Asher's One Year Check Up

Asher and Pop

Sitting on the scale

This year has been so full and so busy I can hardly believe my Asher is already One. It has passed so quickly and so slowly. Someone said: The days are long but the years are short. And I can't help but nod my nostalgic agreement with that truth.

When you have a treasured child, a blessing and a bright shining light of youth and newness and exuberance to fill your days, the days take forever to pass - as an adult your energy is substantially less than your child's, a fact that is sometimes painfully apparent as you are running fumes by the end of the day - but the years you share with them speed by before you even realize it.



Waiting for the Dr

Every day with Asher this past year has been long and full and often tiring. But once his first birthday rolled around, I found myself awed at how quickly it seemed to have arrived. After all those long days and often sleepless nights; after the sickness, growth spurts and teething; the laughter and belly flubs and bedtime cuddles, new words and books read together ... he was suddenly One. He was suddenly my Toddler. My little baby boy was transforming second by minute by day. Some mornings he would wake up and I'd walk into his room and see him standing in his crib waiting for me, or sitting and playing with his Cuddly bear and he'd look up and beam and coo and reach for me and I'd realize he looked different. His soft little blue-eyed face had changed overnight.

Those fleeting moments pop up so often as you realize your new baby is a growing, dynamic little person and you can't do anything about it. You love it and it kills you at the same time. It's that mama hurt ... all of a sudden everything hurts just a little bit more, everything means just a little bit more and time passes just a little bit faster.

Before I knew it, I was taking Asher to his one year check up. We had breezed through his newborn appointment, a 2 month appointment when he was sick and I was *that* mom, certain he had something worse than his first of many colds to come; we got through his 3, 6 and 9 month check ups with ease ... he had all his shots and did so well. And then his 12 month check up arrived. He didn't love the shots so much.



Me and my Asher

 Of course he always cried a little whenever he got his shots, but this time it seemed worse. He was NOT pleased and right after that first shot (one of THREE), he started howling. And as a mom, you feel like a jerk holding your child's arms down so they can't get away. Please, just give ME the shots! Poor kid has no idea what the heck is going on and just knows it hurts. He can't know that it hurts my mama heart even more. As soon as the shots were administered I scooped him up and gave him some comfort and cuddles and he calmed down pretty quickly. I'm glad we are done with shots for a while.

Asher's One Year Stats

Height: 32 inches (97th percentile)

Weight: 26 pounds, 6 ounces (95th percentile)

Head Circ: 46 cm (97th percentile)

Sick & Tired

I wish it wasn't so difficult to get through something like this. I keep telling myself: Just because it's hard doesn't mean it's not right. But that doesn't take away the pain. It still hurts a lot.

And it still drains me. I am emotionally exhuasted; half the time I'm coasting through the day. I don't care about cleaning the house like I used to or doing a load of laundry until I have to. I don't care about picking out cute outfits for work, accessorizing or make up. I pull on one of a few go-to outfits, comfortable shoes, dust on some powder and blush and I'm done. I coast through the day at work making sure I get my work done on time and with a smile, but all the while I'm just a shell of a person ... I try to make sure it's not painfully obvious that I'm struggling, I'm hurting and I'm not even sure what to do anymore. But I don't think it's working; I am sure that everyone can tell when I have an 'off' day and that something is wrong with Natalie but they don't want to say anything because ... well, this is work; we don't have lives apart from work.

Psalms 71:20-21

You who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again; from the depths of the earth you will bring me up again. You will increase my greatness and comfort me again.

My brain is tired and sometimes doesn't want to be present. But I push through. And I'm tired.

I push and push and push so hard that I make myself sick. Last week I spent a day feeling miserable at work. I was sure it would pass. I went to sleep hoping for a better day but woke up feeling just as sick. Nauseous, achy and worn out like I hadn't just woken from 7 hours of sleep; like I hadn't gotten any rest at all and was next to worthless for a day of work. I spent the entire day at the office hurting in so many ways, fighting back years, and realizing that perhaps the stress and ache and strain of so much change and so much hurt and so much misunderstanding and so much effort had left me sapped and empty and physically ill. I realized that shouldn't come as a surprise. But it still sucks. And it still hurts. And I still have so far to go.

Jeremiah 29:11

"For I know the plans I have for you", declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

 

Asher's Birth Story

To be perfectly honest there isn't much to it as birth stories go. I just feel the desire to record whatever I can remember of it so I don't completely forget. One day I may want to remember it better than I find I am able.


Asher's due date was August 31, 2012. It didn't take me long to realize how insane I was for timing a birth in Dallas in August. Absolutely nuts. As we got closer and closer to his due date, my doctor was monitoring me every week. I can't even remember my stats, but I was effaced something like 30-40% I think, and dilated to about 2 as we closed in on the 31st. I had hoped my Dr could get me scheduled for an induction ON the due date so I could be in the hospital on Labor Day weekend (and get a few extra "free" days tacked onto my post-baby maternity leave).


Ginormous me at 40 weeks (08.31.12)

 But apparently all the other hugely pregnant moms in scorching Dallas had the same idea and by the time my Dr's office called to schedule the induction they didn't have any room for me that weekend. My last prenatal appointment was Wednesday morning, August 29th and I had to wait all weekend to go in for my induction. We scheduled it for Wednesday, September 5th at 8am. That was a long week.

