Saturday, January 30, 2010

Four in the Morning...

It's a cold and snowy day here in Raleigh, and I'm both loving and loathing it. On the one hand, OMGSNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!! On the other hand... I can't get the car out of the driveway (we're on a drastic slope lower than the road and I can't get the van up), everything's closed, I didn't do enough shopping this week so we're lacking a bit in variety, and also.... it's so cold :( And the carpet is wet because someone, or rather someones, keeps going outside to throw snowballs and then coming in and stamping around before taking their shoes off.

All in all, though, I'm enjoying the quiet peace this brings. And Paxton's head just about exploded. My four year old sounded like he had suddenly his puberty given how squeaky he got! Nik and I were both laughing and light hearted this morning, much more than normal, because it truly is awesome to be awakened and/or greeted by such exuberance. Also he slept till 5:30. Much better than 4am.

Which brings me to today's subject...


Four in the morning.

This time holds a few bizarre significances for me, and lately I've been thinking about them more frequently. Perhaps it's because I love to see connections and patterns where maybe there oughtn't be. Or, more likely, it's because I'm up at 4am with a little fusspot most mornings and in the 15 minutes or so between when I get out of bed and when I can actually focus my eyes enough to read a webpage I have some time to think.

Four am....

When I was a child I always had trouble sleeping.


I would lay in bed every night and stare at the ceiling. My screen name on most places, Ladyofmoonlight, is such half because a friend of mine was LordofStarlight and I'm not really original at all, but it's also because my constant companion as a child was the moonlight entering my bedroom window. I've always felt comfortable in the night by the light of the moon, and at the very least during those countless hours spent exhausted and trying to sleep I could always look at the pretty moonlight, slowly falling in love with the color blue (Thank Goodness I have boys... blue it is!).

When I was older I began to unravel the mystery surrounding my severely chronic insomnia. You see, as a teenager I would get to sleep quite late, even if I had to wake up by 6am the next morning. That's not abnormal, too, but I started to realize a theme. Some nights I could get to sleep by 2am, but on my worst nights, even when exhausted, I never felt sleepy until 4am. And then I was out like a light (yeah, for 2 hours... I lived on coffee).

I've been able to change my schedule, through a mix of medication, pattern, and simply bearing it. Part of the reason I can handle the sleeplessness of raising an infant is because I've been sleepless my whole life. Well, except for a couple of years there...

I worked for a year after college, but I was miserable. Nik made me promise that if he could find a job that would support both of us I would quit and take some time off. It was supposed to be temporary. I haven't worked out of the house since then.

And then the sleep thing... I felt bad. I wanted to be awake for Nik but very soon I reverted back to my "teenager on a weekend" schedule, my true schedule. With nothing stopping me anymore I began to fall asleep at 4am. Every night. Nearly without fail. While I needed drugs to fall asleep at any other time, at 4am I was actually, honest to God sleepy. I could sleep! For the first time in my life! I got 8 hours straight like any old normal person! It was wonderful!!!

I've come to learn that this is called Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder, a lifelong and cureless condition that is simply worked with and not worked through. Ah well. Much better to know then to always hate on myself. I always wondered what was wrong with me, why I was so broken, what I was doing so dang wrong that I couldn't even sleep. Was I so broken a person that I couldn't even handle the most basic of abilities? Now, at least, I know.

I know that 4am is my magic time.

Too bad, though. Now it's wake up time :)

Before Ambrose came home, back when I started pumping, I used to wake up at 4am every day to pump. It was... bizarre. I'd take my pills (Benadryl then as I didn't know any better) and wake up at 4am, sometimes sleepy but often fully awake. I'd eat my oatmeal, take my pills and read fanfiction on my iPhone while pumping out a few ounces, then pack it up, wash my equipment and go back to bed where I'd eventually get back to sleep (usually) and wake up around 7. Four in the morning was both a hated time (I wanted to sleep dammit!) and a loved time (ah, peace and quiet, how I missed thee!).

After Ambrose came home, in fact, immediately after, Paxton began to wake up at 4am. Every day. Almost on the dot. It was hell.

