Mommy Fail

As I sit here staring at my fancy night vision monitor, watching my baby boy sleep two hours after I arrived home (on his belly - failure #1, and an hour earlier than he should be - failure #2), the only thing that comes to mind as exhaustion takes over is this: being a working mom blows. Hard. Like a porn star.

Sure, sure. I am a strong, empowered woman who is taking care of her family. Hear me roar! I keep telling myself I appreciate my adult life and time away. I keep telling myself. But hear me cry as I pull out of the driveway, leaving this perfect little specimen I brought into the world just 90 days (90 days!) ago, behind. The guilt is overwhelming.

As a child, I had to make sure all of my stuffed animals had a friend before I went to bed each night. You know, so they wouldn't get lonely. I might have done this with Oliver's too. So...you can only imagine what I'm going through with a ridonculously adorable baby boy that stares back at me with my own eyes (when his head isn't turned to the left - failure #3). He needs a Mommy by nature, and I'm not there (failure #4).

I want to work. And I have to work. As much as I enjoy what I do most days, I don't feel that I'm doing the right thing. I'm certainly not the first mom to go back to work. Women do it every day, and under much more difficult circumstances than mine. And I'm sure I should be grateful to those who fought for our equality in the workplace, but right about now I'm wishing the only option I had was what color apron to wear while I cook dinner.

My entire adult life my career has defined me. Ask anyone who Courtney is and I guarantee the first thing out of their mouth is related to my success in the workplace. Or that I'm an intimidating bitch, take your pick, they are one in the same in this world. What might surprise you is that I don't see myself this way. At all.  I'm proud of what I've accomplished, but the truth is it came relatively easy to me. I'm driven, dedicated and want to make a difference, but it's what I've been doing until what I'm really supposed to be doing comes along, and I just happen to be really good at it.

Now, motherhood? That, my friends, is a whole different story. It's the hardest fucking thing I've ever done, and I work my ass off only to be what I would consider average. God how I hate that word. Every single day I feel like a failure. Is he eating enough, what am I doing that's preventing him from sleeping, am I using the right baby products, is his head the right shape? And there's no backspace button on my kid, people! I realize this is the ultimate challenge, one I so desperately want to be good at, and you got it, the one I want to define me. Didn't see that coming.

Conundrum. So, I want to work despite feeling guilty and need to work but don't want it to define me because now I'm a marginal mommy who wants to be a super mommy but can't because I work.

Got it? Neither do I.

Didn't I Tell You

I spent some time re-reading my blog this weekend. I do this every couple of months because it's kind of like reading past diary entries to assess your mental state. Who am I kidding. It's a narcissistic indulgence that leaves me thinking I might actually be able to make a career out of this some day. Tangent -- back to my point.

There were three posts that struck me, posts where I had commented about life after baby, and I'd just like to share that I was correct in my assumptions. Which only goes to show that I am not delusional and have a clue. What a relief.

The first is the smell of Dead Animals. It's baaacckk. Which means it was not, in fact, my crazy pregnant nose. There is something in the walls. Or the drains. It's subtle. You might not notice it at first, but even my husband has caught a whiff and he can't smell anything. It's going to make me crazy, so the source must be found and destroyed. And in the meantime I'll once again be burning the candles and La Tee Da lamps.

The second is my son's name. Yes, we named him Oliver, which I allude to in House of Destiny. What I didn't know is that he would actually be born on December 20, which I suppose makes it even more apropos. But the name didn't come easy. We waffled, and continued to waffle into his third month of life. Hell, we're still waffling, because we can't seem to find a nickname that doesn't make my husband cringe. The obvious, Olly or Ollie, doesn't do it for us and you are guaranteed to have people calling him by this shortened version of the name. It's as natural as Mike for Michael. Is it crazy to change your child's name after 3 months? Opinions welcome.

And finally, there's my efficiency. It hasn't left the building. I am more than happy to report my house is still clean and will remain that way thanks to Daisy and her team, and I'm still cooking (it's what got me through weeks 1-8), and putting checks in household boxes. I cannot and will not compromise my environment. It's the only thing that keeps me sane. And, I'm happy to report that in one day back to the office I've already made great strides in tidying up the ship.  I told you not to Underestimate me.

Onward and upward. 

Re-entry.

Writer's are supposed to write, right? Well I do. It's just been in my head where no one can read it for the past 90 days. Yes, folks, our trial period is over. Even though. I hear white baby boys sell for about $40k these days, we've decided to keep him. And all that he brings with him.

There's the giggles, cuddles, coos and endless hours of staring at him wondering how I could have possibly done something so right. And there's also the 10 extra pounds I still have, the daily headaches, continued baby brain (it got worse) and the perpetual voice telling me not to screw this up. And to stop using the f-word.

