Holding On Too Tight.

Today, I think I had the scariest two hours of my life.  And, thinking about what other people go through in life, I'm really lucky.  But, they were still terrifying for me.   Here's what happened and has been happening. . . .

I'm now thirty-five weeks pregnant with twins--a boy and a girl.  We are very excited and they could come any day.  Most excited of all is big-sister Mira, who calls them "my babies," and "Mickey and Minnie" and has been practicing everything from shushing and bouncing them to sleep to "breast feeding," which she has intuited, takes a while.  (Example:  Me:  "Mira, time for a bath."  Mira: "I can't come now--I'm breastfeeding my babies--it's going to take a while.")

The anticipated addition of two whole new, small people to our family has been the cause of tons of transition around here lately--most noticeably, I went from being a court-room litigator of last resort for those condemned to death to being a stay-at-home mom about a month ago.  Mira changed schools.  Our house has been rearranged, and Peter, mostly, has been our rock through it all, not getting near enough sleep as he cares for his girls and juggles his own litigation practice.  Having been out of work for about a month now, though, this week I finally felt we were rounding the corner, finally felt that things were calming down, finally felt a sense of peace and readiness to become a family of five. . . in short, I was feeling tired and worn out from the pregnancy, but up to the task of being the mom.

Until today. . .

I have been having a hard time sleeping in these last few weeks of pregnancy, but I had a good sleep last night.  Nonetheless, I usually wake up groggy and slightly grumpy--even more so in pregnancy--and today was no different.  Today was a big day, though, because I was (ironically, just as I was "leaning back" from my career) being honored as one of my university's top 40 alumni under the age of 40.  My mom and dad were coming up for the "40 Under 40" ceremony; I had a sitter arranged; Peter's court calendar had cleared so he could be there; it was going to be a beautiful day and a nice capstone to my career thus far before the babies came.

Mira also woke up feeling a little recalcitrant, it seems, but I didn't want to push her because I knew I was leaving her with a babysitter in the middle of the day for the ceremony--we had breakfast on her schedule, got dressed on her schedule, went potty on her schedule--all of which led me to be running a bit late.  I was just about to finish getting her ready--last task, combing hair--when she bolted and I grabbed her hand to keep her from bolting and she kept running and then she screamed, "Ow!  Mommy!" and started to cry, big fat tears rolling down her perfect little cheeks.  She clutched her elbow and did not want me to pick her up at first.  I went to get ice, coaxed her onto my lap, and talked softly to her, telling her I was sorry.  At first, I figured, she'd be better in a minute, but as five minutes turned into fifteen and then into twenty-five, I began panicking.  Her left arm hung limply at her side and she refused to move it.  When I tried to move it, she whimpered.  That's when I began to cry--how could I have hurt my own daughter like this?  I didn't mean to. . .I have grabbed her at least a 100 times when she's bolted like that--why was this different?

So, when my parents showed up, expecting a celebration, instead they found Mira bravely propped up on my bed with a pack of ice and her favorite bear and me still in my PJs, which now do not cover my tummy, a weeping mess.  My mom is a nurse and confirmed my suspicions that we needed to head to the ER.  She kept my daughter calm while the whole time, driving to the ER, I was freaking out, anticipating (with some paranoia, I'll admit) that I would have to interview with child protective services and potentially they would try to take Mira away from me, or put us on some sort of probation.  They were going to see my pregnant belly and think that I did not deserve these babies either.  Worse, in that moment, I also felt that way.

We got to the ER and checked in. I noticed that most of the people in the ER were people waiting for routine things--strep tests, a child's cough, an ear infection--in short, I saw firsthand that the daytime ER is largely for the uninsured.  Because we are lucky enough to have insurance, I called our pediatrician (which I was not thinking clearly enough to have done before) and described to her what happened.  She said to come on over.  After a short wait for the charge nurse, who wanted to make sure we were "safe to go," we (my mom, my dad, Mira and I) left for our pediatrician's office, where my husband met us with lunch, as we were now missing the "40 Under 40" lunch.

While I was checking us in to the pediatrician's, I noticed that Mira had started to really play with some of the toys in the waiting room.  Then, when we were called back, she lifted a heavy bag we had with us and carried it back to the exam room with her hurt arm!  Now, I started to feel silly for having brought her in the first place.  But, our wonderful doctor confirmed that Mira had had a condition called "nursemaid's elbow" and that her son had had it when he was younger, too, because she had swung him around too vigorously by his hands while playing with him.  Apparently, toddlers' elbow ligaments are not as fixed as grown people's and can slip off the elbow (causing pain) and back on if the child moves around. I was so relieved--both that Mira was better, but that this wise, wonderful woman could also have inadvertently done this to her child.  Surely, this meant that I was not the terrible mother I feared I was.

We finally got home and my parents thought that my husband and I should try to go to the luncheon while they stayed with Mira, so we did. . . .getting there in time to miss everything.  I still got my award and my picture taken; they were gracious enough to give us some leftover lunch, but it really was not the same.

And, here's the truth:  my life really is not the same as before and it's going to change even more when the twins get here and I'm not half or even a quarter as adjusted to it as I thought I was.  Here I was, so caught up with my schedule and needing everything to be "just so," that I grabbed my daughter and hurt her arm over brushing hair.  Now, I did not do this on purpose and I didn't think she'd keep running and I was shocked that it happened (though, apparently nursemaid's elbow is very common:  http://kidshealth.org/parent/medical/bones/nursemaid.html), but ultimately as the parent, it is my job to keep her safe and I failed today.  I just thank goodness it wasn't worse.

  I have had problems with flexibility and adapting to change and unexpected bumps in life's road since I was my daughter's age.  An iconic story in my family is about how, when I was around the age of five or six, my mom used to drop eggs on the floor on purpose while I was watching and then be totally non-chalant about it as a way to get me to see that mistakes are okay.  I know this in theory and am very forgiving of most others, but not with myself. For my entire scholastic and professional career, I have held myself to a different standard.  And now, with three little ones, I am going to have to come to terms with not always being on time; not always being nicely dressed; not always getting a lot done; relinquishing substantial control over the shape and content of my days; and, being okay with all of this.     I think it is going to be the biggest challenge of my life and I wonder if I'm up to it.  I want to be.

Maybe life has a way of teaching each of us what we need to learn and I think part of my life journey is to learn flexibility and to not freak out when things don't go according to my plan.  I don't know why I haven't been able to do so yet in all these years.  I am glad that big sister Mira alerted me today that I have a lot of work to do on all of this before the babies get here

.  And, I am so, so grateful that she is okay.  Here she is, triumphant at the end of the day, holding up her injured arm.

If I weren't a lawyer. . . .

If you have any regular interactions with me on the internet, then you probably know (because I sent you a note asking you to donate to our office--thanks for tolerating that, by the way) that at the beginning of December, the director of the small, non-profit law office where I toil representing people on death row told us (the staff of same office) in a meeting that we would likely have layoffs in July.  After spelling out for us how bleak the funding situation is after cuts from the state legislature, it is hard to imagine how we won't have layoffs.  Because I was one of the last people hired there, and because I work part-time, and because I am one of the only attorneys who is not the primary bread winner in my family (this shouldn't matter, but it probably does), I have to think I'm vulnerable.  Probably not the most vulnerable, but if I'm not the first laid off, I may well be the second or third. . . .

Anyway, this got me to thinking about what I might do if I leave the law.  It also spun me into a bit of a panic and caused me to take the GRE right in the middle of holiday craziness (which, thankfully, went great!).  I could get another job as a litigator, but it almost would certainly not be part time and would require 60-80 hrs. a week.  . .not my bag, now that I'm a mama. As for all the other alleged jobs you can get as a lawyer that don't actually require one to litigate, well, I really don't know what they are. . . .So, I probably should bone up on that before I do anything rash and relinquish my bar license.

Time with Mira--much more intriguing and fulfilling than billable hours at a law firm!

Do I have what it takes to be a pastry chef (lol)?  These are tiger cupcakes I made for Mira's 2nd bday!

More to the point of the title of this post, though, is the fact that I have been thinking more and more of this situation as an invitation to leave the law.  I have had a love-hate relationship with my profession since I entered it. But, this begs the question of where I might go?  I don't know, but my ideas right now seem to center most around getting an MSW so that I can become a licensed counselor and use that skill in an entrepreneurial way.  I also fantasize about being a pastry chef or doing something more creative, but I don't know how practical that is (probably not very). Ideally, it would be something flexible, family-friendly, not as stressful as death-row litigation (so, pretty much anything fits that category, esp. since I don't really see surgical residency or firefighting in my future), and would allow me some measure of fulfillment and knowing that I'm increasing the goodness in the world, rather than decreasing it.  Do you have any ideas of what I should do or who I should talk to to figure it out?   If so, let me know. . .I would love to hear your feedback!

Thanks!
Robyn

Mysterious butterfly organ

Clockwise: Mira meets a friend at daycare, the Team of Three, "Seriously, guys. . .squash again?," Triangle Frenzy.

Last week I got test results back saying that my thyroid was way out of whack. My mom, who is an R.N., said something like, "Wow! I've seen a few thyroid tests that were worse, but not many!" Anyway, my shrink said that this could be the whole enchilada of what's been wrong with my brain and spirit since pregnancy. By my lights, if it's not the whole enchilada, it's at least all of the important parts.

Since starting on my thyroid supplement last week:

• My concentration is better;
• I've had spontaneous, happy thoughts (pretty telling how bad off I was that this didn't happen before, no? It was really noticeable, though, the first time I had a happy thought again. . .it hadn't happened in so long.)
• My hip stopped hurting;
• I'm not totally exhausted all the time;
• I am enjoying things and have a sense of humor again;
• I am able to just roll with things a little better.