Part of me hoped I'd just go into labor before the induction; the other part was kind of scared to go into labor by myself and wasn't quite sure what to expect if I did. So I was glad (sort of) when that didn't happen. I was absolutely massive and in a lot of pain so I wasn't exactly thrilled to carry on in that state much longer.

My back, legs, neck, and my feet were in pure suffering at all times. Sleep wasn't even a relief at this point. No position was comfortable. Either terrible pressure on my back or awkward twisting and tightness on my sides. Personal maintenance and hygiene were steadily declining on my list of priorities. I can't even remember if my legs were (somewhat) freshly shaved. Showering was a trecherous dance; adding the risk of shaving with a 10 pound baby in my line of sight made it something to shrug off without a second thought. I'm sorry, medical staff, for my dry feet and stubbly legs. But I know you've seen it all.

And the edema. Oh Lord, the edema. The constant, epic ballooning in my legs, feet and sad little sausage toes was the worst part of the pregnancy hands down. I could have been hugely pregnant and not quite so miserable if my skin wasn't being inflated with the pressure of the edema 24/7. I had elephant feet and could fit into ONE pair of shoes (while still going to work). Thank you, Crocs Springi.

I ended up starting my maternity leave just before the Labor Day weekend, on Thursday, August 30, though all that week I was in and out of the office, working from home some and seeing my Dr. It was pretty nice to have a quiet few days to myself and just enjoy my own company, a slightly looser schedule, some last minute tidying up and some major nesting in Asher's room.


Labor Day dinner with my family

 During the long weekend, we spent some time with my family. We had a huge Labor Day spread (the only way my family knows how to 'do' holidays) which included lobster, steaks and root beer floats. On Tuesday evening (September 4th), I made a Last Supper for Kevin and myself: Grilled Pork Chops with German Potato Salad. I used the leftover "It's a Boy!" decor from the surprise baby shower my office ladies threw for me earlier that week (I had four baby showers total over the summer! wow).

The next morning, Wednesday September 5th, I went to the hospital to have my baby. I woke up early because we were supposed to be to the hospital around 7am (I think) for all the paperwork and for them to get me all "hooked up".

I got to the hospital late, at almost 8am and then couldn't find L&D. I felt kind of silly since I had come in just a week or two earlier to take a tour of the wing, where to go, where to park, what to tell your family, etc. Pregnancy brain, perhaps. ;) I found a nice lady who worked at the hospital and she pointed me in the right directly. I had forgotten about a pair of doors that led to L&D and instead of walking through them, I just walked past them. Once I was in the right place, I got checked in and signed in ready to get started.


Contracting

 They took my vitals which included the saddest of all weight checks in my whole life. Not a proud moment. But I reminded myself of my sacred calling as a Mother and Maker of a Whole Human and decided not to give myself a hard time over it. Next, I got to my delivery room where I changed into a gown and got comfortable.

Then they inserted the IV for Pitocin (still have the scar on my hand) and then attached the monitors (one for me and a fetal monitor for Asher) around my abdomen. I liked being able to look over at the screen and see how he was doing.

It didn't take long before they started the Pitocin drip to induce my contractions. I wasn't on any meds for the pain; at this point the sensation and pain associated with the contractions was minimal. I spent several hours just coasting through moderate contractions as they slowly increased the meds and the pain steadily increased along with it. After 6 hours of labor, around 2pm, the pain was to the point where I decided to get my epidural (sitting here today I cannot even remember this pain). The anesthesiologist came in and made quick work of it. I felt next to nothing and then as the numbing kicked in, I actually felt nothing. Hah! Having an epidural is an odd sensation. You feel nothing but you still feel what you're supposed to feel, if that makes sense. As labor progressed and I started pushing, I felt the contractions still and I felt the pressure. There was a very strange, heavy feeling, too from the numbness.

After the epidural was placed I felt the contractions speed up over the next few hours as things started getting a little more intense. Around 6pm my Dr came in to check on my progress. He said I was fully dilated and ready to push. They aren't kidding when they say this is hard work. Your entire body is engaged and working overtime toward the goal of birth, but it feels like your entire body is engaged and working overtime AGAINST your efforts at giving birth. It didn't take long to feel completely exhausted and completely overwhelmed and maybe a little bit scared. Can I even do this?!

After 2 hours of non-stop pushing, Asher hadn't moved. Not even an inch. I felt like I'd been giving everything I had to get him moving and still he hadn't budged. Once he was born and I saw his broad shoulders, it was pretty obvious why; but in the process it was just a roadblock that felt so discouraging. My Dr said if we couldn't get him out soon, we'd have to look at a C section. I understood the risk of infection if the baby is in the birth canal without progress for too long. But I really didn't want a C section. It wasn't that I had an emotional attachment to the natural birth process, but mostly I didn't want to be cut open if I could help it.

My Dr and an entire troup of Drs and nurses seemed to spring into this rush of time-sensitive action as we went into Forcep Assist Mode. There was my Dr, another Ob and what seemed like 6 nurses along with my Push Coach (Unfortunately there was a staff change in the middle of my active labor - of course - so my amazing coach was replaced around 7pm. But her replacement was great and just as encouraging. It was just hard having to shift in the middle of labor). The room was packed and I was determined not to get a C section. So ... in went the forceps. It was all kind of a blur. And when you see those forceps you think "WTF?!" ;) ... And then in just one last push, he was out. We were finally done. And I felt my body give a great sigh of relief. I felt like I was in a fog but I remember lying there amazed at what I had just done, at what had just happened, and waiting to hear that first cry. It came and he sounded so sweet and strong. I couldn't wait to see him.


