closing time

On Friday I took both boys for their annual check-up. I had to beg the pediatrician to fit us in between their actual birthdays and before this baby, as they do not schedule three appointments at the same time. 11 yo needed shots, so the insurance would not cover a visit before his actual birthday. I ended up taking them on Friday afternoon.

Between my dear friend and my MIL, I did not have to bring all four kids with me, so I assumed the appointment will be a piece of cake. The pediatrician is located not far from the taekwondo studio, so maybe we would even make it to a Friday afternoon class, in the spirit of trying to get in as many classes before the baby as possible. I told boys to pack up their uniforms and gear and load up.

When we were being taken in by a nurse, 11 yo asked right off the bat whether there are any shots in store. He was told that there are going to be two, and he took that info in stride. Then 9 yo timidly inquired whether he is getting any shots. He was reassured that there will be none, and he visibly exhaled. Then, as the nurse was finishing inputting their measurements, she said how 9 yo will need a finger stick to measure his cholesterol, but it is not a big deal.

It turned out to be a big deal. For a child with anxiety, being told something new like this was a big deal. He immediately kicked into full panic mode: crying, screaming, begging not to be pricked, asking why he deserves this, etc. It took three nurses to hold him down to get that prick. By this point, 11 yo was starting to lose his cool, so be stepped out. I was trying to talk to 9 yo, and I even asked the nurses to back off, to give him on minute to decide which hand will get pricked, but he was too far gone. I remained calm for as long as I could, but when he started trying to kick the nurses, I firmly said that he cannot do that. Meanwhile, the nurses invoked: "Don't upset your pregnant momma" mantra which I really wished they didn't. At the end, he was left sniffling and screaming, huddling on a chair, waiting for a doctor.

11 yo hopped onto an exam table, and mumbled something about losing his resolve to stay calm for his shots. He tried lightening the mood in the room by clowning around a bit. The rest of the appointment was unremarkable, and 9 yo cooperated with the doctor just fine. Then those shots came. By the time the nurse told 11 yo to relax and stuck him, he went into hysterical giggling: "It didn't hurt! It didn't hurt!" He was laughing, but there were tears in his eyes. Clearly, he had had enough emotions and they were spilling out.

When we checked out, there were only ten minutes left till taekwondo, so I asked boys whether they wanted to rush it. Both of them shook their heads "no", so we hit the ice cream store instead. Ever since the kids were vey little, I promised ice cream for those doctor appointments which involved shots. It was a nice way to end a possible nerve-wrecking outing, and it left a taste of something sweet. I did not promise such a treat to boys apriori, but, after what we've all been through, it seemed fitting.

It was raining, and it has been raining for the whole week. The ice cream place is outdoors, but they have a small canopy. Everyone ordered a scoop, and we stood there, silently eating our cones and looking out into the rain.

It was the zen moment of the day. 9 yo finally relaxed. 11 yo was rendered speechless, just savoring his cone and standing there. I was thinking of what my life would be like if I only had to take care of a 9 yo and 11 yo, instead of catering to much smaller creatures. I was enjoying this moment of knowing that everyone near me is relaxed, content and thankful for the treat (both boys thanked me, easing into gratitude).

The speaker above us pumped in "Closing Time" by Semisonic. How fitting: I have heard this song numerous times, but never paid very close attention to the words, assuming it is all about being kicked out of a bar. Recently, I have seen a little tidbit floating around, saying that the song is really about impending parenthood, and the ambivalent feelings that come with it. Now I was really listening.

I am in my last weeks pregnancy, yet I feel strangely unsettled. I can't put a finger on it: what is that project, that nesting activity that I need to complete in order to feel ready and prepared for this baby? It is not a matter of finding a trusting practitioner, or getting labor support. It is not a matter of a doula. It is not a matter of getting baby things set up. I have all of that in place, or close enough. It is a hang-up in my brain, keeping me from being ready.

