Day 74

     I think like many people in this world, I have struggled over the past week to find the words to articulate my dismay with the world around me. I still have not found them.

     My Facebook newsfeed and Twitter feed are both full of anger, disgust, and confusion. I am truly fearful for our future, and not just because of the terrorist attacks. I am also afraid of the dark hatred I have seen on display, much of which is based on bias, gross generalization and misinformation.

     How do I raise my children in a society such as this? The inquisitive 5 year old who loves his friends of various races, genders and religions. The impulsive 2 year old who gives hugs and kisses to everyone he meets. The precious baby I carry within me who is the definition of innocence. How do I explain this world to them? How can I keep them loving and accepting children, when everything around us screams "Be Afraid!!!"? 

     This post is not so much about the events of Lebanon, Afghanistan, Paris, Nigeria or the many other places around the world where terrorists have inflicted pain. Nor is it about gun control, immigration or foreign policy. Rather, I want to return to the focus of this blog- Beauty.

     It's hard to find beauty in times such as these. How can there be beauty when innocent people die? When families are torn apart? When daily life is disrupted by terror? When extremists are seen as the ambassadors of over a billion people? When people are so fearful that they are willing to watch children die? How can we ever recover? 

     I've always tried to be an optimist. I choose love over war. Kind words over hateful ones. Education over ignorance. It feels like less and less are following this path. This is what scares me. 

     I wonder what I can do to be an agent of change and peace. What can I do to combat the evil that is enveloping our world? It feels impossible to do anything of significance. Posting an article on social media won't change the opinions of those who have already made up their minds. Changing a profile picture won't bring back lost loved ones. 

     How can I live a beautiful life that I am proud of? One that my children can look back on with respect and admiration?

     I will love the people around me- my family, my students, coworkers, friends and neighbors. I will demonstrate tolerance. I will speak kind words. I will be considerate to those who are struggling. I will listen. I will make eye contact. I will smile at strangers.  I will enjoy the little things. I will engage in the world around me. I will be an agent for good. This is the way I can affect change.  This is beautiful.

     Tonight I will start my own war on terror and hatred by holding my son and singing him to sleep- by choosing love. 

Please join me.

Day 73

     I'd like to preface this post by stressing that I am speaking from my experience and there is NO judgement being passed on how anyone else delivers their baby. This is my journey to come to terms with circumstances out of my control. 

     Twenty weeks pregnant as of tomorrow and officially "halfway" through this pregnancy. Today being #tbt, I was contemplating an old photo to use when a link came across my Facebook newsfeed- 10 Unexpected Things to LOVE About Childbirth. This struck a nerve and I knew I had to get a few things off my chest.
   
     When I went to childbirth classes during my last few months of pregnancy I remember looking around the room and silently judging the other moms. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I did. During the session on c-sections, I completely zoned out and whispered to my husband that we didn't need to pay attention because I wouldn't be having one of those. I was going to have a natural, med-free childbirth. I was going to feel the primal urge to deliver my child into the world. This is what my body was designed to do. C-sections were for other women, not me. The instructor gave us the breakdown of the percentage of c-section births and I looked around the room and mentally picked out the other couples who I thought would be having them. Maybe my birth experience was karma paying me back for being so judgmental.

Our first picture as a family of three

     Lucas's birth came via emergency c-section after 27 hours of labor, preceded by a few weeks of bed rest and medication to prevent an early delivery. The bed rest seemed so ironic as I waited over a day for any sort of labor progression.

     In the moment when Lucas's heart rate dropped and everyone rushed into the room, my doctor said they needed to get the baby out and I didn't argue. My hopes of the natural birth I had dreamed of were gone, but I needed my baby safe. I watched Jim dress in the blue scrubs for the operating room. There were nervous jokes. Would Jim pass out? I had never had surgery like this before. Would I be able to see the baby? We didn't even know what we were having. Would I ever wear a bikini again? The things you think in moments like these. What follows is my stream of conscious more or less. It's still fresh in my mind over 5 years later.