Asher's first photo

  When I finally saw Asher for the first time, his little face became the face that I'd seen the day I found out I was pregnant, and when I put his fresh bedding on his new crib, when I bought his stroller, when I looked at his car seat, when I laid out his hospital clothes ... that little baby I had imagined and hoped for and couldn't wait to meet was finally here, and I was holding him. I had never seen his face. It was just a blur before, but now it was Asher. That little boy was my little Asher Drake and he was finally here.

Once I met my son, there was some clean up to be done (to say the least). I had lost a lot of blood and there was some tearing. The other Ob who helped with the delivery sewed me up. I don't know the degree of my tearing and I don't know how many stitches they had to place, but it felt like forever before they were done. I was so tired and uncomfortable. Once I was sewn up and the room was put back together, the Drs cleared out and everything calmed down, I was able to get some rest. Asher had his first nursing session and he did really well. I think at some point they took him to the nursery. I wish I could remember. But I wasn't even there ... I felt so weak and delirious.


Me and Asher with my OB.

 As they tried to move me from the bed so I could be wheeled into my recovery room, I fainted. I didn't even realize it but as I came to, I was lying perpendicular on the bed and woke up staring at the ceiling and lights. The nurse was asking me if I was ok. I asked her what happened and she told me I had blacked out when I stood up to sit in the wheelchair. We waited a few minutes for me to 'come to' and tried a second time, but I just collapsed again. This was not going to work. They checked my blood volume and realized just how much blood I had lost. They said I would need a transfusion.

So I stayed in the delivery room for a couple more hours - I can't even remember when I finally got to my room! Probably around midnight - getting 2 bags of blood transfused. I wasn't pleased about that and it felt very ominous signing the consent forms. I was sure I'd get some terrible blood disease. Once I was finally feeling better, they wheeled me - on my bed! They didn't even try a wheelchair again just to be safe - into my new room. Thank God. It was dark and cozy in there. Somewhere along the way Asher ate again. A nurse sat with me during the entire transfusion and brought him in at one point to sit with me. She was impressed that he held his pacifier in all by himself. Asher was safe and sound in the nursery as I was being wheeled into my new room and during the night they brought him in every couple hours to eat. In the night, I had hallucinations which felt really strange. I was on meds for the pain and that certainly didn't help the physical and emotional fog I was already in. I felt like I was hearing voices and I sensed people in my room even when they weren't there and I was sure I was just sleeping through them coming into my room and I imagined myself apologizing for sleeping but ... no one was there. 


My nurse Denise and Asher, hating his bath

 The two nights I spent at the hospital were much the same: a blur of visits (Kevin's dad, and then brother, sister in law and nieces and nephew came to meet Asher), nurses coming in to administer meds or bring Asher in to nurse and broken, fitful sleep. The next day (Thursday), Asher had his first bath. I was really too weak still for them to OK any walking or standing (I still had my cath in place - one of several they had to keep placing and then removing. Ugh) so my sweet nurse Denise did his bath in my room with me and talked with me the whole time.

She was an expert, a comfort, an encouragement and such a kind person to have around during that time. I gave her a big hug when I left on Friday and was sad I couldn't take her home with me.

My family came and visited me and met their first grandson and first nephew. They were very excited and very supportive of me. Both my mom and Kevin said after the fact they felt terrible I was alone in the hospital, not only for the transfusion but then both nights of my stay. The first night there, Kevin had to get back to the house because the person we had come over to feed the cats (so we wouldn't HAVE to go back to the house until I was released) had left one of the doors slightly ajar which set off the house alarm. The alarm company called (on the timeline, this happened even before they tried moving me to my recovery room), but the housesitter wasn't answering their phone so we couldn't get them to go back to the house for us to turn off the alarm. For all we knew something bad had happened. So he went back to the house; it was late so I just told him to stay there so he could get some sleep. I knew I wouldn't sleep well with him in the room snoring anyway.

Here, Asher meets his proud, first-time Lolli, Pop and Uncle:

Knowing what I know now, my mom will definitely be a bigger part of my next delivery, whenever that happens. I know she really wanted to be there when Asher was born. God willing I will have more babies one of these days and she can be right there with me.


Asher and Kevin

 Labor and delivery was definitely a hard time for me. I know it is for most moms. I don't hear a lot of birth stories that last an hour and don't involve pain or some kind of complication, however minor. Giving birth is hard work; it's the hardest work I've done. And when I think objectively about the other struggles I had on my mind and heart at this time, and during my pregnancy, and even to this day, I wish so hard I could have a do over ... or something. I wish I didn't have all this happening all at once. It sucks telling your spouse you want a divorce when you're 4 month old naps in the other room. It sucks even more realizing you've done everything you can to keep that divorce from happening but you've failed.

It's a terrible place to be as a wife and especially as a new mom. But that's where I found myself. Before I even admitted to myself what it was that had been weighing so heavily on me, I thought I had PPD and started taking an anti-depressant that just made it worse. I never quite lifted out of that fog until I stopped taking the anti-depressant and was blatantly honest with myself about my marriage. Only then did I have a light bulb moment. Only then did I feel such a relief, even though I was still at the very beginning of this hard journey. I really didn't want to admit that: Our marriage has failed. But sometimes it happens.