He'd always been such a good sleeper, 3 hours in the afternoon and 10+ at night. Then suddenly... this. This 4am thing.

The time that had been "the middle of the night" only a couple months earlier was suddenly "morning!" It was... odd. To say the least.

We're still battling that one, still have some days of 4am rising. And here I used to witch and moan about 6:30 am being too early! I have to admit, everytime I see someone on a message board complain that their kid wakes up at 6 and it's "too early to even think straight!" I want to laugh. Try four am, hon.

I remember reading in Wuthering Heights, a book I didn't much like, that the characters rose for the day at 4 am. This made no sense to me, even with the knowledge that they were going to sleep when the sunlight disappeared. Somehow, I've been thinking about this lately, how that stuck with me because it seemed so bizarre, so out of the norm...

And I've been thinking about how much that single hour of the day has changed so much for me. From sleeptime to middle of the night to wake up time. Nearly every morning I'm out of bed between 4 and 4:30, taking Mr. Fussy downstairs to calm down so he doesn't wake his brother, getting him to sleep but then staying down here for good measure until Nik wakes up at 6 to take him. I dream of the day, post small-child, when I might at last be able to return to my normal schedule. Perhaps I'll take up poetry in my 50's and spend my evenings and late nights at jazz clubs and coffee houses, living in my normal time as set by my whacked up circadian rhythm. Something to aspire to, no?

And in the meantime I can also start to ruminate over the fact that just about every afternoon I check the time at 4:20 on the dot. Like, every day. And I've never smoked pot. I'm confused by this...

Now... back to watching Asian dramas on youtube :)

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

It's "Boy and Girl" not "Boy vs Girl"

So my computer tells me it's currently 5:18am. I fell asleep around 11:30pm and woke up several times during the night. I was out of bed at 4:45am so as to not wake Nik or Paxton (suddenly cuddled up with Nik) with the fussy baby, who is now contentedly snoozing in his bouncy chair downstairs while I surf the net. Which would be fun except I'm exhausted and this morning story, after a week and a half, is starting to get old. On the plus side it's also starting to get better. We diagnosed Ambrose with "silent" reflux last week and on Friday the doctor prescribed Prevacid. We saw a difference near instantly. I'll take fussing any day over the shrieks of pain that I just can't seem to soothe...


So since I have the time, and since my brain is all whirry since my last post, I'm going to touch on the subject I ended on: Would pursuing the conception of a biological child harm my children now? Would it somehow affect their sense of self worth or make them feel that they simply weren't good enough and thus we needed to pursue treatments? Is it even worth trying when we already have great kids, know there are more great kids out there, and don't really care about genetics? (Okay, I just added that last one... we'll see if I get to that!)

I suppose I should start off by explaining the title of this post: 'It's "Boy and Girl" not "Boy vs Girl."' You see, the way we've always seen our family being built included both children by birth and children by adoption. Just as most people who want to build their family hope for both a boy and a girl. It wasn't that either was preferable to us, though we certainly thought we'd be achieving one goal first. That's the norm, right? Give birth once or twice and then think about adoption? I certainly end up in enough conversations with people who always considered both options, got pregnant easily, and are now (one or two children in) considering adoption again. It's just how it happens in our society. You give birth and then you adopt. Not the other way around.

And yet that obviously isn't how it worked out for us.

We wanted both, absolutely positively, or at least I did. My husband could care less where our children come from honestly. I just wanted to experience pregnancy, experience bonding from conception, experience (*gasp*) childbirth. I wanted that experience JUST as bad as I wanted the experience of paper chasing, getting "the call" and having our new child placed in our arms. To me these were always equal, always the same but obviously different. Just as most women say they want a son and a daughter, I too wanted to experience both worlds.

But, to use my own analogy... Say there was a woman who wanted both a son and daughter equally. Say they in fact wanted a daughter first, so that she'd be the oldest, the big sister. And yet it didn't happen. This doesn't mean she doesn't love her oldest, her wonderful son. In fact she's thankful every day that things ended up the way they did because if they hadn't she would never have had him. She loves him and adores him and wants more sons because of him. And she gets more sons. But no daughters.