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

As we were looking into the rain, my two older boys and I, I had this strong feeling how this might be the last Shabbos that I am having with just four kids. This baby is a new life, a new beginning, yet, it is also an end of an era. It is the end of "four kid" stage. It might sound funny to those who have one or two kids: does it really make any difference whether there are four kids or five? Isn't four already in the slightly crazy, big family category? Besides, the youngest is only two, so this "four kid" stage only lasted for a short while. Yet, in my head, four was within some grander logical scheme, and five is beyond that. Five is a whole next step. Five is where I cannot keep them all at home. Five is where we do not fit into any sedan, no matter how we contort ourselves. Five does not fit around a standard table. Five is this new area, which does not fold into itself neatly. It is a prime number, it is a star.

"Every new beginning come from some other beginning's end."

My last surviving grandmother is on her last breath. My mother is with her, and it is also an end of an era. It's the end of my grandparents, it is the end of my kids being blessed with having seen their great grandmother. We visited her in the summer, but she has long joined the dementia world of endless summer, or endless dark, so it was not a coherent visit.It was a long good-bye, drawn out over many moons, many years. Now, as a great grandchild is about to take a first breath, a generation is taking its last. The interplay of grief/relief/joy, the end juxtaposed with a beginning.

We finished our ice creams and came home to the usual hustle and bustle of a four kid household in preparation for Shabbos. "You don't have to go, but you can't stay here."

unexpected

I am expecting.

I am not a fan of such public announcements. There is a part of me where I would want to see you in person and tell you myself, or let you notice my expanding belly and comment on that. But there is a large group of people whom I would want to notify, but we do not live in the same city, and we have not seen each other in years, so they would not know unless I tell them.

I can wait till I have the baby, till it's obvious. But there is something else that I need to share.

We have four kids. Somehow, when you have four kids, people feel that it is their business to ask, right off the bat: "So how many more are you having?" In this scenario, and in a frum world, it is not a surprise to be having another one. People expect it, almost, same way as they expect their unstable relative to ruin the holidays, or for a toddler to throw another tantrum. It's easy to roll your eyes, and twist your finger at the temple afterward.

With each one of my kids, we had good fortune of deciding: "Honey, let's have a baby", and then get pregnant right away. (I will throw it in here that I did have one miscarriage, and I am familiar with the painful, dark place which brings up all sorts of feelings of inadequacy.) But this time it was different. This time, I felt like I am already drowning. This time, I was in the midst of figuring out what to do with 8 yo, school-wise. This time, we were using birth control, and no human error occurred. This time, it was: "Honey, we are having a baby. AHHH!" This time, my logical self demanded another pregnancy test, because it was just too weird. I was not supposed to be getting pregnant at this point in the game.

Why am I confessing to having an unplanned pregnancy? Because 50 % of all pregnancies are unplanned, including married people, including families, including people who already have kids. And the feelings that come with an unplanned pregnancy are very different.

We love smirking at unwed mothers; we love feeling superior to teenagers who somehow managed to get pregnant, and more than once. We love feeling that we, as stable married people, know better. We also love that we do not have to fess up if there is an "accident".

Before anyone goes on a rampage about how all life is precious, and all babies are meant to be, I want to share a little experience. When my daughter was born, I had boys out of diapers for months. It felt good not lugging a diaper bag and a change of clothes everywhere I went. We planned for my daughter, we were thrilled to have her, and I knew by that point what taking care of a newborn looked like. Still, having to go back to elaborate packing routine just to get out to the park after not having to do it for a while felt painful. It felt like a setback. It felt that we were almost at that threshold, and then we took a step back. On this day, we made it out to the park. At that park, somehow, the conversation among mothers turned to some poor woman who discovered that she was pregnant, again, at her postpartum visit. The lady telling the story regaled how she was sobbing her eyes out, and the whole block knew. She finished by saying how one just needs to spend some time with women struggling with infertility to realize what a wonderful blessing it is to have another baby so easily.

I was about 6 weeks postpartum, and I remember thinking: if I found myself pregnant at that point, I would probably sob my eyes out, too. It would be a wonderful world where women suffering from infertility would put their energy and mothering emotions into helping other overwhelmed mothers who just need an hour of sleep, of sanity, of peace. Yet it does not work that way. Once you have too many kids (and that number varies by culture and by place), people look at you and expect you to solve this puzzle all on your own. And those women struggling to conceive will not help out, they will just look at you with jealousy or anger, since you have it so easy.