I decided to stop feeling shame for that and instead embrace it because it meant hope and change for all of us. Maybe not now - well, definitely not now - but one day soon things will be better. Motherhood defines me now. I will always be dedicated to Asher and his well-being. No matter what. Over the last year I have seen Kevin become a more involved and caring dad. I hope that he can always be dedicated to Asher. I know he doesn't like the divorce, but I hope he can always keep Asher first, no matter what.



Me and my Asher Bear

 Asher's life has brought a new dimension to my life that has made it more purposeful and more bright. It's interesting watching yourself change as a new parent. Everyone says exactly what will happen but you can't truly understand it until you are experiencing it yourself. It's a powerful new reality of life and the world and humanity that opens itself up to you as you take this sweet little life into your arms and pledge your own life to nurturing and guiding and loving this new little human.

I had that moment with Asher. And I felt like a new person. While it's so overwhelming and, for me, I had a minute to minute change as I sat with Asher feeling the weight of my new responsibility set in, it can also creep in on you slowly, as each day passes.

Each nap with your child on your shoulder, each splash of summer light on the bedsheets as you pull a fresh onesie over that downie head, the fresh air turning from summer to fall as you spend your time nuturing this little baby, each look into those gray-blue eyes as you get to know this new person ... each little memory passes and you are steadily entrenched in this mom thing. Suddenly it becomes you.

No matter how hard, no matter how many more tears you cry now that you are a mom, no matter how deeply painful things are now that you think of them as a mother, and no matter how much everything else around you might hurt, you are a Mother. And you just can't imagine it any other way.

Asher's First Birthday! (photo heavy)

For a few months before Asher turned one, I wasn't quite sure how we'd celebrate his birthday. I knew I wanted to do something great to celebrate his sweet life. I had imagined a themed birthday bonanza with decor, a photobooth, games for all the kids, a well-planned menu, etc. But considering the circumstances, I knew things would be different and non-traditional and not quite as epic as I imagined. But I also knew - no matter what - Asher needed to be celebrated whole-heartedly. No matter what, that would always hold true. We didn't have any grand plans but what we ultimately did was with Asher in mind. In the end I know he enjoyed his many celebrations and I hope he felt the love and happiness around him.

PARTY #1: On Wednesday September 4th (one of Kevin's days off), he hosted a small party for Asher at our house. Kevin invited some of his family (his dad, mom and his brother and his family) as well as a few friends. Asher got some new toys including a little piano, John Deere tractor push toy (he loves anything with wheels and flubbers his mouth as he pushes around his trucks and cars), some Boon bath toys and several things I got him at IKEA including a tunnel which is a hit - he loves it. Kevin's mom arrived and left early due to her work schedule but she helped set up the decor and played with Asher before the party started. They had a simple menu and Kevin ordered a cupcake cake for Asher that was made of chocolate and yellow cupcakes. Asher dug into the cupcakes like it was just another meal! He ended up getting sick the next day - his birthday! - and had to go home early from Mother's Day Out.



Asher picking up his birthday cake from Tom Thumb




The dining room all decorated for Asher's party



Asher (left) and Sammy, one of his friends, swimming in the yard after they had cake

 



PARTY #2: Asher's birthday, Thursday September 5th, he went to MDO in the morning, then went home with my dad (who is one of his caregivers during the week) and had a nice quiet afternoon with a long nap; by the end of the day he was feeling much better after his cake overload. That evening we didn't do much but Kevin and I did make sure to take a couple photos with Asher. He had his bath and was in his new birthday 'rock star' pajamas all ready for bed, but we still got the photos. I ended up rocking Asher to sleep that night and got to hold him in my arms the minute he was born a year ago, 8:24pm. After I laid Asher in bed I told Kevin that Asher was now "officially born" and he went in to talk to him in his crib as he slept.


Our little birthday boy



Asher at bedtime on his birthday


PARTY #3: On Friday, September 6th, Asher was with my dad in the afternoon since Kevin was headed back to work that night and had to sleep. Our routine is that I leave work to pick up Asher and we get a quick dinner before I head back to the house for Asher's bedtime. We usually go to our local Mi Cocina since all the staff know us and dote on Asher everytime we eat there. They decided to bring out a candlelit flan for him and sing "Happy Birthday". He wasn't sure what to think of it! He was quiet and just watched them the whole time. Considering his sugar intake from the earlier in the week, I didn't let him eat more than a couple tastes of flan; we helped him with the rest. ;)


Asher and his birthday flan at MiCo



PARTY #4: On Saturday, September 7th, I had a party with my family, Asher's final birthday week celebration. It was very small, just our family at my parents' house. We got a cake from Nothing Bundt Cake (I picked carrot hoping it wouldn't be TOO sweet; it was perfect!). We had a simple burger lunch then did smash cake (we got a tiny bundt cake just for Asher to smash). Then he opened even more presents. I got him a couple items from IKEA that I had set aside so he could unwrap some things from me, then he got some goodies from his Lolli and Pop - new clothes and a bunch of trains and accessories - and some things from his Uncle Nick and Amanda - his first cowboy boots (A must for our little Texan!) and his first Dallas Cowboys and Texas Rangers t-shirts. He opened some presents from his Tulsa family, too (my friend and her family) which included a RC car which Asher immediately took to, a cute new outfit for fall and a beautiful book called "The Little Island".