Even years later, fully entrenched in the life of raising boys and all it entails, even totally consumed and distracted by her family whom she loves with all her heart... there's still that ache. That need. That want. A daughter. How great does that sound? Just one... And she knows that she has the chance do go for it. There's room in their home and the possibility of success. It's an option, but...

If she pursues this girl, gives it her best shot, puts money and strength and time and energy and emotion behind it... what about her sons? Will she be forced to admit to them that she always wanted a daughter? What if the oldest finds out she wanted a daughter first? What if others find that out too? What if they, mere children, believe that she's doing this only because she was never satisfied with them? What if they think they aren't good enough because she's putting so much energy trying to create someone so not them?

Outside of the analogy it gets even more difficult as society itself sees adoption as second best. Second choice, second rate, never sought after from the beginning. Adoption literature and adoption agency websites are full of commiseration over infertility and how no one chooses adoption first. People are constantly telling stories about the person who tried to conceive for years and years then finally adopted and ended up pregnant. It's even a cliche in popular media. And people really believe it, that if adoption is followed by a successful pregnancy then THAT'S the happy ending, not the child newly joined with the family.

And I don't want that.

I'm effing LIVING my happy ending as I type this. As exhausted as I am at this moment I can tell you that I'm totally, 110% in love with my husband and sons. I don't hold any grudges toward my husband for his infertility nor do I see my children as second choice or second best.

And yet I'd still love to be pregnant someday...

How do I resolve that fact? By simply loving all over my children constantly and making it clear that pursuing fertility treatments in no way changes their status? How? How does one explain this to children?

Even more importantly... how does one explain this to every other dang person who I know would suddenly see our children as somehow second rate. Because they are out there. There are people who have no trouble talking about this directly in front of a child who has been adopted, making it clear that it's the pregnancy and the biological child who is so much more wanted and celebrated.

Do I just cocoon our family? Downplay joy and excitement? Or just hope for it to somehow happen naturally without treatments, so that our children don't have to see us pursuing it for so long?

Or even just... give up. Say that we're happy with our family and will be eternally happy with our family and won't pursue any other means of family building.

My only fear there is that, well... what if we regret it? What if we forever regret not even giving it a shot? I think I could live very well with trying and failing. I'm not so sure about how I'd live with not even trying at all...

Of course, hehe... I suppose we could simply go for embryo adoption. Simply being a silly word to use of course. But maybe that would fit our family better...

For the moment, though, we're focussing on our two sons and on adopting #3, because we feel pulled to adopt again, very strongly. So any plans for conception are on hold through the infancies of #2 and #3, meaning I have years to wrap my head around all this and formulate the plan that might best work for our family.

I suppose only time will tell...

Monday, January 25, 2010


So I guess I should, at least once, talk about infertility. I mean, it's not like infertility is a huge facet of our lives but still... it's there. And it's obviously influenced the way our lives have gone. Through reading many, many infertility blogs I think I'm finally finding a sort of peace with it. In fact, recently I found that I wasn't at peace with it at all, so I guess through reading other's words I'm finally realizing that A) yes, we're infertile (hooray denial!), B) we didn't do anything to become at peace with infertility and C) we're glad for it.

So I guess I'll be addressing those points middle school style. Ah, how long has it been since I had an opening paragraph, three points and a conclusion? 10th grade maybe? This brings me back :)

But to get on with it....

OMG, we're infertile. Infertile, infertile, infertile. We began dating when he was 17 and I was 19 and used protection religiously, and even took pregnancy tests for every twinge that seemed out of place. But we were infertile and didn't know it. We discussed our family, knowing full well we'd "eventually" adopt but so certain that our young, oh so fertile loins would produce offspring near instantaneously. We were young! In the prime of our youth! And we were infertile. We bought a house in a nice town in a nice neighborhood with a painted nursery. I babysat in exchange for baby items. We wrote down our favorite names. We talked about which month we wanted our first (and second) to be born. Infertile, infertile, infertile. And we got married. And I stopped taking the pill. And we stopped using condoms. And we didn't even pray or hope or anything because, dangit, we were 21 and 23 and seriously who ever heard of people THAT age having a problem conceiving? Inconceivable!

I thought I'd conceived on the honeymoon. In Disney World I touched my stomach and felt phantom twinges. Would it be a boy or a girl? Should I pick up the adorable Winnie the Pooh onesie in the gift shop as a souvenir? Would we give it a Disney inspired name?

A week later we were at the mall. I'd had a negative test that morning but I wasn't letting it get me (too) down. We walked past Pottery Barn Kids, and adjacent to it Pottery Barn baby. I went to the restroom. I had my period. And it was fierce. I came out to find my husband gazing wistfully at the store display. I think that was one of the most horrific moments of my life.

But it was only the first month trying, and I'd only just come off the pill. I had to give it time!!!

We didn't give it too much time, though.

Over the next 6 months I saw the doctor, who didn't see any issues but suspected PCOS if only because my sister has it. I set up a blog dedicated just to keeping watch over my cycle, talking about our future baby, dreaming and hoping and ranting and raving and even whining about my husband when he wasn't in the mood when it was obviously time for him to be so. I joined and got to know many of the moms-to-be on there. I told everyone, EVERYONE, we were trying to conceive.

Then... it happened. A woman* on epreg posted a note about how they just got their semenalysis results. There was only one sperm in the whole sample. And it was dead. Cue a rush of everyone in our little online group calling their doctors and coaxing their husbands. We shared stories of what it took to convince our men to do this for us (and our future children). We breathed sighs of relief collectively as, one by one, the results came back just fine. Except... well, my husband was willing to take the test, but not willing to call the clinic. Perhaps he knew, inherently, that something was wrong. And it was.

Our last cycle before finding out I was a week late. I tried to disregard negative tests. It's easy to get a false negative, right? I just... felt pregnant. I was so certain. My breasts felt like they were bigger. My stomach twinged. I felt nauseous. It had to be. IT HAD TO BE.

And then the bitch came, with a vengeance. I had everyone online rooting for me, too, and I felt like I'd let them down. And Nik down. And my family down. And my future children down. I was a failure.

So, honestly, it actually was a bit of a relief when my husband casually told me that he'd called to get his results. He was infertile. Tons of sperm with spindly tails and tiny heads, only 1% or less normal in a sea of swirly mutant spermies. Three more tests since then have showed similar results (actually the last two his sperm count drastically dropped).

We grieved, him silently staring at a tv screen and me weeping on the bed and in my best friend's arms.

We studied fertility treatments. Looked at clinics. Looked at IUIs and IVF and sperm donation if we needed to.

And we made a decision.


It was easy, really. We'd established on our second date that we'd both always hoped to adopt. It was a life goal. And I recall us both saying "even if I never have a biological child, I want to adopt."

Looking back I realize it was also a way to ignore a problem. We knew we were infertile and we were letting our life change course because of that fact, but we didn't want to acknowledge it. We kept saying "we'll adopt now and do fertility treatments later, if we feel like." There was no making peace with our infertility. There was only the need, the raw hungry need, to become parents.

And I'm glad for it. Without that need and that drive and that, well, denial, I don't think we'd have Paxton. And as much at that boy drives me absolutely bat-poo insane I love him and am grateful every day that we were blessed with our incredible, intelligent, spontaneous, exasperating and hilarious little boy. He is truly a treasure, as is his brother, and had we pursued fertility treatments we might never have even met our incredible sons, let alone have the joy and privilege of being their parents.

And yet....

And yet.

We are still infertile. We are still incapable of conceiving a child without fertility treatments, and we don't even know if we could conceive one with treatments.

This alone sets us apart from so, so many of our peers. And the older I get the more I realize it.

When Paxton first entered our lives, people we knew that were our age weren't settling down yet. We were different because we were settled, with a marriage and house and child. And now... they're getting married. They're buying houses. And they're conceiving with ease... Now, we're still different, but for a new reason. And I've realized, recently, that the older I get the more obvious this will become.