     They roll me into the OR. Things happen fast. The sheet goes up. Was something on fire? Why did I smell burning? Jim tells me not to worry. I feel vague pushing on my abdomen and then there is crying- from all three of us. A boy is born. I can't see him. Jim is with the baby. I'm strapped to an operating table with the contents of my insides exposed. Only a sheet separates me from an open belly. The baby is crying. Single Ladies was playing on the radio. Is it weird if I sing? Where is the baby? Can I see the baby? The nurse brings him over to me and places him against my cheek. I cry. They take him away and Jim goes with the baby. Does he look like a Lucas or is he Sam? Lucas! His name is Lucas James. OK. I have a baby boy. I begin to panic. Why can I feel pushing? I'm uncomfortable. SHIT, I'M HAVING SURGERY! What if something happens? I'm a mom! I never held my baby. I want my baby. Panic. Panic. Panic. I start to thank the doctor for taking care of me. I trust him. I know he did what was right. This was what we needed, right? He assures me. The priority was the safety of the baby and me. I am OK. Am I OK? This isn't what I wanted. Can I go back? Did this just happen? Wait, it's over? Can I hold the baby? Where is the baby? Where am I going? Recovery room? Will I see the baby? How is the baby? Jim comes to me and tells me the baby is great. The family is out there looking at him. I want him. I WANT MY BABY! I grew him. He's my baby why can't I see him? I need to recover for a bit before they bring him to me. I'm alone. Where is the baby? I cry. I tell myself I should have paid attention to the c-section session. The woman in the bed next to me is nursing her child. We are separated by a curtain, but I hear her. I can't believe I failed. 

     I've never let go of this experience. I felt so betrayed by my body. This wasn't supposed to be my experience- this was for someone else. In the years that passed, I listened to friends tell stories of their labors. Some where quick, others drawn out. Some were medicated, others were not. Some were vaginal, some were c-sections. I compared myself to every one, never judging others (I learned my lesson) but I was judging myself. Was I less of a woman because I didn't experience a "normal" delivery? Was I a terrible person because I couldn't let it go? I would get so frustrated with myself because I know that I had a beautiful baby boy and without that c-section, things may have gone very differently. As the weeks after delivery turned into months and then years, I distanced myself from my negativity (with the help of a fantastic therapist). I embraced my amazing child and was thankful for modern medicine, which allowed the delivery to be safe for both of us.

     When it came time for my second birth, I had hopes for a VBAC but those soon vanished as complications arose during the pregnancy. I went into the c-section prepared, experienced and in a much better state of mind.
     As I prepare for the months ahead, I know baby number three will be delivered via c-section. I also know that I am a damn strong woman. I did feel a primal urge with the previous deliveries and while it may not have been the desire to push, it was the desire to make sure my child was safe. There is nothing stronger than that feeling.


   

Day 72

     No Shave November? How about No Pants November?

The only view in which I can see my feet over my belly

     18 weeks down, 19 more to go (until I'm considered full term and safe to deliver). Almost halfway there and I'm now experiencing a fall/winter pregnancy. I'm surprised to feel this way, but I find it much more difficult than carrying during the hot summer months.
   
     The reason? I have to wear pants.

     In the summers, I wore breezy dresses and skirts and never had to worry about squeezing my expanding belly (and other areas) into constricting clothing. Yes, I know yoga pants are wonderful, but on the occasion that I must be out in public to pick up my kids from school or bring them to soccer, I'd rather secure this body in something a little more structured. I'm not sure if the first image I want to present to the other kindergarten parents is my bottom half challenging the ability of my spandex to keep it together...

     Once I'm home, I now go pants-less or wear my loosest pair of leggings. However, I'm getting to the stage where nothing is loose and it will only get worse. I guess this is one of the positive sides to being home on disability- not too many people see me. My pants-less way of living only has to offend my family. And let's be honest, my children would rather be pant-less too.

Day 71

     Yesterday I found myself in a panic while I was getting dressed in anticipation of my first progesterone shot. I decided I needed a little bit of encouragement.

Doesn't every 35 year old woman own a pair of these?