Asher's bundt cake

Blowing out the candles for him



Smash!

 

Asher's new rocking moose from IKEA

 

Racing through his new tunnel



The precious birthday boy


It may not have been a "traditional" birthday celebration but it was a happy one for Asher and one surrounded by people who care about him. I know he was loved and cheered on and embraced all week.

His birth and life are the best things in MY life to celebrate and I'm glad he was feted all week long. It's hard to believe he is already one. He is already a toddler. He is saying new words weekly and changing and growing daily. I love being able to interact with him more and more as a little boy who is learning about his world. I'm so excited to see how my boy continues to grow and develop and be able to enjoy the blessing of his sweet character and happy demeanor in my life every day.

"Of Asher he said,
More blessed than sons is Asher;
May he be favored by his brothers,
And may he dip his foot in oil.

Your locks will be iron and bronze,
And according to your days, so will your leisurely walk be."

Deut. 33:24-25

One Day Soon

One day soon, I will move out. I get a nervous pit in my stomach when I think about this day. While at the same time, I feel a sense of inexplicable relief and hope about this day. It's a very hard space to occupy, knowing the eventual pleasure and renewal that an act will bring only once the initial sting finally fades.

I know that I must move out. I know that our marriage is over. I know that I am the catalyst for that so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised or hurt by any of the subsequent steps on that path. But ... each step hurts. There's certainly no sense in denying that. I feel like I have to be strong every minute of every day, that I have to brave my way through it but it's a challenge. It's tiring, feeling like I have to push through. Sometimes, I feel like I have to push through so that he doesn't completely fall apart. I don't like the confusion of emotions and elements that are present all at once. But at the same time I can't burden myself with the worry of holding him up as I hold myself up through the process, and as I try to finally relieve myself of that very same burden: I've tried so long to hold him up, to support and bolster and encourage and lift up this person for so long to no avail that I've grown weary and jaded by my lack of success. There comes a point when you simply can't try anymore. To do so would be insanity; to do so would be crazy-making. Even Einstein said so, in so many words. It's not giving up; instead it's allowing yourself the comfort and relief of NOT being totally insane with the round and round of it all.

And yet the steps on the way to Not Crazy and Trying For Something Better are really really hard and trecherous steps - especially when you are directly influencing the feelings of another person - that require a large amount of forethought and balance, maneuvering and out maneuvering (though I do not think of myself as a manipulator, it feels like there has to be a certain measure of preplanning and exact choice of words and timing in order to make my way through this journey minimally scathed).

I find myself shadowed by the constant and tiring work of hiding true natures to save face. I find myself trying to keep up appearances and make sure no one thinks anything TOO bad about him as I still move forward with my choice. I'm sure there is a camp of people who already think ill of me and now even worse of me for my decision to divorce. Over that I have no control and cannot concern myself. I almost care more about what people think of HIM than I do about my own reputation; is that normal or just another part of the crazy-making?

Though it's still strange thinking there are those people out there and they may never know all the whys or understand all the nuances of my choice. I feel like that is just one of the many things I have to try to let go of along my way to self-fulfillment and happiness that doesn't depend on the outside. A good friend of mine mentioned Locus of Control to me several months ago which was very pertinent. My locus is very much internal. My life is in my own hands. My poor choices directly affect my life and I have the power to make my life better. I feel like life would be very sad and alienating if I didn't think that way. To have an external locus seems so scary, like a free fall. To me, that's no way to live. It's just hard interacting with people who are external; your every action, every word, every perceived rejection is a crippling blow. Like I said, I'm not a manipulative person, but I feel like every step is over delicate egg shells that, with every crack, complicate everything tenfold and with every rushed step or misstep, wound feelings to the quick.

Divorce is hard enough without worrying about personality and mental differences, bruised egos and hearts. What else is there to do than try really hard to be true to ones' self? Right now I feel that, in the end, that's all we have. I've got to reclaim that at least. And I've been going with my gut all year. No one said it wouldn't hurt; no one said it wouldn't suck a whole lot. It's not pretty, it's not neat, it's not cut and try. But I keep moving on ... and eventually moving out to accept what my life has in store.

Coldplay "Sparks"

Did I drive you away?
I know what you'll say,
You say, "Oh, sing one we know",
But I promise you this,
I'll always look out for you,
That's what I'll do.

I say "oh,"
I say "oh."

My heart is yours,
It's you that I hold on to,
That's what I do,
And I know I was wrong,
But I won't let you down,
(Oh yeah, yeah, yes I will)

I say "oh",
I cry "oh".

And I saw sparks,
Yeah I saw sparks,
And I saw sparks,
Yeah I saw sparks,
Sing it out.

La, la, la, la, oh
La, la, la, la, oh
La, la, la, la, oh

Round and Round we go

Over the years I feel that the two of us have never really clicked. We tried; we had more energy and more desire to make it work in the beginning so maybe the total lack of compatibility was overshadowed by our young and hopeful outlook. As time passed and the shimmer and newness of the relationship faded, as overly-comfortable habits and laziness kicked in, it became more apparent that things were not as bright as they had previously seemed.