I try not to let it bother me, and 99.999% of the time I honestly don't give a flying poo. So what if the people on the breast feeding forums talk about when they're going to conceive #2 (or 3 or 4) as if they're planning when to go to the movies? Why would I care if people I know discuss losing pregnancy weight? Who gives a rat's patootie if my friends are all being told "wow, your son/daughter looks just like you/has your eyes/is a mini me!"? The fact is we chose this life and we love it, and we love our children for who they are, and we truly are a happy family. We know how blessed we are.

And yet... there's that little bit, that .001% bit, that still aches. That still wishes. That still hurts. Some days I see a pregnant belly and while much of me calmly acknowledges I wanted that, some innate part of me screams And I still want that! And sometimes when I hear a birth story I wish, if only for a second, that I'd actually been able to have that home birth I'd planned on. And when I look to the future and think about adoption #3 sometimes I think, Well, we did plan to adopt 3, but what about #4? Is it possible? Should we try it?

We have time, and I think that's the hardest part of coming to terms with our infertility. We're young. Very young, by some standards. I'm 27, my husband 25. If we bring our next child home in 2 years I'll be 29 and him 27. Even if we want to give birth before hitting "advanced maternal age" that would still be a 6 year window in which to try, already with 3 wonderful children at home. It's hard to truly be at peace when there's still the possibility hanging over your head.

But I think... I'm finding some peace now, by acknowledging that I was very much not at peace beforehand. And I'm starting to embrace my identity for all that it includes. Perhaps, even if we never try to conceive again, and even if we find there's no chance in the world that we even could conceive... perhaps I'd be absolutely fine with that. Because I love my life and I love my kids, and they are absolutely MY OWN kids, and truly I don't think it would even be possible to love anyone ever more than I love the 4 year old napping upstairs or the baby sleeping at my breast.

I still have a ways to go, I believe. And I think there'll always be a twinge of pain, just a tiny one, at the thought of never being pregnant. But I'm okay with that. I'm allowing that. I'm accepting my own humanity and my own emotions and realizing that not only is this normal, but it's common. There are people like me everywhere. And while we may choose different paths (adoption, treatments, living child free), we start from the same place and feel the same pain. I'm realizing, more and more, that I'm part of this community as well, this group of women, of families, who expected one way of life and ended up with another all because of our own fertility or lack thereof.

Okay, I should end this now as it really hasn't gone the way I'd planned. But I think I'll revisit the subject as needed. I always feel better working out emotions through writing, and this is certainly no different.

I will leave off with my one big conundrum... if we were to pursue fertility treatments in the future, would it harm our children? In other words, would they think we were doing it because we didn't see them as good enough? Or is it just the same as adopting a child after giving birth? This... is my greatest fear. Not the fear of treatments not working, but the fear of accidentally causing my most beloved children to believe they were somehow "less than", somehow less wanted and coveted and loved. Perhaps I'll write about that next time I'm feeling introspective.

*I found out later they adopted from Russia.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Morning Quick Post

Need to get ready for school in 10 minutes, leave in 20, so I don't have much time to post buuuuut....

Paxton had another meltdown. It was this past Sunday, in the morning. His last meltdown was the last time we went to church, and it was awful. The veil came down over his eyes and he struck out physically.

Bet you can guess what caused the meltdown....

He'd just been so great at school and at home, and we didn't know what to do with ourselves on a rainy Sunday morning so we thought "I know, let's try church again!" Paxton didn't react at first to it. Then he did. And it was bad.

The sad thing is even while kicking and spitting he still kept saying that he wanted to go to church, but it was pretty obvious that this was what was upsetting him. It was sad. It took us adamantly saying that we would not be going right now and cuddling him awhile and he calmed down.

Then he was back to the new normal: kind, a bit mischievous, but uses his words and describes his feelings.

That's when he broke my heart. We were in the car and he told me "when I was baby Paxton, I lived in Ethiopian. I was all alone, and I was sad, and I cried and cried and cried and I missed my mommy and my daddy and my Ambrosey. I wanted you to come and cuddle me. Then you did! And I wasn't lonely anymore! Thank you for coming to Ethiopian to cuddle me."

So yeah, I didn't break down crying (on the outside) but even thinking about it now...