So let's quit pretending that only unwed mothers end up with unplanned pregnancies. And let's validate emotions of women who do find themselves accidentally pregnant, no matter what are their circumstances.

As for me, I am still taking time processing how this will affect our life. I know exactly what it's like to have two kids two years apart. I also know that it takes about 18 months postpartum to reach the point of trying to plan anything in life which is not directly tied to the baby. It takes another 18 months till those plans can be achieved. The youngest has to be about 3 for a mommy to get her energy and life back. I am recognizing that after my headstrong and curious 1 yo I will not get that space, I will sail straight into another postpartum. I am just getting a smidgen of those grand ideas going now, and I know that all of those will need to be on hold for another 3 years or so. I am making peace with that.

The story of my life is learning to let go of being in control, and being forced to take the journey wherever it might lead me. I often think that I internalized that lesson. Yet, time and again, I find out that I did not absorb it enough. Having an unplanned baby is the ultimate surrender of control.

Credit: http://www.anythinglime.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/heart_hands_pregnant_belly-1024x682.jpg

Unplanned, yet wanted.
Unplanned, yet the kids are overflowing with joy at the news of another sibling.
Unplanned, yet teaching me already some valuable lessons.

The road less traveled... made all the difference.

on self-image

This morning, as we were sitting down to daven, 8 yo suddenly told me that he does not like his hair, he feels it does not go well with his face. I said that his curls are beautiful (he's the only one from the kids to have thick, dark curls) and that I wished that I had hair like that. He continued how he does not like his face, it is too thin... I said that he was the cutest kid I ever met and I was so happy that he's mine. He said: "You are just saying that to cheer me up! I don't like to look at my face in the mirror. At that point, I tried to reassure him a bit more, but it was not going anywhere, so we moved on to davening.

This whole exchange pained me. I sort of pride myself on having a healthy body image. I do not count my calories, I am not an exercise freak, and I do not complain about how I look. One of the things I loved about quitting teaching is that I did not have to put on make up every day. I did not have to carefully dress, to look older and authoritative. I could gravitate to clothes which were functional and comfortable. My line for the first year of baby's life: they really don't care what you are wearing, they will spit up all over it anyway!

Tying into this: I am seven months pregnant now, so, obviously, I have a belly. When my mother was looking at our pictures from the canyon, she remarked how the beige jacket sits so well on me, you almost cannot see my bump. Just last night, my mother-in-law offered to take my picture. I demurred (my hair was not covered). She immediately chimed in that she can do just the top, don't worry about the waist.

I remember as a teenager poring over my parents' pictures. There is not one picture of my mother pregnant with me. There is one picture of her being pregnant with my sister. My husband does not have any pictures of his mother being pregnant either. Is this a cultural thing? Or do women feel so bad about how they look that they want no trace of their state?

Well, I am proud of my belly. There is a new life growing inside it. What's so embarrassing about that? So I gained some weight; that's normal. I just look, well, pregnant.

After I had my oldest, two weeks' postpartum, I was already being told to wear a girdle and to wrap my belly tightly in a bedsheet, to "preserve my figure". I did not know better, but I discovered pretty quickly that it is uncomfortable to nurse in a girdle. Nursing took prioriry, so I ditched the girdle, and nursed my kid till he was a year. I did not lose pregnancy weight till after he was weaned, and I was left with quite a bit of sagging. After I had my second, the same thing happened, only this time I did not even try the girdle.

I joke that I always look slightly pregnant, but that's just so I have something to show for all these human beings that I produced. My body did its job marvelously: from sustaining and nurturing a baby, to holding on to necessary weight for nursing. One does not have three kids and looks like a teenage twig. What's embarrassing about that?

So here is my message, my dear son: you are who you are. Your body is amazing and there is nothing wrong with it. What counts is not how people perceive and judge you, but how you appear before Hashem. Are you kind? Are you caring? Are you involved in doing G-d's will? Hashem's mirror is softer on the superficiality and appearances, but much harsher on significance.

As for myself, here I am in all my pregnant glory: