Only One?

Yep, I'm a huge Eminem fan. He's vulgar, violent and I won't let my kid listen to him, but he's honest and raps about real things, his real life, no matter how good, how bad or how ugly. I feel like I read his diary when I listen to him. Weird? Maybe....but then if you know me, you'll just shrug this little oddity off like all the others.

So I think of this song a lot when it comes to my life. We get one shot, right? At everything or just some things? 

With my children, it's so obvious to me that if I screw them up, not much else I achieve will matter. Sure I can save for therapy later for them and do what I want now, but, well, that doesn't seem like the best option.

Anyhow, I know where I stand on this, I know every time I look into the eyes of my little boys or see either do something for the very first time that I am on the right track. I know because I am there. I see these things happen. I document them. I talk endlessly about each child's new ability.

But then something (s) happens. And I second guess everything:

• My oldest and I disagree - A LOT. Should I just send him to after school care and be done with it?

• He's also recently diagnosed with "A.D.D." and "Oppositional Defiance Disorder" (arguing for the sake of arguing). I've got another whole blog post brewing about what I think of these things (can you tell I doubt the field of medicine lately) but my point is - AM I DOING OK? AM I THE RIGHT PERSON FOR HIM TO BE WITH IN HIS FREE TIME?
  
  
• I see friends and colleagues excel and while I am excited for them, my workaholic nature kicks in and I start wondering if I should have taken on just one more client, if I should have done this, or should do that, etc. If I did, surely I could afford ...
  

I suppose the grass is always greener.

I suppose I could approach my work life differently.  I would eventually get over it if I were not the first to witness my baby's smile, first crawl, first steps or even (cause he did it and it's so stinking cute) his first dinosaur growl (at a book!). I suppose I could just pay someone else to take my son to karate, to swimming, to soccer and ask them to video. I could even "make up" my lack of attendance by giving him extra special gifts to let him know I'm thinking of him. I could be sure to attend just the games or the meets and not worry about the time he spent working on his six year old skills.

Or I can continue the daily juggle. I can stay committed to my small list of clients and give them 150% instead of 75%. I can truly invest and be what I want to be for them and to them. I can race my husband to the shower each morning after going to bed last and waking up first so that my communication with well, people, places and things around me stays solid . I can continue what I think is a pretty damn good balance of work and life and make the necessary financial contributions to my family. Notice I said necessary. I am an expert time manager and planner. I will acknowledge that about myself (as I usually find it impossible to toot my own horn, so to speak). I know when to say when personally and professionally after years of trial and error and being told I "burn the candle at both ends."  That stopped when I had Micah.

I spent years in non profits with an hour commute both ways to the office. I spent 30 hours a week 45 miles away from my Micah, my then infant son. I did that for pennies (because being in  your mid twenties is customarily a time frame for "entry level" positions where you work your butt off for nothing to prove yourself) -the very ones that helped meet our family's bottom line. It was not easy. I convinced my boss to allow me to do my full time job in 30 hrs instead of 40-ish so that I could have those 10 more precious hours with my son.

My business was started by Divine Intervention. There's no doubt there. It's not even worth speculating. I was supposed to do it. The rest is between me and the Big Man. It has provided TIME (with my kids) and FLEXIBILITY. It's given me courage. It's been amazing.

 But it's funny how easily I get thrown.

Just the other day I turned away a pretty lucrative opportunity. Had I taken it I could have afforded to redo the bathroom, get the much needed sod for our yard and start on the numerous things I WANT to do to our home.

I was also recently asked, by a woman my age, when I was going to put Rowan in full time daycare and go back to work. Ha! I must be doing one hell of a job to fool someone into thinking that I don't work. I work 24/7 but am also a present mother 24/7. Balance.

So yes. I guess you only get one shot. It just depends on what you're aiming at.

Disclaimer (read: don't even try it): 

Let me clarify, just in case it's necessary, that I am not downing women who choose differently. I am merely relaying my experience (after all, there was such a thing at the women's movement way back when that served as the launch pad for much good in this world:) ).

She Marches to the Beat of Her Own Drum...

If only I had a buck for every time I've ever heard that.

It used to bother me - not so much anymore.

I get the feeling that my parenting raises an eyebrow or two at times. I find myself, more often than not, feeling defensive or hurt when I likely don't have to. It just happens. Maybe that's just a part of motherhood. Maybe that's something I need to work on. Time will tell.