So somehow church reminds him of his time in Ethiopia. Interesting. Preschool doesn't seem to at least.

Also interesting to note that he seems to feel that Ambrose has always been a part of our family. In fact he recently brought me a spare Christmas card we had lying around, with our family photo on it, just to point to Brosey and say "he's my favorite because he smiles at me." He utterly adores his baby brother.


The Kids Exchange is this week. I'm preparing to spend too much money...


Have started to use the Neti Pot every morning. Wow, the difference that makes! I can breath through my nose!


Have started to go for a walk every day. A bit of a difference there too. I really enjoy it.


I loooooove Paxton's preschool. It's so awesome, and he loves it there. They use gentle discipline and really make a connection with their kids. I'm very happy to have found them.


Sesame Street is a part of our daily ritual now and I'm totally fine with that, even if it adds up to 2 hours of tv a day.


I'm seriously loving shopping at Trader Joe's, if only for the incredibly friendly service. Also their frozen blueberries are the cheapest around.


Okay, a million more snippets I'd love to add but it's time to change a dipey, get myself put together, put the laundry in, shoes on, and out the door. Yay!

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

You know you're crazy when...

You have a 3 month old and you start to seriously think about adding another one. Maybe it's because Paxton's doing so well in preschool and I'm getting a break, or maybe it's because Ambrose made it through another growth spurt and is sleeping a bit better at night again, or maybe it's both, or maybe it's that silly little internal voice starting up again, that same out-of-nowhere voice that lead us to our first two children. Dunno.

The big question has been:
-Another baby?
-An older child between the age of our kids?

Either one wouldn't really disrupt birth order and might be equally hard. And older child would need more time with bonding and attachment, a baby would need more physical care. And there's a need for homes for both. In the end, it's a toss up, though we're leaning toward baby. I feel kind of bad typing this, but Paxton had an anxious attachment and really, between him and Ambrose, A was just easier to add to our family. But we don't regret Paxton or the process we went through with him at all, and I know we wouldn't regret another child who needed that extra care, even if it was very hard at that time....

I don't know. I get the feeling it will be "baby" again though.

Still no clue if we'll ever try fertility treatments, either. Lactation took away all fertility from me so we can't even TTC while A is nursing, which I intend to let him do until at least a year and likely beyond.


I just have to mention... I found an agency that works in Congolese adoptions and seems to be able to get home very young babies very quickly (and ethically) and the children are greatly in need. I'm tempted. Very tempted. As hard as it might be... we do have a Congolese population in our area and the children are in need, and if we started the process when A is a year then by the time he's 2 he'd likely have a little brother... or sister....

But likely brother....

I'm totally loving my boys. I might change and want a girl next time around but right now? Most people won't ask for boys and they're just so precious. I wouldn't mind a home full of boys I think :)

Ah, the time! I need to get dressed and leave for preschool in 10 minutes! Eep!

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Tired, will ramble

I am so, so, so tired. Not emotionally, thank God, but physically. The baby hit a growth spurt last Monday and for about a week we were up most of the night, and since my insomnia makes it dang near impossible to take a nap or fall asleep within the 1-2hr window of childlessness Nik gives me at night... well, I wasn't sleeping much. Yesterday was much better with Ambrose sleeping well at night, then waking up at 4:45am. At least I was rested enough to get up with him. Then this morning... around 2am I got a bleb. That's a nipple blister. And it sucks. Sucks so much that it makes sucking suck. Ugh. It seriously felt like Ambrose had sprung a row of fangs and was chomping down while eating. And since Ambrose decided to sleep pretty much latched to me last night... yeah, not much sleep. Then I couldn't fall back asleep after Nik took him at 6am :( Insomnia is horrific...


Paxton is learning sooooo much at preschool! Puts my homeschooling attempts to shame, really, probably because they don't have a baby to focus on and he's seeing other kids learn this stuff too. He's figuring out how to share and play nicely, following most of the rules, behaving well, etc. He's also figuring out which letters words start with, singing new songs, starting to write his name (!!!) and recognize it, and just in general learning a ton. I'm... impressed.

