My day

Here is how my day has gone so far.

1. It's about 10 degrees here. What happens when it gets super cold? Car batteries go kaput? Yup you guessed it. Oh what fun that is in the very cold, weather report said it was 11 degrees, a crying baby and a jumper cables. DH was at school.
2. I've been busy all morning. I'm about to explode. I sit down to pump. Guess what? No power I left the @#$#^# thing at home. Because it's freezing cold here, get all bundled up and go to convienence store for batteries. Pay highway robbery for 8AA's.
3. While pumping, someone comes by wanting to chat. I cover up and chat while trying to not squirt her.
4. DH had to go for an ass chewing at ROTC. Have not heard what happened.
5. Dh washed his cell phone. My bid for a great cell phone on ebay got sniped by a 0 feedback moron, brand new ebay jerk, I mean member, with no intention to pay. He outbid everyone on all of the seller's auctions. Means I have to wait until Sunday to get this purchased.
6. Sydney gets about 6 immunizations this afternoon. So I will have to deal with a very cranky baby for the next couple of days.
7. I need to buy a new formal top for 2 formal dinners this weekend. No time or money.
8. I am trying to stockpile breast milk. Problem is I am barely getting enough to cover her day care feedings. I estimate I need 4 ounces for tomorrow evening when MIL watches DD because I have to work late, 8 ounces for when sister watches DD from about 6-10 on Friday, and at least 12 ounces for when my mom (sigh) watches DD from 2:30 to 11ish on Saturday. Pressure and stress. My Stash from the NICU days is gone, gone, gone.
9. The computer program we use is down. Can't do my work.
10. I have to go to training the next 2 days with a training nazi. For some dumb reason, while all other state trainings go from 9-4, hers go from 8-5. Oh, I love driving to Salt Lake in the traffic.
    

So that's where I am today.

I cannot say

I’ve been thinking a lot about my relationship with my mom lately.

I want her to be a type of mom she is not.

Plain and simple that is it.

After my experience with my pregnancy and the NICU, I’ve learned the painful fact that my mom has her own issues, issues which I cannot solve.

With everyone else, I am not a pushover. I have no problem standing up and defending myself or someone else to just about everyone I know. This includes the, respectfully Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I can say just about anything to anyone, including God.

Except my mom.

I cannot say to my mom “I wish you had not lectured me when I called you in tears after the run in with the social worker about the camera. I wish you had taken my side.”

I cannot say “When I called you to tell you that the ultrasound measured Sydney as 3 weeks behind, I wish you had cried with me. Rather, you told me this was because I was using technology, and if I went to an old male OB, who did not use ultrasounds, everything would be ok.” Had I followed that advice, Sydney would definitely been dead, and maybe me too.

I cannot say “When I told you I had to have a cesarean section, I wish you would have mourned with me the loss of my dreamed for vaginal birth. Rather you lectured me on surrendering my birth, and the unnecessary use of cesarean sections.”

I cannot say “I was so stressed out during that non-stress test, and your being there only added to this. I am forever grateful that the tech was paying attention to how you were lecturing me about not being ready for this baby. She came around the curtain and suggested that you go get me lunch to see if food would help the baby. You left, and I went from completely failing the non stress test and having worrisome high blood pressure to being normal. I ignored your calls that weekend on doctor’s orders. It was either that or she was admitting me with no visitor privileges.”

I cannot say “I’m an adult. I do not need you involved with my medical decisions. I need you to be supportive, but you do not get a saw in who my provider is, what medical treatments I get, and what happens.” When you wanted me to add your name to the release of information I signed when I first was pregnant so Vince had full access to my medical history.

I cannot say “I wish I could talk to you about how to help Vince right now. Instead you will likely pressure me to leave him, and use this as ammunition in the future.”

I cannot say “Please minimizing how hard it is for me to be away from Sydney during the day. You never had to put your baby in day care. You do not know what it is like.”

