Here at LoveMom, we're all about fresh perspectives on being a mother. That's why in the latest edition of Baby Bytes, we're bringing you some untraditional Mother's Day-related info nuggets: from why on Earth you would want to name your kid after furniture (ahem, Mariah Carey) to how to mother yourself in middle age.
At some point in the next three to four weeks, I will be giving birth to mine and my husband’s first child. As the big day approaches, and while I waddle around in public, I get the inevitable question: "Are you nervous?" The truth is, not a single bit. And why should I be? I am completely educated and prepared, and I trust that my body knows just what to do. After all, this baby kept on growing inside me with very little effort on my part. I believe that it also will handle most of what needs to happen in order for her to move on out. I said, most.
You know that passion you have at the beginning of a relationship? When every moment is about getting closer to each other and nothing is more important than seeing that person naked? How nothing else matters, not food or shelter or work? Yeah, that intensity is kind of hard to maintain.
While we appreciated all of the kind words, gestures, and reassuring hugs that followed the miscarriage, it was the strength of our marriage that got us through last summer. Looking back, I guess I am a bit surprised at how much love, support, and positive energy we provided one another. Up until this point, our relationship hadn't exactly been famous for this kind of behavior.
I try to be a happy person and I really am the vast majority of the time. I am usually that annoying Pollyanna who thinks everything is going to be all right. My down times are few and far between, but, man, when they happen they are fierce.
What was hard for me was trying to explain their divorce to my eight year old. Her grandparents have been a constant in her life; we spend holidays with them and she even has her own room and toys at their house. For them to live separately and function as individuals rather than her Grandparent Unit confused her.
eople seem to expect me to be sitting on the couch evaluating every stomach twinge for signs of labor. (Contraction? Or reaction to the Thai food I had for lunch??) And with my first two children, that’s exactly what I was doing. (In between eating the Thai food and, ahem, having quality time with my husband trying to usher in said labor.) Maybe I should be a little bit nervous about how close I am to having a newborn, but I’m not. This is my third child, and I’m pretty cool about it.
When you talk about dealing with infertility, you get a lot of different reactions. Some people sympathize, some people criticize, some people wonder why you would want to bring a child into the world when there are already so many children unloved and unclaimed. I’ve had pretty much all of that directed at me.
I’m good at staying busy, but I’m not good at being idle. And by that I’d have to say that I’m not good at relaxing or finding creative ways to entertain myself that aren’t at their root productive activities.
Just how many times can a daughter, with a career and husband and children of her own, leave everything behind to care for an ill parent thousands of miles away?