Lately it feels like every issue - however small - is a potential point of contention. It makes me even more inclined than before to just not bother.

My approach to it from the beginning has been one of positivity, knowing we could make the most of any struggle and get through it together with love and compromise. Isn't that how it's supposed to work? I know he would say otherwise because everything I do has always been negative, depressed, judgmental, etc. Apparently. But if I was as negative about him as he thinks, I would have left a long time ago. And maybe I should have. But instead I have invested a lot of myself into him and his personal improvement ... with no change. I have had what I think is the right approach to my marriage (total dedication without the thought of divorce), to the detriment of my own happiness because I ultimately realized I was the only one trying. There comes a point when you feel like you're trapped. Your spouse thinks things are great while you realize more and more with time that you are settling for mediocrity; and you are stuck. There just comes a point when you can't invest anymore when the return is nil. And you can't try anymore when there is no reciprocal effort, no desire to see what the other person sees and make an effort for them.

When we do talk these days, it seems that tensions are a bit higher, emotions are more tender, and reactions are more defensive. If that's even possible. It's a strain, that's for sure. I feel like I have a responsibility to tell him when his interpersonal and communication skills are lacking, selfish, snide, bitter and when I feel offended by his words or actions ... I feel like he needs to know when he is like this so he can hear from me - even though he has never ever truly listened or changed based on my comments - that THESE are the times that cause me to hate our marriage. THESE are the interactions that confirm he has no respect, no true and selfless love for me that would make him pause for just 2 seconds to think before he speaks. It's hurtful. It's discouraging. I'm walking on egg shells at all times. I'm avoiding serious concerns and topics simply to avoid the argument - the round and round - with him. So I go on being unhappy and ignoring my gut, which tells me there has to be a better way and that settling is not my only option. He says I should just talk to him, tell him when I have these feelings. And yet when I do, there is somehow a very reasonable explanation excuse for why I'm wrong and he's right. And so nothing ever changes. There is no compromise from him. I just go on feeling diminished and ignored, disrespected and overlooked. But somehow, all of this is my fault. I'm breaking our family apart. I'm leaving and "giving up" on our relationship. And of course, because we are getting a divorce, we are not able to have a decent relationship now or in the future. His perspective right now seems to require that we don't get along. My perspective says we MUST get along, but he can't justify those two things; he can't see a life where we are divorced and still maintain an amicable relationship.

What has been so challenging and painful for me is feeling like I have tried so hard for so many years only to have my efforts ignored and dismissed; only to be told my efforts were not in fact helpful, or even noticeable. That my encouragement has fallen on deaf ears. It's like a great schism between us that I have tried for so long to broach. But he hasn't been trying. And I'm fumbling. And I'm just done.

Does that really make me the selfish one? Does that really make me the one who is giving up prematurely? Do I have to keep this up for the rest of my life in order to be considered a good wife? Does this have to go on until we're old and gray together and I'm still unhappy in order for him to think I have truly made an effort? When all my efforts go ignored, no amount of effort will ever be enough. It's the ultimate exhaustion in a relationship where one party thinks things are great as the other party suffers and struggles to feel contendedness with their life.

I still haven't come up with a way to explain and convey to him all of what I just wrote here. The esasperating truth is that I have told him all of what I just wrote here but it doesn't seem to get through. It doesn't click for him because he doesn't see it the same way so he can't (won't?) understand why they are all deal breakers for me. So it's very difficult for me to help him see where I'm coming from if he ... just ... won't see where I'm coming from. I can hope that one day when we have distance from this challenging period that he will see and understand just a little bit of my struggle. For now we just go round and round with no progress, no clarity ... round and round and round.

To Asher on his first birthday - 09/05/13

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Asher,

Ever since you were born I’ve thought of so many things I want you to know; things I tell you every day but I know you don’t yet understand. The day I found out I was pregnant (December 22, 2012), I was happy. I was truly happy that day, something I hadn’t felt for a long time. I wanted you. I didn’t know who you were, if you would be a boy or a girl, blonde, blue eyed, brunette, tall, a football player, a musician. I just knew I loved you and I couldn’t explain it. And as a mom-to-be, I realized so many things that, before that moment, didn’t make sense. One day you will understand these things, too. For now it’s OK that you don’t; I just want to tell you about it from where I stand now so you know how treasured you are and that you completely changed my life.

The day I took that pregnancy test, I took a shower to pass the time until the results appeared. When I was done, I knew the test would tell me the news. I read the strip as I pulled a towel around me. I paused as the reality sank in. I had tried for you. I wanted you. And now … you were on your way. You were just a tiny, microscopic bundle of cells that would become my little boy.

Throughout the next 9 months as you grew bigger, I prepared for your arrival and could hardly wait for you to be with me. I read pregnancy and parenting books every night before I went to sleep. I prepared your bedroom so it would be comfortable and inviting for you. I picked a happy color for your walls that I hoped would provide a warm glow for you when you fell asleep or played on the floor. I had all your bedding and clothes and blankets washed and ready for you. I picked out the clothes I’d put you in when you can home from the hospital. The Bible says Asher means ‘happy and blessed’. I didn’t know it when I picked your name, but the stone associated with the Tribe of Asher means ‘fire and splendor’, and that the generations of his children were blessed. I picked your name because I knew you were my happy boy. I felt happy when you were growing inside me and you have been my daily delight since the moment you were born.

