Drew (the 7th grader) is attending a charter school this year. I won't tell you specifically WHICH charter school for fear he will be booted from the school. It's one of the few local charter school in our district, and we were ecstatic he made it up the "waiting list" for this year. However, I am findiing that charter schools are their own animal. Despite amazing test scores, and Drew finally being "happy" managing the rigors of middle school, charter schools ... hmmmm. Thus far, I have attended one back to school night. I was surrounded by clogs, broom skirts, no bras, and questionable personal hygiene. I wanted to take off my bra to fit in, but Jon suggested at 4 months pregnant, this wouldn't be pleasant for anyone. I concur.
The principal was very excited about back to school night. So much so that he made the comment, (seriously, I can't make this up), "Students and parents, this is my favorite night of the year, I am just BURSTING with excitment! In fact, I am bursting with so much excitement, those of you in the front row jsut might have to wipe it off your front brow." I tried to look around the gymnasium at other parents and students to see if their mind went the same place as mine ... but I was to involved trying to get my shaking husband (shaking uncontrollably with inner laughter so he would not burst) to pull it together. Noone, from my viewpoint, seemed bothered by the bursting principal. Jon had to leave the gym.
The "dean of students" talked about creating relationships with the students to maintain communication and thus high grades/test scores. They actually have quite the intervention system in place for kids who even begin to struggle. I was impressed. However, in their quest to create relationships, there are certain tactics put into place I think better reserved for a pre school classroom (at least that's the last place I saw this tactic utilized, in Bradyn's MONTESSORI preschool where feelings are VERY important). There is ... wait for it ... daily circle time. Now, you have to understand, Drew is in 7th grade. Please imagine in your heads what YOUR 7th grade year was like. Would "circle time" EVER have happened without utter hysterical laughter and a crying hopeless teacher? No, it would not.
I asked Drew after the meeting about circle time. He was insistent he had no idea what I was talking about. I probed further and asked Drew if during said cirlce time the person holding the stick was the only person who could speak. Long silence ... "it's a flower." It's a what? "Freaking hell mom, it's a flower, okay, and it means love and peace ... " I don't remember exactly what the rest of the flower meant ... because at this point I had lost all semblance of control and with my old pregnant uterus pushing down on my old bladder, peeing my pants was becoming inevitable. Hmmm, so I probed further and asked Drew more about "circle time". He tried desperately to defend this special time of day saying, "geez mom, okay, we all turn our chairs around and are in a circle!" What do you talk about in circle time? "I dunno." Seriously, do you have circle time every day? "Fine, we do, today we talked about if we were a superhero what power would we have?" Hmmm, what was your power? "To fly ..." In my mind I thought, "perhaps to fly out of circle time?"
Since the parents of the charter school have bought into this "circle time" you can only imagine the vast amount of extra time on their hands ensuring their children's safety and success. Many of these children are still breastfeeding, I'm pretty sure, no concrete evidence. Which leads me to carpool ... in public school you pick up your kid and at the end of the day if there are any kids left the office may get worried and call you, maybe. The public school is pretty content with the fact that if your kid comes back the next day, they were probably picked up by someone the day before and made it home.
Charter school ... a carpool nightmare lovingly referred to as “drive line”. Drive line at charter school involves a higher advanced degree of education to be understood. I asked if there was a “drive line” class and was snickered at for my obvious idiocy. There are numbers assigned to kids, blue tooth devices flashing on television screens in each classroom when said numbers enter the drive line parking lot so students can exit said classrooms, and parents vying to be on the “car pool” list. Apparently car pool list is a special honor reserved for the parents that sign up early enough in the summer, and have multiple kids in their SUV’s and mini vans. Personally, I’m pretty sure it’s for the parents who donate the most $ to Flagstaff … since we’ve already been hit up twice for money … after paying the $300 in “student fees”. Oh, and to put lemon juice in an already obvious drive line open wound, the school is being sued by the business park across the street for not getting said parents OUT of the street fast enough during drive line.
I don’t think anyone at chsrter school has time to graph CSAP scores, they’re still trying to master drive line. Perhaps this complicated drive line system could be enlisted at all schools ... and start charging a per kid $300 student fee every year. You could use the fee to pay instructors to teach the new drive line system, and pay for the blue tooth devices and subsequent computerized system telling kids in each classroom when their number comes up and they are excused. Parents would be so engrossed and confused, CSAP scores will no longer be important … or any other classroom activity in general. Your teachers will cheer for the welcome break from complaining parents with WAAAAY to much time on their hands. Maybe that’s charter school's evil plan?
Despite it all, drive line, circle time, and a principal bursting with excitement, Drew's happy and at the end of the day that's what is most important. Bradyn will never leave public school, he's far to social ... and I'm pretty sure the first day of circle time would be his last. Bradyn isn't a quiet follower like his brother, he'd probably have to make a comment ... which would trigger a phone call home ... which would be his last day.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 27, 2010
IAB ... it's a boy, and my body is not pleased! LOL!
An updated tour through my uterus.
Last Friday I went to lunch with Jon. Immediately following lunch, I got a sudden searing pain followed by contractions. I assumed it was horrible heartburn (we had noodles and company and I doused my noodles in hot sauce, this kid is loving everything hot) from my overzealous use of the hot sauce. When the contractions started, I got a little concerned, and Jon took me to the ER. Long story short … after a WAAAY to long visit (I hate and avoid ER’s at all costs) and multiple tests/ultrasounds they determined a couple things: a) I am having early contractions, b) I have a complete placenta previa c) my placenta has torn a bit off the side of my uterus (hence sudden pain) d) I have a clot in my placenta (which I already knew about from a couple weeks ago and the doctor is hoping it just resolves itself e) my cervix is low.
The doctor consulted with my perinatologist in Denver and I was ordered to “stay down”. Perinatologist called me Monday and said I needed to come in for an appointment, and stay down until I did. In that conversation he ran over all the worst case scenarios, permanent bed rest, hospitalization for months towards the end, early delivery, cesarean, etc. etc. Sometimes I think specialist are a little too careful. With three kids, this is totally NOT an option! Jon and I weighed all the news over the next few days, checked into the exorbitant costs of a nanny ($1500/month for 5 days a week with Caden!), I stayed down, and finally saw the perinatologist yesterday.
Perinatologist said the following: until 20 weeks when the baby gets heavier, he’s not horribly concerned, I am on light activity, clot is resolving, blood thinners are working, placenta IS torn from the side of the uterus, but it’s a small tear and the placenta still has a chance of, as I say, to “grow feet and crawl back up my uterus where it is supposed to be”. The placenta NOT crawling back up the uterus can cause problems later in the pregnancy as the baby gets larger, there is more pressure on the cervix, etc. and there is a chance of loss of oxygen/nutrients to the baby and an emergency cesarean for me. The baby and I chatted about this situation. He has grown rather fond of food and oxygen, and I am rather fond of no cesarean, so we’ve agreed the body needs to get on board on cooperate. Early contractions, sort of normal with multiple pregnancies and an (he tried to put this lightly) “older” uterus, and all blood work looks fine. Most important, baby is growing steadily, except it has a penius and hat’s just not right. = ) But, Jon and I make cute and cuddly little boys (carbon copies of course) so at least I already know what it will look like and it's another chance to actually take early baby photos to tell all the boys was "them as babies" when they ask as adults ... since they all look the same, I can pull it off. I'm so bad at getting their picutres taken. Again, no worries until the baby is heavier.