Honestly, I can't think of any other situation where I'd be so totally thrilled to find out that I have a chronic condition that probably needs medication for the rest of my life. But, this is one! It is particularly nice to know somehow that it was not just my psyche. It was making me sad that Mira's arrival had spawned this crisis for me. Somehow, having something more concrete to point to as the root cause is so reassuring and alleviates all of that--when it was just postpartum depression, it felt like such a deep hole to climb out of.

In other news, Mira is "the star of daycare" according to staff there and seems to be really exceptionally happy lately. She has her first tooth coming in and is scooching all over the place in a sort of army-sniper baby crawl, using mostly her elbows, leaving the rest to dangle behind. It's amazing how fast she is! She is exploring getting up on her knees, but doesn't quite have it yet. She's also saying, "Mamamamama! (yay!), lalalala, nananana, dadaaddda, bababab!" And, we have had our first experience of seeing her artwork on the wall at school--they have them "painting." (I'd love to be a fly on the wall). Still, I was so proud to see M's blobby first art! So far, she's done a study in brown and one in blue.

In still other news, Peter and I had a real-live date tonight. We went to the zoo for a "Wildlife on the Rocks" talk that was way more entertaining and fascinating than either of us anticipated. It was wonderful to have adult time together--we'll have to not wait another 8 months before that happens again!

Post-Partum Depression Sucks.

If you've read the title of this blog post, you've probably guessed that I've been diagnosed with post-partum depression. It's actually one of the reasons that I started blogging again, because I thought it might help to write about it. Supposedly about 20% of women who have babies have some sort of post-partum depression afterward--all my doctors/therapists kept saying, "it's the most common complication of pregnancy." However, none of my friends or family will 'fess up! Am I the only one in five in the crowd? I would really like to meet some other real-live gal out there who has had post-partum depression, or to hear from another mom what it's like for her.

For me, most of the time I am sort of fine, and then I have a really, really, REALLY bad day. Not just a day where I mope around listening to my old Cure albums weeping quietly, but days where I scream at P, cry for hours and hide in a closet (literally). Why? It's usually something pretty minor that has gone awry. Then, for the next week or so after my fit, I beat myself up for screaming at P, wishing sometimes that I weren't a mom, ( ***Let's get this clear from the start now that I'm writing about PPD: This feeling has nothing to do with my feelings for M as a person, because she's nothing but wonderful. M has done nothing to cause this; she has not exacerbated it--she's not colicky, fussy, gassy, developmentally delayed, of poor health, a bad sleeper, etc. and she's as pretty as a pearl and very smiley; it's more my own baggage over the lifestyle and identity changes, which I obviously knew about before I got pregnant.***), and generally being a mess.

A symptom of PPD, and the final clue that let me know that I might have it and that my continued rage and sadness after five months were not just "hormones," is lack of concentration/distractability. Normally, I have great concentration (I'm an appellate lawyer, by trade), but in maternity leave I sometimes just found myself running from room to room while M was napping. Pulling up a sheet in the bedroom, washing a pan in the kitchen, loading the dryer, moving a magazine, back to pull up the blanket, starting the dryer, feeding the cats, remembering something I meant to put in the dryer, etc. I think of this because I just got distracted by my own parenthetical in the previous paragraph and it made me think that it's so tricky to find moms who will say they have/had PPD because they do not want anyone to think badly of their baby, or to think that they don't love their baby. As if anyone would. I know rationally that no one would think that as I write this, but I still feel terrible and worry that I'm damaging M by being so sad and crazy and I don't want anyone to think that she caused my PPD.

My shrink (here's the distraction again--the best part of PPD is getting to have someone I can call my shrink) says that my particular flavor of PPD has some OCD running through it. Not constant hand-washing OCD, but just a level of anxiety and demanding perfectionism that is untenable with a baby. She hypothesizes (and I agree) that I've probably had this my whole life and, up until now, have just learned to use it in mostly-adaptive ways. I'm not on any meds right now because I'm still breast-feeding, though many people have told me recently that I should knock that off and get on some. I'm not sure that's my answer though. I really enjoy breastfeeding and feel like it is the one absolute saving grace that I have as a mom so far. I may be sad and crazy and I may have a full-time job that necessitates daycare, but at least that girl is getting some good immunity and 100% natural nutrition from me. But, I do agree that I can't just persist in this sad state w/ crazy flare-ups forever and that that probably would ultimately be damaging for M, not to mention my relationship with P. So what to do? Yoga? Acupuncture? Wait it out? I'm in some Cognitive Behavioral Therapy now, but not sure that's doing much.

Anyway, there it is. Maybe google-search will bring me some other one-in-five PPD ladies. Are you out there???