He had a rough weekend, and openly admitted that he missed school and wished he was there. Then he had a bit of an overwhelming day at school too, but he was generally happy. Hopefully it will only take a few weeks of this for him to figure out the groove, and be able to adjust to weekends or weekdays. He just loves his consistency!


I'm in love with Trader Joe's. I never got what people saw in it. First trip to the one in Cary did not impress me at all. But last week I decided to try out the new one just down the street from me, and what did I find? Tons of healthy and/or organic food at WalMart prices, with fun music playing, friendly staff, and great variety. I actually ENJOYED shopping! And I stayed within my budget. There are a few things I can't get there, but for the most part I should be able to get our weekly supplies at TJ's.


Alright, it's just about time for school and the baby isn't dressed yet! GTG!!!

Tuesday, January 5, 2010


Paxton starts preschool today. We'll be there, getting him settled, in less than an hour. Right now I'm sitting at the computer with a growth spurting baby (nursed to sleep) lying on my lap. And P is watching Sesame Street on TV, which we have now that Nik bought an antena for our house.

I'm... nervous.

Really nervous.

OMG, it's not ME going to school!!! Why am I so nervous?

Granted I'm a little worried about how P will act and what issues might surface, and he's already being really hyper with me today. He knows what's up and he's nervous himself, which is why I'm letting him watch TV (it tends to mellow him). In fact I think this might be our normal morning for awhile, him watching SS and me surfing the net before I drop him off. Hey, if he's going to spend 3 hours being constantly stimulated and learning a billion things every morning I can't be too worried about an hour or so of TV beforehand can I? Especially if it keeps him from getting more and more worked up over the OMG School! concept.

So, here's hoping for a fast and easy transition, for a fun day, for new friends and for lots of learning. Today... is a turning point. Today is important. Today is his first day of school, preschool yes, but still school and he's old enough to remember it.


Dangit, why are my kids growing up so fast?!?!?!?

Friday, January 1, 2010

Happy New Year!!!

Wow. Wow, the year is gone. All I'd wanted to accomplish in 2009 was, well, accomplished. And that was the adoption :) I'm not sure what the plan is for 2010. I think just "survive and enjoy my boys" will be this year's goal, with 2011 perhaps being adoption #3.

Today I slept till 8:30, after handling A's fussy phase from 4:30 to 5:30, then feeding and handing him off at 6:30. A's sleeping better and better and I think the fussy phase was probably a result of a nighttime poop that Nik discovered this morning. Poor guy! It's such a rare occurence and he was a bit fussy but didn't cry or anything, and no stink. But he survived. P slept only till 5am today but woke up happy and awake and that's all that really matters. Life is good :)

We're now all hanging out downstairs in the family room. Nik and Paxton are playing with trains on the floor, Ambrose is napping after an uber long nursing session, and I'm surfing the net. It's a calm, pleasant morning, the norm for our weekends now. It's a good day. We're happy :)

I'm not sure what the point of this post is. To recap the year? To look forward to the next year? To wax poetic about this current day of transition from one year to the next? Not a clue.

But I would like to get down in writing that right now, at this very moment, I'm feeling very hopeful. Hopeful that the boys will only continue to grow up well. Hopeful that preschool, which starts Tuesday, will prove to be great for Paxton. Hopeful that Ambrose will keep growing big and strong and that this next year will see him becoming a small child. Hopeful that Nik will feel fulfilled this year. Hopeful that I'll continue to see great friends, meet great friends, and enjoy my life both with and without my family. Hopeful that we'll have a fun year full of growth and new experiences as we have our first baby in the family to mark swift changes. Just hopeful for a good, blessed year. And hope for all of my friends to be equally blessed. For the friends in flux to find their place, for the friends waiting for their newest child to have them home soon, for the friends looking for meaning to find it. And economic recovery. That would be good too.

K, I obviously haven't had enough coffee today. I'm not going to do some searches to see if I can find anyplace open and maybe go there and drink coffee. Or maybe I'll take a shower. Or something. Or coffee. More coffee? I need the wakings.

Happy New Year y'all!