all bag
my brother is a terrific golfer, and my dad… is a terrific sport. he may not be the greatest at the game, but he is the greatest at genuinely enjoying playing with his son who is great at the game. the two of them have been walking 18 together for years, taking in different courses, swinging clubs in the fresh air. it’s a sport that bonds the two of them.
years back, the guys came home from a day of golfing and taught me a term that i have yet to forget. and these days, i am finding that term to be an accurate description of myself.
i remember dad and b coming home, setting their clubs in the garage alongside their shoes, smelling of sunshine and sweat, laughing about nothing and everything. they updated mom and i about their day, how they each played… a bogey here. a birdie there. and then my dad said something about one of the gentlemen he happened to notice while on the course. this man was not playing in their foursome, but he was certainly someone who captured the attention of my dad.
and in the words of my dad, this man was “all bag.”
my brother laughed as my dad described in detail the amount of gear this particular golfer had. from head to toe, he was decked out as though he were a walking sponsorship. the golf bag itself was pristine, clubs were not only top-notch, but immaculate as well. dad even described the golf towels this gentleman used. ball markers and golf tees that cost more than your average pair of sneakers.
but this guy’s golf game? SUCKED. he had all of the equipment he could possibly need to look like a pro/semi-pro athlete. unfortunately for him, he lacked all skill and natural ability to hit the ball.
he was “all bag.”
as the years have come and gone, i’ve listened to my dad and brother occasionally use this term to describe various people in different circumstances, not all sports-related. i’ve come to use the term myself, and eventually taught paul its meaning. everyone in my family gets a small chuckle out of referring to someone as being “all bag.”
and now it’s hit me that over the past 2 weeks particularly, i am the one who is “all bag.”
i am prepping for this baby’s arrival with gusto, purchasing what items we need, storing away things we don’t need, ridding our home of clutter. i have scheduled and started swim lessons for jackson to keep him busy during paul’s deployment, kept our lovely babysitter/nanny no further away than an arms length just in case. paul and i are laminating a world map for jackson to have in his room with a family picture over the state of florida and then a picture of his dad where he will be deployed to. the two of us are indulging in a weekend away soon, with mom watching jackson, so that we can have time alone.
i am doing all of the things i am “supposed to be” doing in preparation for my husband’s deployment and the arrival of our second child. there is no part of this preparation that has not already been considered. no rock will go unturned.
and with all of this effort, all of this STUFF, i am turning more and more into a basket case with each passing day. i’m keeping my emotions at bay as i continue to prep and make lists. some days i can distract myself easily, stay busy, get out of my house and engage. and other days, even when i do those things, i find myself needed an extra few minutes hiding in a public restroom while i fight off one of multiple panic attacks.
the tears are always RIGHT THERE, with their release being caused by the simplest of things… a smile from jackson, a kiss on the forehead from paul, a stranger holding a door open for me.
it doesn’t matter how many times before i have said goodbye to paul and watched him go. this time, i’m saying goodbye to him with children… one holding my hand and the other kicking my insides.
HOW DO THESE MEN AND WOMEN IN UNIFORM DO IT?
all the logic in the world that we are using to keep ourselves grounded can’t seem to fight off my current emotional state. all the preparation, planning, and check lists can’t get me truly ready for this spring.
i am all bag. putting on a good show for most, and being true to a select few and trusted folks… paul… my parents… my brother… and now, the internet.
it’s funny, some people can’t seem to understand WHY people blog. what would possess someone to share, at times, some very intimate details of their lives with a bunch of strangers? and i don’t know how to answer those questions. i don’t know the correct way to respond to that. all i know is that it feels right for me, and in times of desperation and heartache, sometimes i need to reach out and simply trust that someone, anyone, will be on the receiving end and hold my hand for a while. and then i promise to return the favor.
**********
as always, a continued THANK YOU to those of you sending your love and support during this time. also, a note about my anxiety for those concerned… my OBGYN is aware of our unique situation with this baby being born while her daddy is deployed and what that does to my brain. i am being well taken care of.
amidst the urine leakage there is denial
no one told me that subsequent pregnancies meant an increase of urine in your pants. which, when you’re pregnant, can be kinda freaky because it causes you to be all “OMG IS THAT AMNIOTIC FLUID IN MY PANTS?” and then you’re supposed to smell it to make sure it’s not amniotic fluid, but no one is entirely clear about what you should be smelling for… rancidness? sweet smelling flowers? the odor of piss?
WHO KNOWS? just know that you need to smell your pants. for something.
operation baby prep/deployment planning/support system establishment is going surprisingly well. part of me can’t help but feel a bit guilty about the prep, since most of it consists of phone conversations and skype chats about spring time plans. can i count on you for this, that, or the other diaper changing duties, make sure i have food in my house that has not passed its expiration date, possibly coming over to do a load of baby burp cloth laundry? type of stuff.
there’s not a lot of shopping and oogling over ruffles and lace. no registries to sign up for. no shower will be had (THANK GOD). there’s no nursery that we’re in the throes of painting. no crib we are beating each other over the head with the legs of. we’ll just pull a drawer out of our dresser for pickle to sleep in and hold off on cribbing and decorating until we’re in the other house. we have every bottle system under the sun thanks to jackson’s allergy issues to my boob juice, so we’re in good shape there too. basically pickle could arrive tomorrow and we’d find a way to make it work.
(this could also be my next stage of denial typing to you.)
both paul and i were saying this afternoon that while we feel like we’re in a great place in terms of our planning, the reality of the calendar is a constant in our minds. jackson’s clinging to paul for dear life, which is both endearing and heartbreaking. the kid can’t seem to get his days of the week to go in consecutive order, but he fools me with his little almost-4-year-old sense of time. with the holidays over, he has moved on to talking about his birthday. his birthday which will be mere days apart from his baby sister’s. he has no concept of time and yet he tells me that he should’ve been at school today, “because it’s monday, mom.”
time makes absolutely no sense to me these days. one of my best friend’s came by last week with her brand new bundle. i say ‘brand new’ but she’s actually not. she’s 10 weeks. a full 2 and a half months old. she’s basically ready for prom. when i held her, she told me that lea michele’s golden globe dress would be a monstrosity. she knew! because babies are made of magic and the ability to tell the future. i could swear that my friend just told me that she was pregnant yesterday, but no, she has a 10 week old baby. no more newborn even. full on baby.
jackson is going to be 4 in a couple of months. i am going to have a 4 year old. WHAT?!?! we’re registering him for school for NEXT year. because it’s january, and apparently at the start of a new year you are supposed to plan and prep for the following fall. he’s fighting a cold right now, and so last night, when paul checked on him before we turned in for the night, we decided to change his jammies to something cooler. our weather is so bizarre here, which is probably why all of us are fighting the snots, but we changed his jammies while he was half asleep. i took it upon myself to then stay a few extra minutes and rock him. with his sweaty head against my chest, we rocked and for a split second, jackson went from being almost 4 years old to almost 4 months old. i felt like i had my wee little magoo in my arms again. exhausted. sweaty. helpless.
and right now, jackson is rocking his baby doll in what was once his swing. he’s also telling me that it’s time for dinner, because apparently time makes more sense to him than it does me. i guess he is prepping for this baby too, in his own way, and thankfully not wetting his pants. unlike his mother. at least i’ve done something right with this parenting gig.
this is why i hate numbers
i had my obgyn appointment friday. everything is fine. i’m fine. the baby is fine. the appointment was quite uneventful.
pee in the cup. smiley face the cup. weigh in. don’t register the number on the scale in your mind because all that’s on your mind is the ice cream that’s in your freezer (ps- i gained 2 lbs this month). meet with doctor. ask questions. measure belly. listen to heartbeat on doppler. listen to pickle kick the shit out of doppler. laugh. schedule next visit. peace out.
i came home from the appointment questioning everything about life. when you’re 24+ weeks pregnant with a husband who is 7 weeks away from deploying, the LAST thing you want to do is be questioning life and all of its components.
“so we’re still waiting on your surgical notes from your first c-section…”
“oh. sorry. is there anything i can do to get them to you faster?”