     Odd as it may seem, I own quite a few pair of superhero themed underpants. Maybe it's my attempt to connect to my superhero loving children or maybe it's because the further I go into my 30s, the more I appreciate a good pair of cotton briefs/boy shorts. Either way, on days I need extra support, I usually sport a pair of Superman or Wonder Woman underwear. I know it's silly, but we do what we need to, right?
     I went to my doctor in the afternoon and arrived late so I had to wait longer than I would have liked.  Too much time to think is never good for me. I have been pumping myself up for weeks for these shots. I read about all the possible side effects, asked friends for advice and continuously reminded myself that any discomfort I felt now would be better than meeting this child for the first time in a NICU isolette. Still, seeing the little jars of medication and syringes definitely freaked me out. The shot itself was fine, the ride home was uncomfortable and the remainder of the night was painful. Today has been pretty rough as well. Like a friend of mine had warned me, this medication definitely stops you in your tracks. The physical pain I feel now is worth it in comparison to the mental pain I will avoid.
   

Day 70

     I have finally graduated from looking like a bloated mess to pregnant mess.

Lucas's view of mommy

     Despite my frustration with bed rest, the pregnancy is progressing quickly . I feel little kicks and punches from the baby and I no longer fit into my pants. You probably cannot tell, but I am holding these pants together with a rubber band. This is definitely the last time in a long time that I will be able to wear them. Of course I got rid of most of my pregnancy clothes after Ben and I don't want to waste money buying new stuff for wearing around the house. So until I break down, I have two pairs of maternity pants and lots of sweats that will be stretched to their limit.
     I'm now16 weeks and waiting for the progesterone injections to be delivered to my doctor. Tomorrow I go for my first growth ultrasound and cervical length check. Finger crossed for good growth and a closed cervix- is that too much information?
   

Day 69

     Today is #WorldTeachersDay and this is my view.

     How am I going to make it through potentially 25 more weeks of this? I am really starting to struggle with this situation, particularly today. I am an educator in every sense of the word, yet here I am home alone and staring at the ceiling. I'm frustrated, I'm uncomfortable, I'm bored and I'm becoming depressed.
     What impact am I having on the world from my bed? It seems so silly that last April I felt I was burning out of teaching and here I am a few months later lamenting that I am not in the classroom. Teaching is so much a part of my identity that I sometimes wonder who I really am when I am not in front of students.
     Then there is the whole realization that I am not going to be returning to work for some time and I wonder if I will be relevant. Will I matter? Did I matter? Life goes on whether or not I am in those classrooms and I am replaceable. I'm not trying to be dramatic, just honest.
     I know there are those of you out there who may remember me declaring that I would not get pregnant again because this scenario was likely. It's true- I went into this pregnancy with my eyes wide open to the possibility of bed rest and complications. I also know this is temporary.

     No matter how mentally prepared we are for difficult situations, nothing compares to actually living through them.

Day 68

     Today is the first day in weeks that I did not wake up feeling hungover. The morning sickness may be passing, but that doesn't mean everything is perfect!

I am cautiously optimistic that this might be the dawn of a new phase. 

     The bags under my eyes probably tell you that last night was rough one. For a variety of reasons I had a terrible time falling asleep and once I had started to doze off, Lucas came into our room. He had a bad dream and refused to tell me what it was about. This is the first time he's ever verbalized having a bad dream and my heart broke! I took him back to bed and laid down with him. All I wanted was to hold him and take away his pain. Whatever it was, he felt so terrible and I couldn't fix it.
   
     We talked about things that made him happy- his family, playing with Legos, daddy making breakfast. His sweet innocence kills me. I wanted to stop time and capture this moment forever, because I know these days will pass quicker than I'd like them to.

     I've been dealing with this pregnancy and the difficulty of parenting two young children by saying "this is a phase, it will pass". I have been so focused on getting through this that I am missing the everyday beauty with my family.
     This is a phase, and it will pass, and I need to be present. I should experience the lows as well as the highs and appreciate all that my family is at this moment in time, not just what it will be in the future.

Day 67

     We knew going into this pregnancy that chances were fairly high that I would be on bed rest because of the preterm labor and birth of Ben. Wishful thinking on my part that it wouldn't happen so soon.

A rare gentle and cozy moment with both of my boys. 

     I had high hopes for myself. This time would be different. I would exercise throughout the pregnancy, work until December and I'd be present in the boys' daily activities. I'm not sure if the car accident was the catalyst or if this was coming all along, but I'm disappointed. No matter how mentally you are prepared for difficult situation, the reality sucks.

    At my appointment on Monday my doctor and I made plans. I will be off my feet as much as possible to help with the cramping and pain- complete bed rest if needed. Beginning at week 16 I will receive weekly progesterone shots, most likely until week 37. I also have an MFM consult set up as well as frequent ultrasounds. I want to emphasize that the baby is doing great, it's just that my body (specifically my uterus) isn't totally cooperating.