For the most part my oldest is pretty cool. Ive mentioned his temperament - easily irritated, kinda whiney, in time out ALL THE FLIPPING TIME, etc. He remains, however - fun loving and totally nuts as you can see in this video.

He has a heart of gold and a sweet nature that I am so thankful for - but mostly see in the evenings or around bedtime. I took this picture just a minute ago - this was my hat from way back when and I gave it to him. He didn't want me to leave his room at bedtime but I guess when he did - he decided to keep a little piece of me with him:)

So back to my point - the drum thing. I kind of HAVE to march to the beat of my own drum re parenting partly b/c I feel a bit isolated. My parents live in town but my father works so hard and so much (retiring this year though!) and my mom is very ill with MS and is at home all day. So my kids can't really go to "grandma and grandpas" house often for obvious reasons. I find myself very envious at times of those who have their parents around to help babysit or even just help on a minimal level. But then I get over it. God gives us what we can handle - and I "got this."  Right???? Let's hope so.

When Micah was born, I think I went a little nutty. The change in our lives was so abrupt - the colic, the sleepless nights, the immediate stopping of graduate school, my constant reading of every parenting book on sleep habits, my comparisons of myself to other women....ahhhhhhh, sweet memories:)  I was SO rigid with Micah - but for good reason - the boy WORE ME OUT. If I didn't stick to a very tight schedule, we would both lose all control. People rolled their eyes, spoke under their breath about my "strictness", etc. It hurt so much to fight a silent battle against who I THOUGHT was everyone I knew.

I remember being around families who were much more flexible...naps were anywhere anytime and the baby was happy, etc. Pop a Baby Einstein in, and the kid would sit for hours....give the baby a hug and kiss and say "night night" and he/she would JUST LAY DOWN. Amazing. Not Micah - not by a long haul. I can honestly say that I didn't sleep through the night for about 2 years. He woke all the time - not out of hunger-he just woke up. Who knows why - maybe a giant SOMETHING was prying his eyelids open. I comfortably say  I DO NOT KNOW.  I wasn't into the crying it out thing bc it scared me. I didn't understand it. It made me shake inside. But I also wasn't a pushover....so I met him halfway....and eventually we settled. I remember feeling as though no one understood me, what "I " was going through...b/c for whatever reason (anytime you wanna tell me God) I seemed to be the only person in my "circle" with a child "like Micah".

It's funny - even just today, as the repair man was out my house fixing something, he could pick up on Micah. He said "that boy's got a heart of gold, but is a handful, isn't he?"  I smiled.

When I became pregnant the second time, I could barely handle the morning I was to find out the sex. I had a dream of a little boy with dark curly hair the night before but then convinced myself I was going to have a girl. 

 As the ultrasound revealed another baby boy, I cried tears of complete and utter joy. I couldn't wait for another life of rocks, trucks and sticks:)  

But then....

People started saying "oh no, hope you don't have another micah" or "wow - are you ok? Can you handle another Micah?"

I was floored. I was hurt. I was defensive. I was ready to PUT MY GAME FACE ON. In fact, I DID put my game face on.

"I'm sorry, what?!" would be my usual response.

Most would retract at the sight of my bulging forehead vein. "I mean...Micah's so full of energy, how will you deal with two?"  

"What do you mean?." Would be a usual reply. What people didn't see was the weight on my chest, the uncertainty in my heart. Three hernias in and the hottest summer in recent history, I started to let those comments in. "What if I am awake for the next two years?" I would think to myself." What if Micah totally  flips? What if I am not good enough?"  

Well.....here I am 9 months later.  I got through a second colicky season. I managed to get my anti-bottle newborn on a bottle by 4 1/2 months (was NOT easy) and I managed to get him to sleep through the night much earlier than Micah ever did. I manage to clean up poop and spit up with a giggle. You know why? 

I kept all the books closed. Ok, except for like one crazy weak day:)

I prayed. ALL THE TIME.

I looked at this small human with small human parts and LOVED HIM. Took care of him and got some perspective. I watched him.

I was STRONGER this time around.

I was READY this time around.

I was and AM delighted to be "ma-ma."

So. Thank you, my sweet, brilliant Micah - for showing me at age one that you were either gonna BEAT up the whole playground or PICK up those who fall. Six years later you are a mix between the two. There is work to do. Thank you for the preparation.