Being a Mom is the hardest thing I've ever done. Not hard in the sense of the daily routine. In fact, now that I know being a SAHM is all about operations it's rather appealing to me, it's something I could master. No, it's hard in the sense of the expectations I place upon myself for raising him right. And my new obsessive compulsive disorder that focuses on figuring out what's wrong with him each day (answer = nothing). I've re-read my baby books multiple times, swearing I missed the part that fixes [INSERT RANDOM BABY CONCERN HERE]. Babies aren't logical. That's the downfall of a logician like me (you like that word, don't you). Raising a kid is a giant science experiment that relies on magic, and every day I feel like I'm blowing up the beakers while the rabbit escapes my hat. Poof.

With so much child rearing to think about, it leaves little room for much else. Which brings me to Monday's return to work. For his sake, it's probably better that cray-cray Mommy is off to the mines. Bodes well for his long term mental stability. And I'm at peace with leaving my child. After all, he'll be with his Daddy and a truly wonderful nanny we were blessed to find.

While I am excited to start "having it all" (Step 1: figure out what "all" is), in my current state of mind I am fearful of what I am returning to with all that has, or more appropriately hasn't, transpired while I've been gone. Not to mention the impact of the very short fuse that is my sleep-deprived patience right now. The clean-up promises to be challenging, to put it mildly, thus I'm hoping to find balance, perspective, and a filter before Monday.

Balance. Ha. I'm still figuring out how to shower by 10am, let alone working in the 9-5. I know, I know, everybody does it. And Marissa Mayer, well isn't she the quintessential working mother. Thanks for killing maternity leave for the rest of us. Oh, and telecommuting.

And so Life 2.0 begins. Where did I leave my wand....

A Birth Story (and then some)

A year ago, we were considering starting a family. I was mentally preparing myself for a difficult time conceiving and the possibility of not at all, worrying about my heart condition, and coming to terms with delivering via c-section should we actually get pregnant.

Which only goes to show God laughs at your plans.

I think I'm still in a little bit of shock that there is a 9-day old human, mine, asleep in his nursery dreaming of his next feeding. I could not have imagined this to be a reality as quickly as it became one, nor the way in which it did.

After getting pregnant immediately and having an easy pregnancy at that, I figured the rest would be a bit more complicated. When he was diagnosed with his heart condition, I felt vindicated, as I'm perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then we determined it was simply something to watch, and knowing I've lived a full life with the same thing, there was suddenly less to worry about.

So therefore delivery would most certainly be on the grueling end of the spectrum you hear about so often (e.g. 20 hours of labor followed by an emergency c-section).  And then it wasn't. Induction, roughly 6 hours of contractions felt simply as pressure (thanks to that epidural), four strong pushes, and voila -- baby.

Yep.

And now were home, finding our way in our new world and getting to know one another. It's, in a word, surreal. Exhausting, exhilarating, frustrating, rewarding...every possible emotion on the spectrum.  And it's only just begun.

I've learned a few lessons, and there are a few things I wish I'd known:

1. Get a brazilian before labor. You will be spread eagle and exposed most of the day in front of nine of your closest medical professional friends. And your husband. All humility is lost. 
2. The "every three hour" feeding is actually every 2-3 hours, which equals about 1 1/2 - 2 hours sleep for you, max. Feedings are counted from the time they START, not end. Devastating. 
3. Baby Blues affect everyone. In some way shape or form. Mine manifests in anxiety starting at 7pm each night, like clockwork, until my 11pm feeding. Crying has become a full time hobby, be they tears of joy or pain. Hormones are awesome.

I've also had a few unexpected realizations:

1. Having a baby has evolved and deepened the love I have for my husband. Seeing him embrace and enjoy the role of Daddy makes an already amazing man absolutely incredible. 
2. It's true - you can't describe the feelings you have for your child when placed in your arms for the first time. It's a whole new level of love, and an entirely different emotion. It changes you forever.
3. Your body is superhuman. You will find a way to exist on 3 hours of sleep over 4 days, and manage to socialize. And you won't need caffeine (or blow) to do it. 
4. I will never, ever, for a single second, consider delivering naturally. The 5 minutes of contractions I felt were enough for one lifetime. 

And now it's time for nap. 

Extreme Nesting (among other extreme behaviors)

If I could somehow convince a camera crew to follow me around these next few weeks, I'm sure it would be 5 -star entertainment that might land me a new reality show.

Nesting. The emotion and actions of late pregnancy prepping for baby, sometimes accompanied by a surge in energy. Not something I thought I would experience as I am a natural nester when not pregnant.

Wrong. It's manifested in an extreme state. I am bat-shit crazy, and everything under the sun needs to be done. Yesterday. And this applies not only to my home, but my work. I have been insanely productive at the office, but making my husband insane at home. Trade offs, you know?