     While the seriousness of the situation is starting to sink in, I know we are being proactive and not reactive, which is great. Going into the second trimester with a plan for preventing preterm labor is a lot better than dealing with it as it happens, which should keep both the baby and me healthy and safe. I'm frustrated about work, as I do love the kids and the people I work with. However, I know we are doing the right thing. And my rest during the day will definitely allow me to be a better mom and wife in the evening to Ben, Lucas and Jim.

     So, these next few months will give me lots of time for writing, reading, and finding the beauty in even difficult moments such as these.

Day 66

It's been a week since I dropped the "bombshell" news that our family is expanding.

Me and my kids

     I struggled from the moment that I knew I was pregnant with when to share the news. Having gone through this before, my body went right to work expanding my waistline, despite my inability to keep anything down- isn't nature amazing? I'm sure I perceive my body changes much more than those around me, but my physical state seems so obvious, especially due to the morning all-day sickness. How could anyone see my constant gagging as anything other than pregnancy?

     My previous pregnancies also make me terrified. Every time someone announces their pregnancy in the first trimester, my heart jumps for them. I hate my instincts to keep the news to myself, to wait until that magical 12 week mark. Even seeing the tiny baby in my belly at 7 weeks with a strong heartbeat and hearing that heartbeat at 9 weeks still didn't convince me that I should publicly announce our family's news.

     Then, I had a serious car accident on the way to work.

     I never felt as strong as I did the moment I realized my car was about to slam into another and there was nothing I could do to avoid it. I knew there was NO way I would let my child get hurt. The strength I used to prevent myself from flying forward and into the seatbelt felt super-human (and resulted in serious pain during the days after the accident). It felt like hours before the ambulance came. The drive to the hospital was never-ending. The wait for the ultrasound was unbearable. The relief and love I felt when I saw my baby moving around on the screen- indescribable.

     The moms I met through my pregnancy loss support group have a mantra we use during pregnancy- Today I am pregnant and I love my baby. It may seem obvious to others, but to women who have experienced loss, loving the developing baby can be difficult. To be honest, I've had a sense of detachment during my pregnancies- all of them. I didn't want to love something that might not stay. That is until now. I cried when I saw my little one squirming around. I cried so hard, it shocked me. This baby is AMAZING!

     I had to share the news because I'm growing a life. I can't hide the joy I feel that we have been blessed with another child. I am just reaching the end of the first trimester and I will go for my first screening tomorrow. I could have waited a week to "be safe" and announce the news after I received the green light from the doctor. However, today I am pregnant and I love my baby, and NOTHING will change that!

Day 65

     Today I shut off my brain, turned on my music and set out for a run. It went far better than I could have ever anticipated.

The sweat mark left by my butt on the front porch was also pretty impressive

     I haven't had an outdoor run like this in at least two years. It felt so good, despite the heat. Maybe it was because of the heat? Something about this morning just felt free. I didn't watch the clock, I didn't track the milage. I listened to music, smiled at the people I ran past and just enjoyed the fact that my body was capable of doing this. 

     At one point I ran by a young lady who was in a pair of running shorts and a sports bra. My immediate reaction was to try to suck in my stomach, which was dumb for a multitude of reasons. First of all, despite my 15+ miles a week this summer, I can't seem to whittle my middle down like in previous summers- I guess year 35 came with permanent bloat that can't be sucked in. Second, this woman was on her own mission and surely was not checking out my abs. Third- WTF Beth?!?!?!?!?!?! YOU RAN OVER 7 MILES AT AN 11:30 PACE IN CRAZY SUMMER HEAT!!!!!!! I am a rockstar!!!

     Focus on the positive- my legs and my stamina positively kicked ass today and I am so proud of myself! 

     

Day 64

     Now that I am on vacation, the house WILL be clean.

     I spent the past few days relaxing and basically living like a slug. I'm over it now and I've begun the cleaning, purging and organizing. First stop, the boys' room.

 Looks so clean from the doorway

Up close, you can't hide the stains

     It seems that no matter how much I clean, there is always something that I just have to deal with. I've used every spray possible, but the perfect, personalized PBK duvet is a casualty of a midnight bloody nose. Actually- lots of items in our home are casualties of the bloody nose phase. What made me think we could have nice things? 