Your due date was August 31^st, 2012. I was staying home from work waiting for you to come but you didn’t. We scheduled my induction for September 5^th; that morning we drove to the hospital and I checked in and got all hooked up as the nurses told me about the process and got the medication started to induce contractions. That lasted for several hours and then I got an epidural to help with the pain. After that I was all numb. That evening around 6pm, I started pushing; the doctor said you were ready. After 2 hours he said you hadn’t moved at all. And I was exhausted. He said something about a c-section if we couldn’t get you moving soon. Just a few minutes after that, we got you out! I knew I wanted you to come out the natural way and you did. At 8:24pm you came out and you cried and the reality of YOU hit me again. You were really here now. You were my sweet living boy! My 10 pound, 4.4 ounce, 22-1/4 inch boy. You were here!

After a couple nights at the hospital, you and I went home. I told you about the house when we walked in so you would know where you were. I showed you the living room where you would play and the bathroom where we would give you baths in the tub and then I showed you your new bedroom where you would play and sleep, where we would cuddle in your rocking chair, change countless diapers and hug away many tears.

For the next 7 weeks or so, I spent all day, every day with you. I was up at night feeding you every couple hours, we napped together, we cried together. I had a really hard time with things. It was a big change for me to deal with and knowing that my marriage to your dad was coming to an end made it all the more difficult. I had a lot of guilt over my decision to end our marriage; I felt like I was cheating you and I still struggle sometimes to justify my choice. I’m sorry for the hurt that choice has caused you. I made a silly choice when I was young and foolish and I had to make it right. I still care for your dad but I couldn’t maintain a marriage with him because I wasn’t happy. I hadn’t been for a long time and I knew it was something I couldn’t force anymore. And I hoped that you would be better off, too. I wish I could have given you a cohesive family life. I’m sorry it didn’t work out that way because of my choices. But I hope one day you can understand why I did what I did to change our circumstances. I want nothing but the best and happiest and brightest and most fulfilling for you and your future. You are an intelligent and thoughtful person, so energetic, observant, playful, and eager to learn. I love all these things about you and see so much ambition and success in your future. You are strong. You are the reason I get through every day.

One of the things that hurts me so much and I struggle with every day is wondering if I’m conveying to you just how loved you are. And that you are the happiest part of my life. You are not responsible for my decisions or the reason my marriage to your dad didn’t work out. I hope that you never think or feel that you are. Because that is MY failure. Life is full of mistakes and choices that take us in certain directions. My choice to marry your dad all those years ago seemed right and full of hope for me at the time; but it was a misguided choice that left to me feeling sad and empty. The best thing in all those years was you. You showed me that everything really does happen for a reason. You are indeed my Asher, my happy blessing.

In those weeks I spent at home with you after you were born, I was going through a massive change. One evening, just a few days after you came home with me, I sat in bed with you as you were crying. I wasn’t sure what to do – I didn’t know why you were crying. I was comforting you and trying to calm you, and as we sat together and I held you close, I started crying, too. I felt so overwhelmed by my new role as your Mother and Caregiver and Provider that I just sat and cried with you about the reality of my new life as your person.  

Before long I had to go back to work. Those weeks were gone in a flash and then I found myself sitting at my desk not caring about my job or my petty co-workers. I wanted to be with you instead. But again, the choices I’ve made in life have led me down the path of Working Mom. I have to see that through because I want you to see a strong, dedicated work-ethic from me and to know that it has its rewards. It’s difficult to be away from your family all day. But it makes the time you have together all the more sweet. And it helps you, my family, have a secure life. I can send you to school and provide for you because of my job. I hope you enjoy the time that you spend with your dad, your grandparents and at school while I’m working; don’t ever forget that I miss you all the time we’re apart and look forward to seeing you again at the end of the day.

As your first of life has come to close and the venture into the toddler years begins, I find myself wondering how the time has been filled and wishing it hadn’t passed so quickly. But at the same time I realize that your first year has been so full of learning and change. You have grown up so fast already and are taking on new things every day. You are walking, saying your first little words, growing teeth, going to school … You are my little big man. And I can’t be sad for the speed of time. I have to be happy instead that you are part of the time I have and that you make my life purposeful.

Your mama loves you more than anything, Asher.

Happy first birthday, my love.

Mama

Just Another Letter That Will Never Be Read

It used to be that I would often write letters to Kevin. Even before we got married, I would write him notes about how I was feeling, what I was thinking, what I hoped for. Once we got married, many of these letters went undelivered. And before much longer, I stopped altogether. I'm sure I could come up with many reasons why ...

Below is one such letter that apparently I knew from the start I would never bother delivering to him but needed to write anyway. Here is it, uneditted and pretty raw. Less than three years after we got married and this little glimpse into my candidly recorded mind is enlightening, to say the least. It makes me sad to read it, really.

To Kevin … just another letter that will never be read.

October 18, 2007

Sometimes I feel so worthless, and I really worry that you might think the same about me. Sometimes I don’t feel like we ‘go’ together, or that we even try to go together like we did before. We had something different before. I know that the ‘honeymoon’ stage, though sweet, is the shortest stage of the marriage relationship and it can be really difficult – with work and chores and money and friends and family to worry about – to keep the ‘spark’ alive or whatever. But I just feel we’re fading at times. We have our days or weeks where things are really great, and I feel we are bonded and we enjoy each other’s company; we’re happy and seem to be in love. But then there are other times where I feel we are so disjointed and disconnected, I just don’t understand you. I do understand you, on a simple, human level. But … I honestly don’t feel we are making an effort to understand each other beyond that. We’re married; we should be able to love and care, and to be lenient toward one another as much as possible, instead of getting stressed and pissed.