I cannot say, “You never had a high risk pregnancy. You never had a cesarean section. You never had a premature tiny baby. You never had a baby in the NICU. You do not know anything about any of these things, so stop telling me what I should and should not feel, should and should not do, how I should act.”

I cannot say “I wish you would have been more supportive of me and Vince about the scene his mother caused after Sydney was born. Instead we had to walk on eggshells with everyone. I did not hurt your feelings, and neither did Vince, but we bore the brunt of your emotions when we were least able to handle this.”

I cannot say “I wish you would accept my life without judging me. I love my husband. I love my daughter. We occasionally go to church. Our home is often a mess. We care for each other and love, rather than the nagging and screaming which you did/do to have your home clean.”

I cannot say “I hate schedules. I hate getting up early. Leave me alone about it.” It was very hard for me, with all my emotions and pain with Sydney’s birth to have to have you nag at me for not making schedules to fit your needs, rather than to recognize that your daughter was suffering and your schedule discussion came across as an attack of a new mommy.

I cannot say “You thought you were being supportive while Sydney was in the NICU, but you were not. I gave up the emotional energy trying to get you to be supportive. Yes you bought clothes, but this made me feel that what I bought was unneeded.”

I cannot say “Thank you for purchasing a blessing dress for Sydney. However, it is the type of dress you want, not what I told you I want. I do not want to bless Sydney in the dress you bought incase she died, so I have something to bury her in. I felt very stepped on. I did not want to bless her in the bad juju dress, but I did because you were already very upset about Vince’s mom, and I could not handle your upset if I got a different dress. I wish you would have asked me if you could purchase a dress, or suggested that I select a dress and you will pay for it. What you do not know is that there is a bookmarked dress that Vince and I selected in case she did not survive, ready to be overnighted if the need arose. I allowed you to step all over my boundaries here, and I wish I had done more to express this to you.”

I cannot say, “Go read my blog.” because this honesty will crush you, and you will cut me off and even though I am leaning better how to be your daughter and what my boundaries are, I still need you.

These are all things I cannot say. I wish I could.

Now I wonder how to prevent Sydney typing something similar in 30 years.
I say that because we often parent as we were parented. I do not want to parent the same way. I want to be someone Sydney wants to be there when she is in a crisis, not someone who adds to her pain.

BFN

I was over playing games last night at the home of two dear friends. While there, the one trying to get pregnant took a pregnancy test and it came back a BFN.

I just hate infertility. It just sucks.

You know who you are, but I am so very sorry about your BFN. I had my fingers crossed for your family to add the new family member you desire.

I've been there. I had a way to long cycle, and I was sure I was pregnant. No, my hormones were so screwed up that I had not had a period for 3 months. I had to take medicine to start my period.

I hate peeing on a stick. Until Sydney, that stick had never even given me any glimmer that I was pregnant. No faint line, no maybe, no hint of hope.

That is what you have to have to survive infertility. Hope. Courage. Love.

Hang onto your hope. There were times that this seemed hopeless for us, but there always is something to hope for.

It is a tremendous act of courage to TTC again after a BFN. You want something so simple, but it is so very hard.

Hang onto the love of your spouse. Your spouse hurts as you do. Don't let infertility drive a wedge between you. You will need each others love to get through the hard times.

I hope I'm not coming off preachy, that is not my desire. I just wanted to share a bit of what I learned through our infertility journey.

Quiet

I've been quiet lately. Sorry. I have been editing and posting videos on my You-Tube site located here for a shameless plug.....youtube.com/intorainbowz .

It's been a quiet time for me. Vince's grandmother died last Thursday. I loved her. She was always so very kind to me. She was a great buffer between me and MIL when MIL went bonkers when Sydney was born.


This is MIL and Abuela and Sydney.


This is MIL, DH, Abuela, and Sydney.


She had been ill for some time, and was ready to go. I still miss her, and actually have a hard time believing she is dead, even though I saw her body, and watched her casket be lowered into the ground.