Let's look at my list. We got the windows cleaned and painted. In that order. So naturally they need to be done again. We had a bathtub installed for the baby, which is awesome, less the drywall dust that has cast my home in a lovely shade of grey that now needs to be resolved. We need a new bed, the damn Tempur-Pedic won't stop stinking. One thousand loads of baby laundry need to be complete. And the house needs to be cleaned -- top to bottom to include the baseboards, floors, vents, cabinets, and every visible surface. At least the garage and closet projects went well. And are done.

And then I need to hire a cleaning lady. Set up the cradle, pack-n-play, and baby bathroom. And pack my hospital bag.

Christmas shopping. Shit.

In the meantime, I understand how people go schizophrenic. All these things remain undone, it's like I don't know where to start. It's paralyzing. Debilitating. And making me so agitated and angry, which is awesome for my kid, right? The mood swings are visible. So I focus on working. Like 14 hours a day, because somehow that's easier to get done.

Here's hoping I get it all done this weekend so some semblance of peace of mind can return.

Memories Echo, Part II

"there is only so much you can control in this life"
-- Courtney Saunders, November 1, "October Lessons" blog post.

Never were truer words written. Two weeks ago, I found out that my Baby Boy has a hole in his heart. Just like his mommy. Of all the traits I had hoped to pass onto him, this was not at the top of my list. I always knew there was a "small but significant" chance this could happen, but when it does you are no more prepared for it than if you had zero knowledge of the possibility.

This condition, known as CHD, (and VSD or ASD depending on the location of the hole), is not all that uncommon. Approximately 1 in 100 newborns, in fact. And provided the hole remains small, the prognosis is that it will eventually close on it's own as his heart grows. Surgery is not usually recommended, unless it's large enough to impede function. In short, it's a lot less scary than it was 35 years ago when I was born.

But no less scary when it's your child.

You want the best for them. From the moment they are conceived and every day of their life there after, you strive to give them all the advantages you can because life is hard enough. So I didn't initially deal well with this diagnosis, no matter how insignificant it may ultimately turn out to be. Beyond my worry, it makes me mad. Furious, actually. Especially knowing I personally had something to do with it.

But I can't dwell on it, and my anger won't solve anything (nor will my tears). My doctors don't seem overly concerned, including the pediatric cardiologist who did an echo of his heart last Thursday. An echo in utero. Amazing, right? I thought my own echos were uncomfortable. I was very wrong. It's much worse when they are stabbing you with the evil wand in the stomach and applying pressure you didn't know was possible without popping.

But the pain was worth it, as will be most unbearable things I do in this life for my child's well being. In doing this we know exactly what we're dealing with and will be able to take any necessary steps to ensure his health (and Mommy and Daddy's peace of mind).

In the meantime, Baby Boy is growing well and kickboxing, tumbling and flipping like a champ. We're praying for his continued good health, comforted by the fact that we already know he's a fighter.

Just like his Mommy.

October Lessons

For one who likes to call herself a writer, I sure don't write much. It's been almost three weeks since my last post, but feels like yesterday. I woke up to November this morning, after 12 1/2 hours of much needed rest to get over the month of October, and pondered the things I've learned since we last spoke (well, wrote and read).

Kids change you. More than you think they will. And mine isn't even born yet. I was faced with a fairly monumental life decision over the past few weeks, and ultimately went in the direction the single, non-Mommy version of Courtney would have never, not in her lifetime, chosen. I went the safe route, and looked the other way from adventure and opportunity. Even I didn't think I would until the moment I did it (and then got violently ill wondering what the hell I had done).  I know, right? Who does that, certainly not this girl. But some little voice nagged and nagged and I could not make it shut up.

I've since come to terms with it, and have reconciled that this is the first of many sacrifices I will make in my lifetime for my child. Someday, I'll be glad I chose him.

I've also come to find that pregnancy is hard when your old. Especially late pregnancy. I'm not talking about people discounting you with "pregnancy brain" or dropping rude comments about how large you are (with two months to go). No, that's just the tip of the iceberg. Screw the emotional, I'm talking about the physical.

I went into this thinking I'm Wonder Woman, I'll work up until my due date, carry on as normal la ti da. I didn't consider how limiting all this extra weight on my front side would be. You know, like limiting how well (and if) you walk? And how much you sleep, if at all. I sit there, my brain spinning, with a list of things I need and want to do, yet. You just.can't.do.it. Physically speaking. It is BEYOND frustrating.

No one really talks about this phase of pregnancy -- maybe because it's so close and you're simultaneously wrapped up in the excitement of meeting your child? Women forget, God's little trick of nature to make you have more kids.

I'm going to the Dr. tomorrow, and worried they are going to put me down for the count. Just a hunch, seeing as my candle has been burning at both ends with activity and my stress level could stand to come down a few hundred feet. Not to mention I'm sick. And can't walk. So naturally they will put me on bed rest because that's the last thing I could possibly deal with right now.

And finally, I've learned that there is only so much you can control in life. You do your best, and good enough is sometimes, well, enough.

On that note...