     I have decided to work on focusing on the bigger picture.  I've been caught up in details recently that have me seeing the negative- an attitude I want to change. So what? There are a few stains, scratches and dents. The room is organized, the trains and cars are put away, and the random legos won't cause anyone (mom) to fall.  

     For now I'm going to enjoy this clean room because once the boys get home, the blood stain will be the least of my concerns! 

Day 63

     I don't like food blogs. Well, I think it's just the presentation- the eight hundred pictures of the same piece of food, the piece of food I just want the recipe for. I don't need the all the pictures (says the woman who has a blog about pictures) and I don't need all the cute little phrases.

Chocolate.
<insert picture of chocolate>
Seriously, friends-CHOCOLATE.
<insert another picture of chocolate>
<insert close-up picture of chocolate>
Is there anything better than chocolate?
<insert picture of 12 kinds of chocolate>
I think not.
<insert picture of baby covered in chocolate>
Ok, maybe this.


     I really don't want to complain about something so petty, but it frustrated the heck out of me tonight when I had to keep scrolling and scrolling past the crap to get to a recipe for these.

Totally worth all the scrolling

     It's silly for me to complain about what comes down to a minute of wasted time. How often do I waste time playing stupid bubble pop games or watching dumb tv? But beyond that- how often do I waste opportunities? There have been so many times that I didn't try out for a show or apply for a program because it just seemed easier than putting myself out there. I have been afraid of failure. I need to step out of my comfort zone.
     I took a chance on these cookie bars and they are pretty fantastic. I think I need to start taking chances on myself.

   

Day 62

     First weekend of my summer break is almost complete. Against my better judgement, I served the boys s'mores this evening after dinner. What followed was a chocolate disaster of epic proportions. This photo does not do justice to Ben's work.

When a chocolate covered Ben wants to give a kiss, you accept

     With each passing day it becomes clearer to me (and anyone who comes to our home) that these kids have taken over. The legos and matchbox cars are multiplying while we sleep. The bathrooms smell like pee and I can't figure out why. I've heard the same joke about poop 50 times this weekend. The best part? I laugh at that joke every single time.
     I've given in to all of it- the dirt, the gross humor, the rough-housing. I'll take the sloppy kisses, especially the chocolate ones, and relish these moments because they will be gone before I know it. After a day filled with cars, trains, wrestling, and messes, it ends with my almost five-year-old throwing his arms around my neck and holding me close.

I was definitely unprepared for the amount of love I feel for these boys.
     

Day 61

I'm through with "luck". 

This may be a bit vague, but I don't have time to expand my thoughts right now- it's the end of the school year and there are concerts, grades, evaluations and graduations. I have been thinking a lot about decisions and how we have a say in our lives. Things don't happen to us because of good luck or bad luck. We make a series of decisions and choices everyday that lead us to where we are. 

It is empowering to realize this because even if you feel your life is out of control or that you have no say in your present circumstance, you actually do. There is a whole lot of beauty in that acceptance of your role in whatever situation you find yourself in- good, bad or confusing. 

Day 60

And sometimes the universe hears your cry and you get a gift like this.

Music makes me feel happy. It makes me feel jazzy and lets me express who I am. I dance and sing like nobody is watching! Sometimes when the music is too loud, it hurts my ears. Music is my passion. I sing everywhere. Music doesn't make me feel so lonely anymore. I am a lonely girl, but when I hear music, it doesn't make me feel so alone. I really hope to be a famous singer someday!

After such a self absorbed post like yesterday's, I got my sense knocked into me. This was an assignment a fourth grade class had completed during my absence a few weeks ago that I just got around to grading. Could it have been more perfectly timed? I know I won't make a difference in every life and I need to lay off that expectation. I know I put more pressure on myself than necessary, but realizing that my class makes this very special girl's week just a little bit brighter reminds me why I care so much.

Day 59

     I had a thought today in the middle of a class that was both incredibly liberating and extremely depressing.

          Stop trying so hard. You don't have to change their lives. 