Despite everything, I’ve been incredibly lucky with my healthcare. My perinatologist is literally considered to be “the best in the west”. Women come and see him from all parts of the western united states (Arizona, Utah, New Mexico, Nevada, etc. etc) because he’s “the best”. How I managed to become a patient of his is a series of events that all fell perfectly into place from day one. So I told mom when the supposed “best” tells me not to worry right now, I’ll take that.
On a lighter note, literally, as of yesterday’s appointment I’ve lost 18 lbs since my first weigh in back in late June. The nurse is not pleased, and I’m pretty sure she thinks I have an eating disorder because I give a little delighted cheer with every weigh in saying, “hmm, losing weight in pregnancy, now there’s a concept.” She nudged me last appointment to gain weight, she demanded yesterday when she sees me again I WILL have gained weight and not lost any more. Jon tried to tell her that maybe I lost another pound because I puked on the way down to the hospital. LOL! I told her the baby could live off the fat of the land for some time, including the extra 30 lbs still on my frame from baby #3.
She said, “uh, no.” and suggested I drink two smoothies every day with protein powder. Uh, no. She then tried to tell me she knows Moms that lost 45 lbs a week after giving birth, so I need to gain weight and not worry about it. I looked out the doorway into the hallway at all the multiple pictures of my perinatologist holding bundle after bundle of quints he delivered. I thought, “yeah, maybe if I had quints I’d lose 45 lbs in a week.” Pretty sure she lies. Then she suggested eating just before bed, and in the middle of the night, followed by one more chow round upon waking (with, of course, a cooler packed by the side of my bed, idiot) so I wouldn’t puke on command every morning. When you KNOW you’re going to chuck up whatever you put down your craw, food sort of loses it’s comforting pleasure.
BUT, cravings are still weird as hell. Jon and I stopped at Cracker Barrel on the way home for lunch and I proceeded to chow down a bowl of collard greens like a prisoner on death row eating their last meal. Who knows why? I never ate that crap when Grandma made it, but yesterday it was delicious. Everything I eat has to be HOT, and there is not enough hot sauce on the planet to help me in my endeavors. I think I might ask Kati for some of my brother in law Juan’s favorite delicacies. LOL!
Last Friday I went to lunch with Jon. Immediately following lunch, I got a sudden searing pain followed by contractions. I assumed it was horrible heartburn (we had noodles and company and I doused my noodles in hot sauce, this kid is loving everything hot) from my overzealous use of the hot sauce. When the contractions started, I got a little concerned, and Jon took me to the ER. Long story short … after a WAAAY to long visit (I hate and avoid ER’s at all costs) and multiple tests/ultrasounds they determined a couple things: a) I am having early contractions, b) I have a complete placenta previa c) my placenta has torn a bit off the side of my uterus (hence sudden pain) d) I have a clot in my placenta (which I already knew about from a couple weeks ago and the doctor is hoping it just resolves itself e) my cervix is low.
The doctor consulted with my perinatologist in Denver and I was ordered to “stay down”. Perinatologist called me Monday and said I needed to come in for an appointment, and stay down until I did. In that conversation he ran over all the worst case scenarios, permanent bed rest, hospitalization for months towards the end, early delivery, cesarean, etc. etc. Sometimes I think specialist are a little too careful. With three kids, this is totally NOT an option! Jon and I weighed all the news over the next few days, checked into the exorbitant costs of a nanny ($1500/month for 5 days a week with Caden!), I stayed down, and finally saw the perinatologist yesterday.
Perinatologist said the following: until 20 weeks when the baby gets heavier, he’s not horribly concerned, I am on light activity, clot is resolving, blood thinners are working, placenta IS torn from the side of the uterus, but it’s a small tear and the placenta still has a chance of, as I say, to “grow feet and crawl back up my uterus where it is supposed to be”. The placenta NOT crawling back up the uterus can cause problems later in the pregnancy as the baby gets larger, there is more pressure on the cervix, etc. and there is a chance of loss of oxygen/nutrients to the baby and an emergency cesarean for me. The baby and I chatted about this situation. He has grown rather fond of food and oxygen, and I am rather fond of no cesarean, so we’ve agreed the body needs to get on board on cooperate. Early contractions, sort of normal with multiple pregnancies and an (he tried to put this lightly) “older” uterus, and all blood work looks fine. Most important, baby is growing steadily, except it has a penius and hat’s just not right. = ) But, Jon and I make cute and cuddly little boys (carbon copies of course) so at least I already know what it will look like and it's another chance to actually take early baby photos to tell all the boys was "them as babies" when they ask as adults ... since they all look the same, I can pull it off. I'm so bad at getting their picutres taken. Again, no worries until the baby is heavier.
Despite everything, I’ve been incredibly lucky with my healthcare. My perinatologist is literally considered to be “the best in the west”. Women come and see him from all parts of the western united states (Arizona, Utah, New Mexico, Nevada, etc. etc) because he’s “the best”. How I managed to become a patient of his is a series of events that all fell perfectly into place from day one. So I told mom when the supposed “best” tells me not to worry right now, I’ll take that.
On a lighter note, literally, as of yesterday’s appointment I’ve lost 18 lbs since my first weigh in back in late June. The nurse is not pleased, and I’m pretty sure she thinks I have an eating disorder because I give a little delighted cheer with every weigh in saying, “hmm, losing weight in pregnancy, now there’s a concept.” She nudged me last appointment to gain weight, she demanded yesterday when she sees me again I WILL have gained weight and not lost any more. Jon tried to tell her that maybe I lost another pound because I puked on the way down to the hospital. LOL! I told her the baby could live off the fat of the land for some time, including the extra 30 lbs still on my frame from baby #3.
She said, “uh, no.” and suggested I drink two smoothies every day with protein powder. Uh, no. She then tried to tell me she knows Moms that lost 45 lbs a week after giving birth, so I need to gain weight and not worry about it. I looked out the doorway into the hallway at all the multiple pictures of my perinatologist holding bundle after bundle of quints he delivered. I thought, “yeah, maybe if I had quints I’d lose 45 lbs in a week.” Pretty sure she lies. Then she suggested eating just before bed, and in the middle of the night, followed by one more chow round upon waking (with, of course, a cooler packed by the side of my bed, idiot) so I wouldn’t puke on command every morning. When you KNOW you’re going to chuck up whatever you put down your craw, food sort of loses it’s comforting pleasure.
BUT, cravings are still weird as hell. Jon and I stopped at Cracker Barrel on the way home for lunch and I proceeded to chow down a bowl of collard greens like a prisoner on death row eating their last meal. Who knows why? I never ate that crap when Grandma made it, but yesterday it was delicious. Everything I eat has to be HOT, and there is not enough hot sauce on the planet to help me in my endeavors. I think I might ask Kati for some of my brother in law Juan’s favorite delicacies. LOL!
Aug 23, 2010
Pregnancy update ... grrrr
I went to lunch with Jon and Caden Friday. We ate at my FAVORITE place, Noodle and Company. I haven't had lunch with Jon in forever, so it was a grateful respite from my typical day filled with piles of laundry, cleaning, taxiing my kids around, oh, and cleaning. Gross. We had a pretty uneventful lunch and afterwards as I was taking Jon back to work I suddenly got this horrible "pain". It's a hard to describe "pain", all I knew was that it sucked and I was doubling over.
Jon asked if we needed to b-line to the ER and I grimaced and said, "uh, no, I'm good, just give me a second." The pain thought otherwise of my "give me a second" plan and suddenly kicked in full gear with accompanying "pressure" in the pelvic area. The pain sucked, but the pressure worried me a little. I've passed the magic "12 weeks" marker for being out of the woods with a miscarriage, but this felt hauntingly similar.
Fortunately the Longmont ER wasn't busy Friday afternoon (I think it gets busier come Friday evening, at least that was my impression when we finally left the hospital only to see a cop and his "shackled" prisoner checking in at the front desk), and they got me right in. The "pain" continued ... but quickly went the other direction when after incessant begging the nurse INSISTED I have an IV. I tried all routes of deterring this event telling her, "look, I'm pregnant, I'm not taking anything for the pain, so this is really stupid." Apparently it's policy to stick everyone evenly in the ER.
Caden was with Jon and I for the whole initial check in process. The second we walked into the room Caden found a seat, sat down, and said, "don't worry mommy, the doctor's coming with some medicine to make you better." How could that not melt you a little? I was in the ultrasound room before too long, and the pain was sort of starting to temper down. The ultrasound took over an hour with the tech repeating, "I'm so sorry this is taking so long ..." Poor tech, it wasn't her fault my body wasn't cooperating. Apparently I was having contractions and they wouldn't let up so she couldn't get the pictures she needed. The word contractions immediately launches fear in any pregnant woman when it's "too soon". She assured me this was okay and not to worry.
After the ultrasound and giving gallons of blood, the doctor appeared to tell me the news. THe radiologist had read the ultrasound, he had been in contact with my perinatologist, and the tests were all back. "Well," he starts, "first of all the baby is fine." Of course the baby is fine, it's MY body that gives up on me, but it manages to always protect my babies, in reality a grateful blessing. "But, your placenta has torn a tiny bit from the uterine wall (hence pain) and you have a complete placenta previa. Unless the placenta tries to crawl back up your uterus in the next couple months, you will have to have a cesarean, and the complete previa can cause bleeding, possible hemmorage, you could be on extended bedrest, etc." Great. My fears of death in delivery are realized at the words, "posssible hemmorage" (sp?:).
Placenta previa for those of you that may have never heard such a term (even my understanding was a loose understanding and this is my 4th baby!) means that the placenta, which is SUPPOSED to be placed somewhere on the side or above or generally out of the way of the "cervix" decides to cover the cervix. Now, again, for those of you with no basic understanding of the miracle of labor and delivery, the cervix is that part of your body that bends and stretches itself to an enormous size so the baby can be "delivered". Think of it as the gatekeeper and protector to keep that baby in to term.
In my case, the placenta is covering the gatekeeper not letting any baby come out, ever, so it guarantees a cesarean, unless of course the placenta grows feet and "crawls back um, up the wall of my uterus". Seriously. The problem is that as the baby grows, the pressure on the placenta grows, and this can all make for a difficult situation for me and the baby. I'm on "take it easy" orders, but not bedrest. I told the doctor "take it easy" was a little unrealisitc with three boys, he wasn't amused and informed Jon he needed to now step to the plate. The pain has sibsided a bit, but the pressure is still disconcerting. The placenta covering the cervix is apparently not going to ease up the whole pressure situation, and I guess I'm jsut going to get used to this new perk of being pregnant.
Summing it up ... 15 weeks into this thing. So far, blood thinner injections 2x day, a blood clot on the placenta (apparently resolving itself, but being "monitored"), and now the placenta won't cooperate and go where it's supposed to. 25 more weeks to go ... oh little baby, you're not going to make you're entrance into this world easy on either of us, are you? I rubbed my growing belly yesterday and the baby and I made a deal... we're a team and both of us are going to get through all of this intact.
Jon asked if we needed to b-line to the ER and I grimaced and said, "uh, no, I'm good, just give me a second." The pain thought otherwise of my "give me a second" plan and suddenly kicked in full gear with accompanying "pressure" in the pelvic area. The pain sucked, but the pressure worried me a little. I've passed the magic "12 weeks" marker for being out of the woods with a miscarriage, but this felt hauntingly similar.
Fortunately the Longmont ER wasn't busy Friday afternoon (I think it gets busier come Friday evening, at least that was my impression when we finally left the hospital only to see a cop and his "shackled" prisoner checking in at the front desk), and they got me right in. The "pain" continued ... but quickly went the other direction when after incessant begging the nurse INSISTED I have an IV. I tried all routes of deterring this event telling her, "look, I'm pregnant, I'm not taking anything for the pain, so this is really stupid." Apparently it's policy to stick everyone evenly in the ER.
Caden was with Jon and I for the whole initial check in process. The second we walked into the room Caden found a seat, sat down, and said, "don't worry mommy, the doctor's coming with some medicine to make you better." How could that not melt you a little? I was in the ultrasound room before too long, and the pain was sort of starting to temper down. The ultrasound took over an hour with the tech repeating, "I'm so sorry this is taking so long ..." Poor tech, it wasn't her fault my body wasn't cooperating. Apparently I was having contractions and they wouldn't let up so she couldn't get the pictures she needed. The word contractions immediately launches fear in any pregnant woman when it's "too soon". She assured me this was okay and not to worry.
After the ultrasound and giving gallons of blood, the doctor appeared to tell me the news. THe radiologist had read the ultrasound, he had been in contact with my perinatologist, and the tests were all back. "Well," he starts, "first of all the baby is fine." Of course the baby is fine, it's MY body that gives up on me, but it manages to always protect my babies, in reality a grateful blessing. "But, your placenta has torn a tiny bit from the uterine wall (hence pain) and you have a complete placenta previa. Unless the placenta tries to crawl back up your uterus in the next couple months, you will have to have a cesarean, and the complete previa can cause bleeding, possible hemmorage, you could be on extended bedrest, etc." Great. My fears of death in delivery are realized at the words, "posssible hemmorage" (sp?:).
Placenta previa for those of you that may have never heard such a term (even my understanding was a loose understanding and this is my 4th baby!) means that the placenta, which is SUPPOSED to be placed somewhere on the side or above or generally out of the way of the "cervix" decides to cover the cervix. Now, again, for those of you with no basic understanding of the miracle of labor and delivery, the cervix is that part of your body that bends and stretches itself to an enormous size so the baby can be "delivered". Think of it as the gatekeeper and protector to keep that baby in to term.
In my case, the placenta is covering the gatekeeper not letting any baby come out, ever, so it guarantees a cesarean, unless of course the placenta grows feet and "crawls back um, up the wall of my uterus". Seriously. The problem is that as the baby grows, the pressure on the placenta grows, and this can all make for a difficult situation for me and the baby. I'm on "take it easy" orders, but not bedrest. I told the doctor "take it easy" was a little unrealisitc with three boys, he wasn't amused and informed Jon he needed to now step to the plate. The pain has sibsided a bit, but the pressure is still disconcerting. The placenta covering the cervix is apparently not going to ease up the whole pressure situation, and I guess I'm jsut going to get used to this new perk of being pregnant.
Summing it up ... 15 weeks into this thing. So far, blood thinner injections 2x day, a blood clot on the placenta (apparently resolving itself, but being "monitored"), and now the placenta won't cooperate and go where it's supposed to. 25 more weeks to go ... oh little baby, you're not going to make you're entrance into this world easy on either of us, are you? I rubbed my growing belly yesterday and the baby and I made a deal... we're a team and both of us are going to get through all of this intact.
Aug 17, 2010
Dear Coach ...
Drew played football for the past two years ... this year he decided to stop playing the game ... and the reasons are pretty sad. I kept my mouth shut for quite some time letting Drew make his own decision on whether not to play. I participated in Youth Sports, so did my husband. I thought they existed to promote a healthy lifestyle and teach kids sportsmanship and most of all to have FUN! It is sad to me that there are coaches in this world who place winning second to teaching a kid the skills to become a better adult. When I was made aware (painfully, Drew broke down in tears) of the WHOLE situation from last year and why Drew made the decision to stop playing a game he really loved .... I could no longer stand quiet. I hope people who read this letter I sent to Drew's football coach from last year (who is still coaching, incidentally) will take a minute to step back. If adults have the opportunity to ever be coaches with their kids or otherwise, I hope they will remember this letter... and what's really important in life. On a side note, thank you from a mother to the coaches who have touched my children's lives in a positive way. Coach John from New Hampshire, how do you feel about Colorado? We could use a good coach around here! miss you.
Mr. Coach (name excluded to protect privacy),
Jon and I are still receiving all of the football e-mails, and Jon is still hoping that Drew will change his mind and want to play. I know you coached with Jon last year, and he loved the opportunity. Jon has coached many, many, kids teams in the time he and I have been married, as well as played semi-professional baseball. He coached a High School champion baseball team when we lived in Japan, he was on the local baseball board in our town in New Hampshire. Jon is a sports lover and player to every extent, and he has a quiet respect for athletes in every facet of any sport. Many years ago a teenager on a team Jon was coaching broke his bat on the fence after striking out. Immediately the umpire told the kid he was suspended from the rest of the season for his behavior. Jon could had chewed the kid, but instead he got the kid into the dugout, put his arm around him, and asked what was going on. In a nutshell, the kids parent’s were in a messy divorce, his mom was admitted to the hospital earlier that morning, and he has smaller brothers and sisters he was in charge of. His “tantrum” had a reason … and Jon knew and loved his kids that much to actually ask why? Jon has a love of kids, their future, sportsmanship, personal integrity, and from my experience and side comments from other parents, is a phenomenal coach.
I tell you all of this because I want you to know the respect I have for my husband as a coach and father. Over the years I have seen Drew play various sports, and I have seen the disappointment in Jon’s eyes when Drew has proven repeatedly to not be the superstar of any of them. Unfortunately, Drew inherited his mother’s ineptitude for sports. Poor Drew. Despite his disappointments, Jon has continued to teach Drew that playing any game is not about how good you may or may not be, but the heart you are willing to offer the sport and the team. From some of your comments, I believe you have seen that heart in our son, and it is with this in mind that I am writing to you now.
I was very quiet last season. I was busy chasing an 18 month-old around and didn’t have time to get to know any of the other parents. But I came to almost every game … and I was disappointed. Drew started playing football in New Hampshire at the beginning of his 5th grade year. I knew Drew was not a superior athlete, but most importantly, I knew he would be one of the smallest players and the thought of him being pummeled scared me to death. The first practice Drew participated in I sat nervously on the sidelines. New England football is far more physical than Colorado football. I wish your team could play a New England team just once, it would toughen all of them up! = ) The team had been playing together for a couple of years, and Drew was new with a couple of other kids. They had played with the same coach, and it only took a few minutes of practice for me to see why they kept playing. Drew’s coach did not have a son on the team, his two sons were grown and had gone on to play football in college. He had a love of the game, and the kids, and was there because he wanted to be there.
The coach reviewed with the kids exactly “how” to take a hit. I was never an athlete, but I was an aerobics instructor, and I knew the importance of knowing the “how” kept you safe from injury. The coach yelled, he screamed, he cussed, he pulled kids around by the mask of their helmets, he slapped them around when they didn’t listen. I’m not an overprotective parent that couldn’t handle this “football coaching” style. Drew was not the fastest kid, he wasn’t the kid you wanted to throw in the end zone in a tie game with seconds on the clock, and he certainly wasn’t the kid you wanted taking out the quarterback. He was Drew … the 70 lb kid managing the 110 lb kids, the kid who took a hit from the biggest players on the team and opposite sides and never cried, never complained, and always got up. I watched my son literally thrown off the practice field with one good hit from the biggest kid on the team during suicide drills … I was convinced this would be the moment Drew would quit, but he didn’t. He laid there for a minute, the wind knocked out of him, and his coach pulled him up by the mask and told him to shake it off. Drew did, I don’t know how, but he did.
Drew’s coach in New Hampshire was phenomenal in a few ways. I asked him on the first day to be hard on Drew and not let him slide under the radar. Drew is a smart kid, and he would play it safe if he was allowed. As a Mom, Drew knowing how to take a hit was more about his safety than the competition of a game. The coach obliged … but I don’t think it was from what I said, it was from the sheer amount of coaching experience and heart he saw my son was willing to offer the team. In New Hampshire there is a minimum play requirement. Each kid must play 12 plays, and the tally for the plays is kept by a parent from the opposite team. At the end of the game, a team not having played all players at least 12 plays automatically lost with a reason of, “unsportsmanship like behavior on the part of the coach”. Our coach managed to play the kids all 12 plays, every game. Drew and a few other kids were referred to as MPR’s. I knew he wouldn’t play a lot, but he would play. Drew was at every practice and every game. His coach tried him at various positions, and finally settled on putting Drew in as a nose guard. Why? He was tiny compared to the other teams nose guards? But his coach knew one thing, Drew could take a hit and always get up. More importantly, he knew Drew needed to take those hits so that his fear of being the smallest, or the slowest, etc. didn’t matter.
Drew was a bruised mess and I had to tell the school I was NOT beating him at home (lol), but he trudged through. His coach allowed him and every other MPR far more than their 12 plays a game. There were a few phenoms on the team, and they admittedly played a lot, but when one of them decided to do a dance after a touchdown, the next practice the coach yelled at him unlike I have never seen an adult yell and told the whole team that this was a TEAM, he did not make the touchdown alone, his behavior was ridiculous, and the kid ran laps … for 2 hours. He puked a few times, he cried, but in the end the coach ran the final few laps with him and had the kid in a sobbing bawl of tears nestled into the coaches chest. In one swift swoop he taught that team the meaning of team, and that young man the meaning of sportsmanship. By the end of the season the kids were in the final championship game. The MPR’s had become great players with a coach willing to play them in games no matter the score, the phenoms helped the MPR’s along, they were a team. I saw my son turn from a kid terrified of taking a hit, to a football player facing down 110lb players with no fear. Drew couldn’t wait for the next season … then we moved to Colorado.
Drew could not wait to play last year. He was excited, Jon was excited to help coach, and it was all I could do to immediately find him a local team from the second we moved here last Spring. Drew came to practice, Drew paid the sheer physical price like every other kid on that team. He took the hit, he ran the laps, he admittedly dropped the ball, but he played with heart. I watched helplessly every game as Drew was played in few plays. I watched him stand on the sidelines, in full gear, and wait. My mom flew in from Utah to see one of Drew’s games and it finally became painfully clear to me that Drew was not playing. He played 5 plays the whole game. I started watching more to see if maybe that was just an off week. It wasn’t. Every week I watched the same kids playing the whole game, and the same kids standing on the sidelines. The great players got better and more experienced while others (including my son) became complacent, never getting better, never getting a chance to become better.
Jon was an assistant coach, he and I did argue at home after a few games, I wanted him to advocate for those kids on the sidelines and have every kid play more. I recognized the importance of winning, I recognized there were kids on the team who were phenomenal players, but after watching the growth of my son and his team in NH a year earlier I also recognized the importance of being a team and building up the players who were on the sidelines by letting them play. Jon defended your choices on many occasions and tried to explain to me the mechanics of why your coaching decisions were what they were. In many instances I understood. Please don’t misunderstand, I was not a pathetic mother trying to get her kid more playing time. I know/knew Drew’s limitations, I knew he wasn’t the clutch player or secret weapon, but I knew his love for the game and his “heart” were fast leaving.
Drew attended school at Trailridge Middle School last year. He was in the 6th grade and moving from a town with 100 kids in his grade, to a town with 400-500 kids in his grade. It was new, it was scary, and the only kids he knew were on the football team. Drew tried to remain friends with these kids eating lunch with them, hanging out between classes. Jon and I didn’t worry. The kids on his team in New Hampshire were a team, the respected one another no matter if you were the prize quarterback or the MPR kids. It wasn’t until months later that my kid with all the “heart” for the game came to me with tears in his eyes and told me the kids from the football team were “assholes”. It would appear that his “teammates” (a few in particular) were bullying him mercilessly. One day in particular, the day that finally broke him, was the kids having a conversation about the next year’s season. They went around the lunch table asking who would be playing the next season and when Drew said he would be playing one of the kids stated, “Why? Let’s hope not!” Drew was devastated and told me, “Mom, I tried, I practiced, I was at all the games, I took the hits and ran laps and I know I made some mistakes, but I hate football, I hate those kids, and I’m never playing again!”
Drew stuck to his promise when the season registration started. Jon tried for months to change his mind knowing there was a time Drew loved football more than any other sport he had ever tried. Drew was adamant. Not one time did Drew ever mention that he never played in games, not once. It was me that told Jon I didn’t blame Drew. To put in all the work, to try and be his best, only to never play and have the kids who always played become his worst nightmare at school. Drew was offered an opportunity to go to Flagstaff Academy this year, he couldn’t wait. He no longer attends Trailridge and he is relieved to not have to face “the team”. He has a few friends from the team that we see occasionally at the house, but overall, the kids who played, every game, all game, were his biggest bullies.
I am telling you all of this because I know you have coached these boys for years, and I know that in your heart you want the best for all of them. You had in your grasp a young man that loved the game, and in your words, did have more heart than most kids and was willing to give you and the team whatever he had to offer. You had a young man who knew the meaning of team, who knew that being allowed a chance was bigger than being sidelined. You had a young man who may have never been your best player, but had the potential to be a great player. I am not a coach, but I am a mom to three sons. I know the importance of self esteem during these awkward teenage years. I know the damage a few words can inflict on the toughest male skin. I know the rage that can come from that damage. Most importantly, I have learned from my husband that at the end of the day it is the heart and integrity with which you play the game that matters most. Drew is not playing, and I fear that he and others like him will start falling off the team one by one never having their potential tapped into.
As a coach and mentor, I am hoping you will take these mother’s words into consideration. I am hoping you will not allow this “team” to become a small exclusive group of a few star players willing to belittle their teammates in the name of football. I am hoping you will see past the small, slow, inexperienced kids on your team to see that if offered a chance, they too can start to build the heart my son had for the game. Your opportunity with these boys should be taken as a sacred honor. You have the chance to give these boys at the beginning of their most awkward adolescent journey lessons in life. Those kids look up to you as a coach, they will follow your lead and your example. Teach those kids the importance of team, allow the faster, stronger players an opportunity to learn the meaning of team as they buoy up the smaller, slower players. In a nutshell, teach them to be men. Men who don’t bully, men who help others, men who exercise integrity, and men who know winning has its place in this world, but giving all your heart to whatever you do in life is the real test of a man.
Respectfully,
Cortney E. Eldridge
Mr. Coach (name excluded to protect privacy),
Jon and I are still receiving all of the football e-mails, and Jon is still hoping that Drew will change his mind and want to play. I know you coached with Jon last year, and he loved the opportunity. Jon has coached many, many, kids teams in the time he and I have been married, as well as played semi-professional baseball. He coached a High School champion baseball team when we lived in Japan, he was on the local baseball board in our town in New Hampshire. Jon is a sports lover and player to every extent, and he has a quiet respect for athletes in every facet of any sport. Many years ago a teenager on a team Jon was coaching broke his bat on the fence after striking out. Immediately the umpire told the kid he was suspended from the rest of the season for his behavior. Jon could had chewed the kid, but instead he got the kid into the dugout, put his arm around him, and asked what was going on. In a nutshell, the kids parent’s were in a messy divorce, his mom was admitted to the hospital earlier that morning, and he has smaller brothers and sisters he was in charge of. His “tantrum” had a reason … and Jon knew and loved his kids that much to actually ask why? Jon has a love of kids, their future, sportsmanship, personal integrity, and from my experience and side comments from other parents, is a phenomenal coach.
I tell you all of this because I want you to know the respect I have for my husband as a coach and father. Over the years I have seen Drew play various sports, and I have seen the disappointment in Jon’s eyes when Drew has proven repeatedly to not be the superstar of any of them. Unfortunately, Drew inherited his mother’s ineptitude for sports. Poor Drew. Despite his disappointments, Jon has continued to teach Drew that playing any game is not about how good you may or may not be, but the heart you are willing to offer the sport and the team. From some of your comments, I believe you have seen that heart in our son, and it is with this in mind that I am writing to you now.
I was very quiet last season. I was busy chasing an 18 month-old around and didn’t have time to get to know any of the other parents. But I came to almost every game … and I was disappointed. Drew started playing football in New Hampshire at the beginning of his 5th grade year. I knew Drew was not a superior athlete, but most importantly, I knew he would be one of the smallest players and the thought of him being pummeled scared me to death. The first practice Drew participated in I sat nervously on the sidelines. New England football is far more physical than Colorado football. I wish your team could play a New England team just once, it would toughen all of them up! = ) The team had been playing together for a couple of years, and Drew was new with a couple of other kids. They had played with the same coach, and it only took a few minutes of practice for me to see why they kept playing. Drew’s coach did not have a son on the team, his two sons were grown and had gone on to play football in college. He had a love of the game, and the kids, and was there because he wanted to be there.
The coach reviewed with the kids exactly “how” to take a hit. I was never an athlete, but I was an aerobics instructor, and I knew the importance of knowing the “how” kept you safe from injury. The coach yelled, he screamed, he cussed, he pulled kids around by the mask of their helmets, he slapped them around when they didn’t listen. I’m not an overprotective parent that couldn’t handle this “football coaching” style. Drew was not the fastest kid, he wasn’t the kid you wanted to throw in the end zone in a tie game with seconds on the clock, and he certainly wasn’t the kid you wanted taking out the quarterback. He was Drew … the 70 lb kid managing the 110 lb kids, the kid who took a hit from the biggest players on the team and opposite sides and never cried, never complained, and always got up. I watched my son literally thrown off the practice field with one good hit from the biggest kid on the team during suicide drills … I was convinced this would be the moment Drew would quit, but he didn’t. He laid there for a minute, the wind knocked out of him, and his coach pulled him up by the mask and told him to shake it off. Drew did, I don’t know how, but he did.
Drew’s coach in New Hampshire was phenomenal in a few ways. I asked him on the first day to be hard on Drew and not let him slide under the radar. Drew is a smart kid, and he would play it safe if he was allowed. As a Mom, Drew knowing how to take a hit was more about his safety than the competition of a game. The coach obliged … but I don’t think it was from what I said, it was from the sheer amount of coaching experience and heart he saw my son was willing to offer the team. In New Hampshire there is a minimum play requirement. Each kid must play 12 plays, and the tally for the plays is kept by a parent from the opposite team. At the end of the game, a team not having played all players at least 12 plays automatically lost with a reason of, “unsportsmanship like behavior on the part of the coach”. Our coach managed to play the kids all 12 plays, every game. Drew and a few other kids were referred to as MPR’s. I knew he wouldn’t play a lot, but he would play. Drew was at every practice and every game. His coach tried him at various positions, and finally settled on putting Drew in as a nose guard. Why? He was tiny compared to the other teams nose guards? But his coach knew one thing, Drew could take a hit and always get up. More importantly, he knew Drew needed to take those hits so that his fear of being the smallest, or the slowest, etc. didn’t matter.
Drew was a bruised mess and I had to tell the school I was NOT beating him at home (lol), but he trudged through. His coach allowed him and every other MPR far more than their 12 plays a game. There were a few phenoms on the team, and they admittedly played a lot, but when one of them decided to do a dance after a touchdown, the next practice the coach yelled at him unlike I have never seen an adult yell and told the whole team that this was a TEAM, he did not make the touchdown alone, his behavior was ridiculous, and the kid ran laps … for 2 hours. He puked a few times, he cried, but in the end the coach ran the final few laps with him and had the kid in a sobbing bawl of tears nestled into the coaches chest. In one swift swoop he taught that team the meaning of team, and that young man the meaning of sportsmanship. By the end of the season the kids were in the final championship game. The MPR’s had become great players with a coach willing to play them in games no matter the score, the phenoms helped the MPR’s along, they were a team. I saw my son turn from a kid terrified of taking a hit, to a football player facing down 110lb players with no fear. Drew couldn’t wait for the next season … then we moved to Colorado.
Drew could not wait to play last year. He was excited, Jon was excited to help coach, and it was all I could do to immediately find him a local team from the second we moved here last Spring. Drew came to practice, Drew paid the sheer physical price like every other kid on that team. He took the hit, he ran the laps, he admittedly dropped the ball, but he played with heart. I watched helplessly every game as Drew was played in few plays. I watched him stand on the sidelines, in full gear, and wait. My mom flew in from Utah to see one of Drew’s games and it finally became painfully clear to me that Drew was not playing. He played 5 plays the whole game. I started watching more to see if maybe that was just an off week. It wasn’t. Every week I watched the same kids playing the whole game, and the same kids standing on the sidelines. The great players got better and more experienced while others (including my son) became complacent, never getting better, never getting a chance to become better.
Jon was an assistant coach, he and I did argue at home after a few games, I wanted him to advocate for those kids on the sidelines and have every kid play more. I recognized the importance of winning, I recognized there were kids on the team who were phenomenal players, but after watching the growth of my son and his team in NH a year earlier I also recognized the importance of being a team and building up the players who were on the sidelines by letting them play. Jon defended your choices on many occasions and tried to explain to me the mechanics of why your coaching decisions were what they were. In many instances I understood. Please don’t misunderstand, I was not a pathetic mother trying to get her kid more playing time. I know/knew Drew’s limitations, I knew he wasn’t the clutch player or secret weapon, but I knew his love for the game and his “heart” were fast leaving.
Drew attended school at Trailridge Middle School last year. He was in the 6th grade and moving from a town with 100 kids in his grade, to a town with 400-500 kids in his grade. It was new, it was scary, and the only kids he knew were on the football team. Drew tried to remain friends with these kids eating lunch with them, hanging out between classes. Jon and I didn’t worry. The kids on his team in New Hampshire were a team, the respected one another no matter if you were the prize quarterback or the MPR kids. It wasn’t until months later that my kid with all the “heart” for the game came to me with tears in his eyes and told me the kids from the football team were “assholes”. It would appear that his “teammates” (a few in particular) were bullying him mercilessly. One day in particular, the day that finally broke him, was the kids having a conversation about the next year’s season. They went around the lunch table asking who would be playing the next season and when Drew said he would be playing one of the kids stated, “Why? Let’s hope not!” Drew was devastated and told me, “Mom, I tried, I practiced, I was at all the games, I took the hits and ran laps and I know I made some mistakes, but I hate football, I hate those kids, and I’m never playing again!”
Drew stuck to his promise when the season registration started. Jon tried for months to change his mind knowing there was a time Drew loved football more than any other sport he had ever tried. Drew was adamant. Not one time did Drew ever mention that he never played in games, not once. It was me that told Jon I didn’t blame Drew. To put in all the work, to try and be his best, only to never play and have the kids who always played become his worst nightmare at school. Drew was offered an opportunity to go to Flagstaff Academy this year, he couldn’t wait. He no longer attends Trailridge and he is relieved to not have to face “the team”. He has a few friends from the team that we see occasionally at the house, but overall, the kids who played, every game, all game, were his biggest bullies.
I am telling you all of this because I know you have coached these boys for years, and I know that in your heart you want the best for all of them. You had in your grasp a young man that loved the game, and in your words, did have more heart than most kids and was willing to give you and the team whatever he had to offer. You had a young man who knew the meaning of team, who knew that being allowed a chance was bigger than being sidelined. You had a young man who may have never been your best player, but had the potential to be a great player. I am not a coach, but I am a mom to three sons. I know the importance of self esteem during these awkward teenage years. I know the damage a few words can inflict on the toughest male skin. I know the rage that can come from that damage. Most importantly, I have learned from my husband that at the end of the day it is the heart and integrity with which you play the game that matters most. Drew is not playing, and I fear that he and others like him will start falling off the team one by one never having their potential tapped into.
As a coach and mentor, I am hoping you will take these mother’s words into consideration. I am hoping you will not allow this “team” to become a small exclusive group of a few star players willing to belittle their teammates in the name of football. I am hoping you will see past the small, slow, inexperienced kids on your team to see that if offered a chance, they too can start to build the heart my son had for the game. Your opportunity with these boys should be taken as a sacred honor. You have the chance to give these boys at the beginning of their most awkward adolescent journey lessons in life. Those kids look up to you as a coach, they will follow your lead and your example. Teach those kids the importance of team, allow the faster, stronger players an opportunity to learn the meaning of team as they buoy up the smaller, slower players. In a nutshell, teach them to be men. Men who don’t bully, men who help others, men who exercise integrity, and men who know winning has its place in this world, but giving all your heart to whatever you do in life is the real test of a man.
Respectfully,
Cortney E. Eldridge
Aug 14, 2010
Pregnancy ... cravings, and needles, and doctors, oh my
I am happy to report that there may be an end in sight for the morning sickness. I have recently regained my appetite, and am even keeping down the foods I crave. I currently have an unhealthy relationship with nectarines and am praying that ends soon with the nectarine season. Finding them mid winter could be an expensive problem. My energy levels are sort of coming back, but this whole "growing life" situation at 36 years of age takes a toll. Now I know why women have babies in their 20's.
I'm starting to have a few insights into this pregnancy the further it progresses. In my last post I said I feel no connection to this child, and I have death issues. I still have death issues, and I still feel no connection, but I think I may know a little bit why I feel this way ... and that helps me understand it's going ot be okay. This whole pregnancy, from the day I found out I was pregnant at about 5 weeks, has been filled with doctors and tests and ultrasounds and more doctors and more tests and more ultrasounds. I feel like I haven't had a second to breathe or even take in the fact that I am growing this little life inside of me. Everything to this point has been, "protect the mom".
I think the doctor telling me I could die triggered a windfall of emotions. Guilt that I might not be here for my boys, fear that Jon might have to make a choice between the baby or I, and admittedly a little anger. I think accepting the anger has been the most difficult. While I sit at doctor's appointments, have blood drawn repeatedly, watch ulltrasounds, inject myself with blood thinners 2x day, there has been no time to just sit and absorb that a miracle has occurred. This baby has been treated as more of a parasite sucking the potential life out of me ... noone has ever said, "Wow. This is a miracle."
The other day I watched some show about infertility. Of course, it resonated. I've been on the other side of this fertility fence, I've cried with friends who went through the same ordeal. My first two boys, Andrew and Bradyn, were the result of years of prayers and fertility treatments. I know what it is to lose a pregnancy you so desperately want, I know what it is to be dissapointed month after month thinking God is punishing you, I know what it is to sit in a doctor's office and have them look you straight in the eye and tell you that you will never have children ... and adoption takes a long time. I remember once telling my Mom, "I would rather have the worst pregnancy in the world, than to never have a pregnancy at all ..." Ironic how life works.
While I still feel no real connection to this life that is growing inside of me, I am starting to feel an amazing transformation of gratitude rather than anger. This child was meant to be. Whether or not this was in my plan, or Jon's plans, or our families' plans, it is meant to be and has been waiting a very long time to make it's unexpected entrance into our lives. While this pregnancy has by far been the worst thus far, it is probably also the most miraculous. There are a series of events over the course of the past year that had to all work in combination for this ever happen ... and I am starting to see that everything is for a reason leading up to what's happening right now.
My Mom told me to not push having a connection ... that it will come with time. I think it might if I can continue to see this baby as a miraculous blessing, rather than what the doctors are treating as a "problem" and "mistake". I have a whole 3 weeks before another doctor's appointment. It's the longest time I have had between visits thus far in the pregnancy ... and I am only 13 1/2 weeks along. The preliminary tests are back saying the baby is genetically intact (negative for Down's Syndrome and Trisomy 18). My gazillion blood tests are back saying my body is cooperating with the pregnancy. I think now is a perfect time to actually breathe and think about this tiny little life growing inside of me.
I'm starting to have a few insights into this pregnancy the further it progresses. In my last post I said I feel no connection to this child, and I have death issues. I still have death issues, and I still feel no connection, but I think I may know a little bit why I feel this way ... and that helps me understand it's going ot be okay. This whole pregnancy, from the day I found out I was pregnant at about 5 weeks, has been filled with doctors and tests and ultrasounds and more doctors and more tests and more ultrasounds. I feel like I haven't had a second to breathe or even take in the fact that I am growing this little life inside of me. Everything to this point has been, "protect the mom".
I think the doctor telling me I could die triggered a windfall of emotions. Guilt that I might not be here for my boys, fear that Jon might have to make a choice between the baby or I, and admittedly a little anger. I think accepting the anger has been the most difficult. While I sit at doctor's appointments, have blood drawn repeatedly, watch ulltrasounds, inject myself with blood thinners 2x day, there has been no time to just sit and absorb that a miracle has occurred. This baby has been treated as more of a parasite sucking the potential life out of me ... noone has ever said, "Wow. This is a miracle."
The other day I watched some show about infertility. Of course, it resonated. I've been on the other side of this fertility fence, I've cried with friends who went through the same ordeal. My first two boys, Andrew and Bradyn, were the result of years of prayers and fertility treatments. I know what it is to lose a pregnancy you so desperately want, I know what it is to be dissapointed month after month thinking God is punishing you, I know what it is to sit in a doctor's office and have them look you straight in the eye and tell you that you will never have children ... and adoption takes a long time. I remember once telling my Mom, "I would rather have the worst pregnancy in the world, than to never have a pregnancy at all ..." Ironic how life works.
While I still feel no real connection to this life that is growing inside of me, I am starting to feel an amazing transformation of gratitude rather than anger. This child was meant to be. Whether or not this was in my plan, or Jon's plans, or our families' plans, it is meant to be and has been waiting a very long time to make it's unexpected entrance into our lives. While this pregnancy has by far been the worst thus far, it is probably also the most miraculous. There are a series of events over the course of the past year that had to all work in combination for this ever happen ... and I am starting to see that everything is for a reason leading up to what's happening right now.
My Mom told me to not push having a connection ... that it will come with time. I think it might if I can continue to see this baby as a miraculous blessing, rather than what the doctors are treating as a "problem" and "mistake". I have a whole 3 weeks before another doctor's appointment. It's the longest time I have had between visits thus far in the pregnancy ... and I am only 13 1/2 weeks along. The preliminary tests are back saying the baby is genetically intact (negative for Down's Syndrome and Trisomy 18). My gazillion blood tests are back saying my body is cooperating with the pregnancy. I think now is a perfect time to actually breathe and think about this tiny little life growing inside of me.
Aug 2, 2010
First trimester ... complete
As promised to myself earlier in this pregnancy, this blog is serving as my way to vent through this pregnancy. It's only for me to work through stuff. At the end of the first trimester I find this all sinking in ... and I don't like how I feel. It's not just that physically I am exhausted, and puking, and generally a hot mess, it's deeper ... and a little daunting.
I confessed to Jon the other day that I don't feel any connection to this baby growing inside of me. At first I thought it was God's way of letting me down easy because I was going to lose the baby in a miscarriage. I've had a miscarriage, years ago. It was my first pregnancy and I think that loss will always be a miserable and painful memory. I don't really care about the scientific "there was something wrong with the pregnancy and that's why you miscarried" reasoning ... all I know is I lost a baby I was connected to at the word, "you're pregnant."
I have death issues with this pregnancy.
Jon and I had a deep discussion the other day about what would happen if something went terribly wrong when I have this baby. I asked him point blank if there was a choice to be made, me or the baby? He made it all sound very medical and whatever the doctors would say was best and it was a non issue anyway because it would never happen. I'm not sure. When a doctor looks you in the eye and says you can die ... it hits you in the gutt. What if I bleed out ... I've found myself staring at my three little boys these days thinking, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I wasn't more careful and I got pregnant. I'm sorry if anything happens to me and you are left without a mom. I'm sorry I won't be there to watch you grow and become men."
The guilt of having another baby when I KNEW the risks is almost unbearable. I find myself going around the house "preparing" in case something goes wrong. I'm purging items from my house by the garbageful. Things that once seemed really important I now see as stuff I've carried around with me for years, but never even used or looked at in just as many. It's as if I don't want to leave any stone unturned, any loose ends, anything for Jon and the boys' to have to contend with.
Then there's the loss of connection.
I have to wonder if the guilt and impending sense of incredible doom to have no connection to this baby ... Jon said he thinks I have excitement over the pregnancy confused with connection to the baby. "The reality, "as he says, "is that this isn't your first baby. You know that babies and kids are hard work, you have three at home already, Caden is only 2 1/2, that's a much closer age span than any of the rest of the kids." I guess he's right ... and he's trying to be supportive and helpful (really, this sort of insight from Jon is rather impressive as I usually only get ignored so that I'll stop talking like a crazy person).
When people find out I'm pregnant the excited response is always the same, "are you hoping it's a girl ?!" I just smile and say the atypical response of "sure, that would be nice in this house full of boys," but I really want to scream and yell and cry. "I'm dying inside! I have no connection to this kid, I feel guilty every day when I look at my boys, and even more guilty that I can't make this baby inside of me somehow send some message that this is okay ... and "it's" okay ... and I don't really know how I could be so irresponsible when I knew the risks involved getting pregnant again."
I used to have a functioning Dad that I could talk to about things that seemed terribly irrational, but very real to me. I don't have that anymore, and I suppose there is a part of me that's really angry that I feel so helpless and he is the only person in the world that could make the world seem rational when it felt like it was spinning out of control. At the end of the day, I have to make sense of all of this and confront all of these fears. I'm doing everything I can for this baby ... it makes me feel some semblance of control in the final destiny.
I would like to blame my feelings on fluctuating hormones and feeling like my body has simply given up on me. I don't think any self respecting pregnant person is supposed to talk about what they really feel. It's as if being pregnant is such a big blessing and miracle that the world assumes you are ecstatic and hopeful. I'm not ecstatic or hopeful ... and I wish I were.
As I start to "grow" and my clothes are getting tighter, the reality is setting in. This baby is coming to the world, I'm going to make it happen, and my body has to hang on and protect whatever is growing inside. I have yet another doctor's appointment next week ... I'm tentative and worried, but I know that when I see that little heartbeat the fear, guilt, and lack of connection will fade for one precious moment. I hope that feeling lasts.
I confessed to Jon the other day that I don't feel any connection to this baby growing inside of me. At first I thought it was God's way of letting me down easy because I was going to lose the baby in a miscarriage. I've had a miscarriage, years ago. It was my first pregnancy and I think that loss will always be a miserable and painful memory. I don't really care about the scientific "there was something wrong with the pregnancy and that's why you miscarried" reasoning ... all I know is I lost a baby I was connected to at the word, "you're pregnant."
I have death issues with this pregnancy.
Jon and I had a deep discussion the other day about what would happen if something went terribly wrong when I have this baby. I asked him point blank if there was a choice to be made, me or the baby? He made it all sound very medical and whatever the doctors would say was best and it was a non issue anyway because it would never happen. I'm not sure. When a doctor looks you in the eye and says you can die ... it hits you in the gutt. What if I bleed out ... I've found myself staring at my three little boys these days thinking, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I wasn't more careful and I got pregnant. I'm sorry if anything happens to me and you are left without a mom. I'm sorry I won't be there to watch you grow and become men."
The guilt of having another baby when I KNEW the risks is almost unbearable. I find myself going around the house "preparing" in case something goes wrong. I'm purging items from my house by the garbageful. Things that once seemed really important I now see as stuff I've carried around with me for years, but never even used or looked at in just as many. It's as if I don't want to leave any stone unturned, any loose ends, anything for Jon and the boys' to have to contend with.
Then there's the loss of connection.
I have to wonder if the guilt and impending sense of incredible doom to have no connection to this baby ... Jon said he thinks I have excitement over the pregnancy confused with connection to the baby. "The reality, "as he says, "is that this isn't your first baby. You know that babies and kids are hard work, you have three at home already, Caden is only 2 1/2, that's a much closer age span than any of the rest of the kids." I guess he's right ... and he's trying to be supportive and helpful (really, this sort of insight from Jon is rather impressive as I usually only get ignored so that I'll stop talking like a crazy person).
When people find out I'm pregnant the excited response is always the same, "are you hoping it's a girl ?!" I just smile and say the atypical response of "sure, that would be nice in this house full of boys," but I really want to scream and yell and cry. "I'm dying inside! I have no connection to this kid, I feel guilty every day when I look at my boys, and even more guilty that I can't make this baby inside of me somehow send some message that this is okay ... and "it's" okay ... and I don't really know how I could be so irresponsible when I knew the risks involved getting pregnant again."
I used to have a functioning Dad that I could talk to about things that seemed terribly irrational, but very real to me. I don't have that anymore, and I suppose there is a part of me that's really angry that I feel so helpless and he is the only person in the world that could make the world seem rational when it felt like it was spinning out of control. At the end of the day, I have to make sense of all of this and confront all of these fears. I'm doing everything I can for this baby ... it makes me feel some semblance of control in the final destiny.
I would like to blame my feelings on fluctuating hormones and feeling like my body has simply given up on me. I don't think any self respecting pregnant person is supposed to talk about what they really feel. It's as if being pregnant is such a big blessing and miracle that the world assumes you are ecstatic and hopeful. I'm not ecstatic or hopeful ... and I wish I were.
As I start to "grow" and my clothes are getting tighter, the reality is setting in. This baby is coming to the world, I'm going to make it happen, and my body has to hang on and protect whatever is growing inside. I have yet another doctor's appointment next week ... I'm tentative and worried, but I know that when I see that little heartbeat the fear, guilt, and lack of connection will fade for one precious moment. I hope that feeling lasts.
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AND THE CAT MAKES 5
Caesar, aka the "CAT", donning his baseball opening day attire.