Unfortunately, as happens in my family and I'm sure yours too, a death, same as a birth, is a time for every one to go a little crazy. Vince's aunt went off her meds, police had to be called more than once. After the Rosary was said at the viewing, she decided to make a speech, basically blasting MIL. MIL has been the only child of Abuela's to actually care for her and meet her needs. Like I told my SIL married to my brother, take your crazy family member and add booze.

It is weird for me. As so much of the rituals of her death were different than I am used to, I barely felt I was at a funeral. I'm LDS, she is Catholic. The funeral was a mass, very different than a Mormon funeral. The songs, the prayers, the rituals were different and foreign to me.

Sydney loved the stained glass windows and the smell of the frankinse and myrrh that they used in the incense, and thought mass was great. My mom came and held her most of the service. It was nice that my mom could stand in place and sway Sydney. I was uncomfortable, as this is not my faith, and other than knowing to say "and also with you" after the priest says "Peace be with you" and "Lord hear our prayer" after "Let us pray to the Lord." the rituals and meanings behind those rituals are unknown to me. I also know that the "sign of Peace" means shake every-one's hand around you. (I learned this at a wedding in Mexico where I was separated from the host family, and had absolutely no clue about what was going on both as a non-Catholic and a non-Spanish speaker. Carmen leaned across the isle and hissed at me "It's the sign of peace and you are being rude." as I was standing there looking funny. ) I did not know when to stand and sit. And (snark warning) the Catholics seated in front of me had as much idea as the 3 Mormons sitting on my pew when to stand and sit. The Priest had to use his hands to direct us.

No offense to any Catholics reading this, but I would be a very bad Catholic. In the LDS church, the sacrament consists of bread and water. The water is poured into little paper or plastic one time use cups. Catholics use one communal cup. That just grosses me out, the whole sharing of the cup by multiple people I don't know. Maybe had I been raised with this as a normal custom, I would be ok with it, but the germaphobe in my says no. (After the sign of peace, Vince got out the Purell.)

I did not go to the gathering after the funeral. It was at Abuela's home. I would have liked to go, but I knew there would be a lot of smoking going on there. Some of the Aunts were a bit disappointed that Sydney would not be there. They asked why. I simply stated "There will be smoking there, and she cannot be around cigarette smoke." MIL told me that at the home, they said I was rude and judgemental. Thankfully MIL stood up for me, and said that babies should not be around cigarette smoke and any moron knows that. (HAHAHA she was much ruder than I.) There was another baby there, and Vince said at one point there were 4 lit cigarettes around her. When Vince came home, he stunk WORSE than when we used to go gambling in a casino. REALLY. His suit had to go to the cleaners, and he had to shower. He said that there was underage drinking going on as well. He felt like he was caught between his family and that he is a sworn police officer (albeit very part time.) I might have felt the need to call the police, and told him so. Other than a sip at New Years, I have no tolerance for underage drinking, especially when the uncle gives teenagers beers. No not sips, their own beer. I don't understand how a family get together to honor Abuela turns into a kegger.

Anyway, I got off topic. I will miss Abuela. I always meant to get her rice recipe, and now it is gone.

Power

No line. I went at 9 while everyone was at work.

No gunfire. No 10 mile walk. I drove, even though it was just across the street. I was going to work after.

No ink on my finger. I was Id'd, even though I registered in person, had proof of that, and was Id'd at that time. Vince who registered after me, will not be Id'd.

No armed troops anywhere. Well the police department was across the parking lot, but they were off busting speeders, because that's all they do.

No fanfare. No bombs. No civil war.

I peacefully walked into an elementary school, and with my finger exercised power. Today I am as powerful as the President of the United States. Today I exercised the power that if enough people agree with me, we could overthrow our government bloodlessly, peacefully, and in an orderly fashion.

