Somebody Has To Do It

"If it is to be it's up to me." - William Johnson

Tonight I worked hard to fulfill My Beloveds fantasies, I helped him with yard work. While I was trudging back and forth across the yard with heavy shovelfuls of dirt to fill holes in various parts of the lawn, I began thinking of that quote. I am sure, when I originally heard it I thought it was brilliant and so inspirational (I must have been in high school). Now I realize it as the bittersweet truth that comes with motherhood and wifedom. If it is to be, I darn well better do it, or else it probably won't get done.*
The wet load of laundry forgotten in the washing machine on Sunday night, still there because no one is missing the clothing that are currently mildewing. The bag that needs to be packed before we go to the water park tomorrow, fall soccer sign up, booking a rental car for our trip to Maine, how about finding a load of wood chips for the front landscaping? A dump truck load should be fine!
I am not complaining so much as I am in awe over the sheer amount of responsibility I have. I can't just decide not to buy milk, or soap, or dog food. Someone has to run the dishwasher, someone has to get school supplies for the kids. The moment I got married I was agreeing to take care of someone for the rest of my life. The instant I became pregnant with Little Monica I was essentially begging for MORE responsibility, and then again with Norah, and why not a third time with Baby Henry?
Fortunately for me I made a good choice in life partner, My Beloved occasionally remembers to start the dishwasher, and takes full responsibility for the trash, recycling, and most of the lawn maintenance (except for nights like tonight), as well as sharing the parenting of our little posse.
Somedays I want to run away, but most times I love the job security, and most times I am thankful to have My Beloved.
Although I am considering devoting a day a year to "If it is to be, it's up to someone else." That day you will find me at the spa.

*No husband blame intended

Someday

So I am in a great mood today. Let me tell you. It is the height of summer, the weather is grand and I am ready to run. AWAY. Seriously. I've stayed away from blogging when I've been in a bad mood for fear of scaring you all, but today I've just had enough. I am ready to explode. Rather than let My Beloved have it (on his birthday, no less) I've opted to spew my dissatisfaction with the blogosphere.
I know I should be grateful for this stay at home mom gig I've got going, but while I love my kids, patience is not a virtue I possess in great quantities. I attempt to do things that seem fun and motherly, but those things generally end up with one or more children getting an angry look at least, and sternly talked to or arm squeezed at most. Luckily for them, I'm generally against spanking.
I've read the parenting books, I've tried to categorize my children so I can best parent them, to no avail, I've yet to read a book to give me advice on how to respond to a child who is stabbing her brother with the sharp end of a cucumber at the farmer's market (yes, cucumber's have a sharp end). I guess I should be thankful we weren't at a cutlery store! I'm trying people, really I am.
One of my dearest friends, the mother of 5 (with one more on the way) regularly takes her kids out in public to Trader Joe's and the like, and doesn't even break a sweat. I've seen her, she's that smooth.
I just don't get it. I take the kids to Target to buy a birthday cake for their dad, I even spring for frosting in a can, and Baby Henry bites into the box of cake mix so we had to have a super friendly (in a mocking, childless person sort of way) Target person get us a new box as we held up the line for everyone behind us, not to mention he was covered in cake mix. I know I shouldn't care, right? But I do, and I feel tremendous guilt.
Why when I take the kids to the pool do 2/3 of them refuse to swim? Norah marches over to a lawn chair lays out a towel and proceeds to spray sunscreen all over, it's only a matter of time before she realizes it's not sunscreen she wants. Baby Henry is content to sit on my lap in the hot sun, arms wrapped tightly around my neck as though the water might touch him. Meanwhile, my friends children are cannonballing off the sides of the pool, periodically needing their goggles adjusted and leaving their mothers in peace to gossip by the side of the pool. I could be so lucky.
What gives? It's hard to be happy and cheerful when I'm the one that waits all day for My Beloved to come home for some adult conversation and he tells me he can't wait to go to bed, to SLEEP! It's hard not to wonder what I'm doing wrong when other people seem happy and relaxed at the pool and I can barely remember swim diapers, let alone water bottles!
Someday I know the kids will be older and won't need me as much, I will miss my Baby Henry as an accessory, Norah's quirkiness will be part of her signature style and Monica will be my cautious adventurer. Someday My Beloved and I will have all the time in the world to talk and pursue our own interests...but until then, I just needed to bitch a little. Thanks.

Opening Up

Last night was kindergarten registration. We took Norah, who is almost 5 and she was so excited. I was excited, but mostly scared. Scared because I can't control the future, the world, the noises around her, I can't make her hear everything that I hear.
Norah was diagnosed as hard of hearing at 3 1/2 years old. Norah wears hearing aids.
Some of you may be wondering how we could have missed something so important as hearing, but we were so focused on Norah's brain development, Norah's milestones declaring her normal, her tone, and being seizure free and off seizure medication. The fact that she talked less than her sister and was naughtier than most seemed like little things in the trade off.
Norah was a VBAC gone terribly wrong. If you don't know that term I'll let you look it up yourself. My pregnancy was uneventful, my prenatal care was 2nd to none, and we were financially ready for an addition to our family. What we didn't count on was poorly managed labor and delivery and a helicopter ride to the Mayo Clinic for a baby with Apgar scores of 1. We certainly didn't plan for the seizures that followed an the scary diagnosis of hypoxic ischemic encephalopathy. Statistically Norah is a miracle that she is alive. More miraculous is that she is not severely disabled.
When Norah was 3 we were told our naughty girl was by all pediatric neurologists criteria beautifully, perfectly normal and she had passed her newborn hearing screening. Why would we suspect anything?
When we went to the MN mandated preschool screening Norah did exceptionally on all the academic testing. Then came the hearing tests, she raised her hand for some of the beeps but after awhile decided she was bored and started misbehaving. I sat lamely next to her trying to coax her to raise her hand when I (without headphones on) could hear the beeps. Why was she being such a brat? The person performing the test suggested we come back in 6 months and retest her when she was more mature.
At this point I took matters into my own hands, I wasn't waiting 6 months for my miracle child to pass a hearing test. The first pediatrician told me she must have fluid on her ears. We should give her an antihistamine. We tried that for a week and I came back. Still Norah was awful after the first few beeps. The pediatrician said we should take her to an audiologist, so I made an appointment. When I went to the appointment I was fully educated on ear tubes. I was completely blindsided when the audiologist very flatly told me "Your daughter has severe high-frequency hearing loss and will need hearing aids." Then she told me to make a follow up appointment and sent me on my way.
After some stops and starts we finally found our way to Dr. Jennifer at the U of MN. She changed our worlds from Norah on up. Pediatric audiology is a specialty I never knew existed, but am thankful for everyday.
The day Norah began wearing hearing aids was the worst day of my life. She was getting a lot of new information that she wasn't sure she wanted. She must have pulled them out 500 times and I put them in 501. I was crying she was crying. The next day we were down to 200 times, then 50, and on the fourth day she told us "I think I love my hearing aids." They have been in ever since except bedtime.
Sometimes at bedtime, when Norah is asleep I go into her bedroom and hold her. I look at her little perfectly formed ears without their hearing aids and I feel sad. I feel sad for her, I feel sad for me. I feel afraid for the future and I feel angry. Angry that her hearing loss was preventable. The 15 minutes after her birth where she wasn't breathing damaged her ears and I didn't know and I couldn't stop it.

Note to readers: Thank you for letting me share this with you. It is hard for me to write, but I am hopeful for Norah's future and need to get this stuff out of my system for my own future.
We have a wonderful family and support system. Norah has amazing teachers and a world class audiologist. Thank you for reading.