“no, we’ll resubmit the fax. but seeing that had me wondering… HOW LARGE OF A FAMILY DO YOU INTEND ON HAVING?”
“…………………..uh, i’m not sure. i’m just coming to grips with the fact that i will be a mother of 2 in a couple of months. why do you ask?”
“well, risks are higher with each subsequent c-section and with this baby being a girl, chances are she may be smaller than you first child was and we should consider a VBAC.”
(i’ll pause right there just to let you know that this in no way is a c-section vs. VBAC kind of post and if you’re looking to pick a fight about that topic, go elsewhere. there are plenty of parenting blogs and posts created to stir controversy and piss people off with regards to HOW your child enters the world. this is not one of those.)
moving on… i told my doctor that i had been researching VBACs and was aware of the risks on both sides, having a repeat c-section and having a VBAC. (hello, childbirth in itself poses risks, what else ya got?) then, i told her that my husband will be deployed when miss pickle enters the world, and that “i selfishly may not want to experience a different kind of birth, knowing he will not be a part of it, ya know? that will suck.”
and cue STINK EYE.
(it should be noted that this appointment was with the last of the 4 doctors who rotate within this practice. from my next visit on through delivery, who i see is my choice.)
the doctor rattled off a shit ton of stats and facts and VBACs to me that are all kind of fuzzy now that i think back on it. i was just stuck on the look of death she had given me, which made it difficult to grasp the words that were coming out of her mouth. something about subsequent c-sections and higher risk of stuff and “IF YOU WANT MORE PREGNANCIES BEYOND THIS ONE, THIS BABY SHOULD BE A VBAC BABY.”
::record screech::
hold the iphone. so, not only do i get to think about my husband being gone for the birth of this child, but now you want me to think about how large of a family i want to have and how that number of children will determine the way in which i should deliver this baby?
apparently that’s what she wanted. dr. dead eyes wanted me to put a number to it.
i don’t know how many children i want to have. i don’t know the amount of chaos this second child will bring to our already chaotic lives. i don’t know where we will be financially years from now and whether or not we’ll be able to support 5 hypothetical children, or 3 hypothetical children… even the 2 children we will shortly be responsible for. i don’t know if i’ll get the baby bug immediately after delivering this child.
I DON’T KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS OR IF I BRUSHED MY TEETH THIS MORNING.
what i do know is that my husband will be gone for the birth of this child. that is the only thing i know. i do not know how i am delivering miss pickle in to this world, nor do i know how many children i will one day end up with. all i know is that my husband, who so desperately wants to be here when his first daughter cries for the first time, will be on the other side of the world. and yes, i need to consider what is best for my health and the health of the baby… but i’d be a straight up asshole not to consider my partner and the current situation we are in with him being deployed.
i may be an idiot when it comes to numbers, people… but i am no asshole.
i left my appointment friday morning having felt bullied into making a decision that i am not ready or equipped to make yet. i felt judged for thinking of doing a repeat c-section. and i felt sad.
there’s a lot on our plate right now. and yeah, i’m taking things in stride as much as one crazy pregnant person possibly can. but don’t ask me questions about LIFE that cause me to doubt myself. don’t look at me with dead eyes.
and don’t ever ask me anything about numbers. i was an english major for shit’s sake. numbers upset me more than katy perry and russell brand’s divorce.
deploy the baby shit
a funny thing happens when your spouse is preparing to leave the country for an extended period of time. you start to plan. the two of you sit down together (or stand, depending on how your aching joints are on that particular day) and sort some shit out. get your ducks in a row. prepare for things. talk about the future.
for us, this usually revolves around a calendar. not the ones on our iphones, but real, pen and paper, square boxes with dates inside calendars. which means that our planning conversation took place as we drove home from our holiday vacation, each with a brand spankin new 2012 calendar from santa/my mom.
i used to be one of those kids who gets disgustingly excited about school supplies. (let it be known, i am this same way as an adult and certainly as a former school teacher, however, this quirk seems to be quite trendy amongst the mom-population, so i feel the need to claim it at its true inception, which for me was in grade school, thankyouverymuch.) the end of the summer would draw near, office max would run commercials on loop, and i would practice my handwriting, label the dividers in my 3-ring binder, and organize erasers to fit in my pencil box going from tallest to shortest.