I voted. The president and I, and you if you go vote, each only count as one. Last time I voted, he and I cancelled out each other's votes as I'm sure he voted for himself, and I sure has hell voted for the other guy.

I walked in, showed my ID, took the card, inserted it into the machine, politely declined the offer to show me how to work the touch screen, and voted. I pushed the little x by the name of the people I feel will best represent me. While I refuse to use the strait party option, the smiley face of the Personal Choice party was QUITE intriguing.

I left several items blank. It was very sad to see how many county positions were running unopposed. All Republicans, no challengers. Not even a Personal Choice candidate to select. I toyed with writing myself in, but did not. I just could not vote for someone who already is a shue in. I voted against 2 judges retaining their seats, I've seen them in action and did not like what I saw. Other than the judges I did vote for, and the Utah Constitutional Amendment I voted for, I hold no illusions that the people I voted for will actually be elected. They are Democrats running in Davis County, Utah for crying out loud. Davis County has not elected a Democrat to ANYTHING for about 20 years.

Where does that leave people like me? Unrepresented, unheard, unimportant.

Today, I was important. I voted. Rather than being disillusioned and ignoring election day, because I know that the uselessness of my going and voting, I chose to make a stand. Even though no one I voted for will be elected, I put my finger on the screen and demanded to be counted.

I took Sydney with me. I talked to her about how important voting is. I want her to be a voter. It is important to me to raise a voter. She will go again with her daddy this evening. When Sydney is bigger, I will let her push the X on the screen, like my dad let me push the pen into the hole next to the name of Ronald Reagan, and George Bush. I will teach her about what I think is politically important, just as my father used that time in the canvas walls to tell me of the glories of the GOP and how Reagan will save America. My dad taught me about pushing the pen all the way in, and making sure no chads were left hanging. My dad taught me how important it is to vote from a young age, and I hope to follow his example and teach that to Sydney.

It was a bit odd using the computers. No clunk clunk of the pens pushing the chads off. No little booth with a flag as a door. No canvas walls to prevent the voter from distraction. My vote was private, it was a different experience than the last time I voted.

Have you voted? People have died for the right of American Citizens to vote. People in Iraq stood for hours to vote under the threat of violence. It is the least we can do to walk on over to the local elementary school and use our finger on the screen.

Today I excercised power. What a blessing that is.

Letter to Kerry

Faith wants to know what I think of John Kerry's comment:

"You know, education, if you make the most of it, if you study hard and you do your homework, and you make an effort to be smart, uh, you, you can do well. If you don’t, you get stuck in Iraq."

Senator Kerry, I want my vote back. Not that I would vote for Bush, but I could vote for Nader again...

Say what you want about Bush. Say what you want about Rummy. Say what you want about the failed policies of this administration. My belief to you, Senator, please leave our troops out of this.

What a way to insult the 3,068 coalition soldiers who have died in Iraq since this began. Those numbers include 2,829 Americans, two Australians, 120 Britons, 13 Bulgarians, six Danes, two Dutch, two Estonians, one Fijian, one Hungarian, 32 Italians, one Kazakh, one Latvian, 17 Poles, two Romanians, five Salvadoran, three Slovaks, 11 Spaniards, two Thai and 18 Ukrainians in the war in Iraq as of November 3, 2006.

I am positive that there are a good many educated souls among that number. They did their homework. They studied hard. They joined the military for various reasons, and went and did their duty. They died honorably.

Frankly Mr. Kerry, I am asking for your resignation. You should no longer be a Senator of our great country. I would like for you to resign, and to renounce any military pension or honors you may have won in Vietnam. I use the term won not earned, because I do not believe you won your Purple Heart.

I don't think you were heckling the President. You know how to do that. I think you were trying to make a statement, that smart people don't end up in the military.

Yes, Mr. Kerry, Smart people do end up in the military. They choose to join. They serve with honor, do their duty, and protect our country so you can say dumb things like what you just said.

Resign. Put some real meaning behind your apology.