These are the lives I need to focus on (also the guy behind the camera)

     When I started teaching I wanted to change the world. I was going to connect with kids on their level and then expose them to the beauty of opera, the wonders of Mozart and the emotion of jazz. I would inspire the students to sing with proper vocal production and all of the boys would be comfortable using their head voices. Every kid would be able to sight-sing from both rhythmic and melodic notation, we would be fluent in solfeggio and of course they would sing in multiple languages.
     12 years later I know that there have been moments of greatness. I know there are former students who are following their dreams of being professional musicians. I know that many of the "kids" have made music a regular part of their lives. But did I personally really do anything? Did I really change a life? Inspire something that only I could? If another person ended up with my position, would those students have turned out the same way? Do I matter?

     That is the question I struggle with- Do I matter?
   
     How narcissistic.

     When I began teaching, I came in early, stayed late and gave up lunches. Despite the demands, this job used to nourish me and I felt that I was doing something good. Now I'm not sure if I do more than fill a schedule.
   
     Admitting this is hard. And it's particularly frustrating because I feel that if I just do my job and stop the "extras", I'll be viewed as one of those teachers who has given up. It's so hard to articulate. This notion of working "for the kids" is not healthy. I cannot put my self-worth solely in the hands of students, however the students are the ones who made me want to be a great educator in the first place.

     If I just stopped caring so much, did my job according to the contract and then went home to my family, would I still make a difference? Would I still matter?
     Would I be OK if I didn't?

Day 58

As my BFF and I prepared to close up our classrooms for spring break, I spotted this bumper sticker on a file cabinet and insisted that he take a picture of me.

The face of an exhausted teacher 5 minutes from spring break

I'm burning out of teaching. I have been struggling with this fact for years. It's funny- it has been harder for me to admit and come to terms with this fact than it was for me to face postpartum depression. I've been so ashamed. I spent my last year of grad school researching and writing about teacher burnout. I gave a workshop in my school district about how to avoid it. I talk to my colleagues and student teachers about ways to avoid the burnout, yet here I am.

This realization isn't unprovoked. I just came off an 80+ hour workweek. Yes, that's not a typo. For those who still don't believe teachers work beyond the hours of 8-3, we definitely do. We had the musical last week and as the hair/make-up director and one of the music directors, I spent Monday-Sunday working with the students on the show in addition to my regular teaching responsibilities and my two schedule B assignments. Also, I got sick. And so did my kids. I honestly don't know how I did it. I can't be surprised that I drove to work hysterical, walked into the building hysterical and barely dried the tears before my students walked into my classroom. I can't be surprised that I lost my temper when bombarded by a gaggle of 5th graders asking ridiculous questions. I can't be surprised that when I walked out of my classroom to take a deep breath, I would turn to a colleague and tell her I needed to leave NOW. I'm so thankful she offered to take over my classroom so I could cool down.

This profession, particularly in NJ, is losing it's best and brightest. The bumper sticker says "I am the future of music education", but if I'm struggling to make it through the year, how can I be the future? How can I continue to educate and inspire the next generation of musicians if I feel like I can't perform my job to my high standards, which I refuse to lower.

I have much more to say about this topic. During my spring break, I will be taking some time to really explore these feelings of burnout and I will attempt to discover some ways to get myself out of this place.

I know I am meant to be a teacher. Leaving education is not an option.

Day 57

I'm now 35 and it's not the crows feet or gray hair I'm concerned with...

It's the adolescent blemish I got this week that will not quit

     It's perfect timing too. This weekend is the three day music educator conference that I look forward to each year. It's a great time to gain new skills, remind myself of the ones I used to have but forgot and of course, reconnect with old friends and colleagues. Don't you just love running into people you haven't seen in ages, looking like the pimply teenager you tried to forget you ever were?

     I tried my best to cover this thing up with every concealer I owned, immediately resorting to my old self-absorbed ways. I couldn't show up with big red pimple. I'm a grown woman- I wear skin firming/anti-aging night cream now- this isn't OK.

   I already went through this last year for Lent and in all the craziness, I've let myself slip back into old habits. I guess I need to get it going again:

Beth, get over yourself. You broke out. Most of the people at this conference have seen me in a lot worse shape than this. (Remember, college Beth= hot mess)

So here you are folks. I've got a zit. And when I go to the conference tomorrow, I'm not wearing concealer. 

   
*Also, I labeled this picture 58 and it should be 57. You get the idea.