULT FOR ONCE?!!” I’d then I retreat to a corner and eat my hair. Maybe offer some to the baby to shut him up.

Grossness
Our dear, sweet New Mom On The Blog here recently wrote a blog post breezily mentioning something called “meconium.” My innocent little virgin mind had never heard this phrase, so I Google’d it like an idiot and was immediately assaulted with a few handy pictures. What kind of spawn of Satan crap is that? (Literally!?)  People deal with this and don’t hand the baby to some nuns to raise?  [Since you asked, I was going to give you the clinical definition, but after reading it even I am now really freaked out.  Let’s just say it’s the baby’s first poo and leave it at that.  The saving grace is that it seriously is odorless.  So, at least there’s that.]

Then there’s the weirdo 3-month-old-cocktail-wiener-looking umbilical cord nub that dries up and falls off…or whatever it does.  (And don’t get me started on the phrase “mucus plug.”)  [Vom.]

My stepsister, who is currently raising the two most kick-ass nephews in the world regaled me of stories from potty-training her older son. Something that happened? She got his poop all over her hair. Wait, I think I need to reiterate that: POOP IN HAIR. How does that even happen? How does one not set their hair on fire or immediately go GI Jane on themselves?

Public places will never be safe again
Kids bring on immediate embarrassment to everyday life.   My mom and aunt looooove to recount a story of my cousin Drew and I accompanying them to lunch at some fast food restaurant with picnic tables outside. There the four of us were, enjoying our lunch in the open air when a small group of bikers pulled up for some food.  Decked out in bandannas, earrings, leather jackets and chains, these guys were surely just minding their own business while the 4 year old monkeys a few tables down from them kept shrieking “PIRATES!!!! MOM, PIRATES, LOOK!”

I’ve also tried to Eternal Sunshine myself of a situation I had in Target a few years ago involving a “little person” employee and a toddler behind me excited about “THE ELF!!” about to help his mother out. Hoo boy.

Other kids
Fear of motherhood doesn’t end with small children. Ohhhh no.   Other kids can be such assholes to each other! Kids get made fun of for everything, whether it’s what they’re wearing, what they’re eating for lunch, how much money their family has, or how good they are at kickball. [I am already finding myself getting mad at other kids for not playing nice with TIH.  High school is going to be a BLAST.  I am so going to be that mom.]   An even worse fear? My kid being the douchebag. Let’s face it, any kid born to me and whatever man agrees to (or accidentally does) sperminate me would be raised by two sarcastic assholes. My offspring will never have a chance to be the sweet, quiet one. I can already hear principal voicemails asking me for a meeting over my hooligan force-feeding the teachers pet rocks from the playground

While I may sound like a child-hating monster, I want to assure you I’m not. I am simply in awe of every mom out there and the strength they have every day. Though I have truly never felt a need or desire to produce my own mini-me’s, I know some women want nothing more in life than to join the force of motherhood, and that’s a pretty brave thing. While you may never understand me and my ilk, I’d like to hope I shed a small glimmer of light on why what you do (while very selfless and loving) is petrifying to some of us.

Now pass the Chardonnay. I know we can agree on that one.