you can only imagine what a new calendar, wrapped in plastic is like for me on christmas morning. instantly doctors appointments are notated, days off school are marked down in BLOOD RED, and no sooner do i flip to the next month, when it dawns on me that my husband is leaving.
now, i have a few of paul’s deployments under my belt. i don’t say that with any emotion, grandeur, or martyrdom. it’s just a fact of the matter. our son, on the other hand, will be experiencing deployment for the first time when paul leaves in march.
and with the baby arriving in april, paul and i decide, during our hot, sexy calendar talk, that we should probably start to transition the baby stuff out of storage and back in to our lives as a way to prepare jackson for his baby sister’s arrival that will take place when “daddy’s on a long trip.”
and then we decide that this should happen when we bring down the christmas tree and holiday decor.
which all occurred in spurts over the last few days.
like most things, when this taking-down-of-and-putting-back certain household things happened, it snowballed, and before you know it, you’re questioning the paint color of your living room walls and why you gave your son the bigger bedroom (for the record, we didn’t… i’m just saying, those conversations happen when attempting to reorganize ones life).
so the lights have been wrapped back up, the wreath has come down from the front door, and the christmas tree has been boxed up and taken to storage. (also, it came to our attention when taking down the tree that our dog ate 3 of our ’12 days of christmas’ ornaments, so he saved us the trouble of packing up additional ornaments. thank you, red.)
jackson’s old toys have been donated to make room for his loot from santa, and we have felt like the last few days have been extremely productive for a family who really just wanted a few days back at home to hang on the couch and eat an abundance of rich foods before the work week started up again.
it was during all of this sorting and packing and storing that we began to assess our current living situation and how it will change over the next year, specifically how it will change once we have this other small human with female parts living with us come spring time.
our original plan was to combine what will be the baby’s nursery with jackson’s current bedroom. i never shared a room with my brother, but always wanted to. so now i have this INSANE dream of having my two children living blissfully in the same space, co-habitating in peace. (save your laughter for when the baby actually arrives.) what we have since decided is to forgo this little miss pickle having a crib until we are back in our old house.
oh, did i not mention that? we have been renting a house that is a few blocks away from the house we own because we have renters living in that house and their lease is not up until may. and then we have until september on our lease in this house, so that gives us a few months, after the baby has been born and the current renters have moved out, to demolish the house we own, add another bathroom, and redesign the currently shitty excuse for a kitchen before we move back in as a fully functioning family of four.
and all of this will take place with an infant in my arms (breast feeding like a champion with no issues like her brother had), with my husband safely back stateside, no hiccups in our renovation plans, and glorious smiles upon all of our rosy cheeked faces.
it will be then, roughly in the early fall, when our two children will share a bedroom. until then, miss pickle will spend the days of newbornhood in a bassinet, a swing, on my boob, in a pack-n-play, cooing and nuzzling like an angel.
because that’s how planning works, right? you set a plan in place, commit to it, and it all happens with military-like precision and accuracy.
according to my iphone
a reader emailed me recently asking what was up with the inconsistency in my blogging lately. and then another person asked me via twitter why i have been so MIA. and a third emailed saying she assumed i have been “in my own little baby-land.”
i suppose when you’re pregnant, your mind is all over the place. clearly your hormones are nutso and your body is changing and bla bla bla… i dunno. and i suppose that when you’re pregnant with subsequent children, that changes a little bit. i’m not entirely sure. but, i can attest to the fact that i have done ZERO baby-land preparation for this little pickle. in fact, since we moved in september and have settled back in to the place we consider to be HOME, we have been busy. WAY BUSY.
but not busy with any baby preparations. if pickle arrives and spends her first few months in her brother’s onesies, so be it. i wouldn’t give up a minute of this time i have spent with my beloved family of 3.
(rest assured, baby-land prep is in the works for 2012 though… for those of you who were worried.)
(also, i have the greatest readers on the face of the planet.)
Have a Sip