I know you have your needs and I am very often aware of the fact that I don’t please you. At all. I know you say I shouldn’t feel insecure around you, and most of the time I don’t. But sometimes I get the feeling that I’m simply not good enough for you, or that I’m not doing the things you want or like. I know I don’t do a lot of sexual things at all lately. I know also that I’m probably just full of lame excuses for that, too. But I just have waves where I’m not very aroused. And sometimes they last a long time; I’m sorry for that, and for the fact that it seems to make us so out of sync. There are other times where I’m very interested, and I think I express that to you.

I don’t know why we’re in the stage of life we are right now; I have a job that is on one hand a blessing because I’m making what you and I made combined last year, which allows you a little more freedom with your time and I love being able to do that for you. I have absolutely no problem with making money for both of us and I really, truly hope that it doesn’t bother you. I know you are very traditional about that, as am I, but … like I said, this is where we are right now and I’m just happy to have a job that pays our bills and keeps us healthy and provided for. But on the other hand, it takes me away from you more than I have been in the past, and my energy is not where I want it to be. I’m not as focused on you and on us. Anyway, I don’t know why we are at this stage and going through these particular experiences at this time. But I’m sure it’s for some reason … and right now (or at least for the past few of months, or maybe since we got married) I’ve been really distracted and pulled away from the things I want to be able to think about more. I don’t want to think about work all the time. But when I spend 10 hours at a place 5 days of my week and come home exhausted from all the mental (and physical) exertion, it’s sort of hard not to think about it and take home those stresses. I’m just not very good at keeping the two apart. And for me, stress seems to take away my desire for certain things. I’m sorry for that, because I know how much it bothers you. Not because of anything verbal you could say, but for the physical way you show your disappointment. I hate it when you just leave the house randomly … do you know what kind of guilt I feel for that, especially after situations like yesterday evening? It’s really disheartening. I feel guilty for not wanting to be intimate at 2:30 in the morning after I’ve spent the last 15 hours bringing this massive, and unfortunately life-consuming, project to a close. I know you knew I was exhausted, even over dinner and at the bar. I just … hit the bed and wanted nothing more than solid sleep. I just don’t know what to say sometimes to make you understand that I don’t hate you, I don’t hate sex; I just sometimes don’t want it. I feel so incredibly guilty for not responding positively to you at those times, but … at the same time, I feel really angry that you’re not more sensitive. I think surely we must be able to come to some understanding about when and where and timing issues. I know I bug you, for example, when I come and cuddle and distract you from your TV programs or when you’re reading your comic books. I know now that that’s not the best time to be affectionate; sometimes I still do it, like when I’ve just gotten home in the evening. But I feel like I’ve gotten more aware and maybe more sensitive to that? I hope so at least.

I just don’t know how to fix whatever it is we’re going through. I feel like we are just two people who happen to live in the same place. It’s like we’re detached roommates who have separate lives. And I know that’s not really true; I just tend to sound sort of dramatic sometimes. Shocker. Maybe we just need to work on our time management skills. We don’t set aside time to be together; we just are together, all the time, and it’s not at all special or memorable anymore. I think if we made a point to do things with our free time, like go for a walk like we talked about last week or just go driving or sit at Starbucks and read together or sit on our patio in the evenings (now that it’s cooler), maybe we’d appreciate one another more. I just feel like we’re old hat. And I don’t like that for us. Because you’re not old hat; you honestly aren’t like that to me. I’m still in love with you and I want to be able to show that; I just feel like we’re really boring, ya know?

And I just wanted to tell you all of that today. I have been feeling like this off and on for a while, and I feel like you probably have as well. I just hope maybe we can do something to change that. We don’t have to spend money to have fun together. Being outside is free, and coffee and wine are relatively cheap and always good for conversation … and conversation is free, no need for a beverage! I just like talking to you. And I like not feeling like anything else is on my mind to stress me out. Sometimes I want to talk about things we don’t ever talk about, just our feelings about life and people and … the things we used to talk about, I guess. If we even did. Maybe that’s just one of my delusions.

Emotional Bank Bailout

Sometimes I have a wash of heat and stress come over my whole body and then I let out a deep, quavering sigh as I watch my money disappear. I tell myself for the hundredth time that it’s just money. But then at the same time, it’s MONEY. It’s kind of a big deal. Especially if you are living month to month. Especially if you have been trying and failing to figure out where you are going wrong, over and over again, and why you can’t seem to keep any of it where you want it. Especially when you started out strong and brave and so sure, and ended up … here. Losing it. Failing and grasping for something to keep your head from lilting in self loathing yet again. Especially when, at the end of the month you are hot and shaky, with little butterflies rising up in your belly, and willing so hard for that next payday to somehow magically come a day or two earlier than you know it will.

I’ve been married 8 years. I have a 1 year old. And I’m in the early stages of a divorce.

There are so many reasons why it must happen, and so many guilts and wonders and questions and fears that go along with that fact. While at the same time, I have such a sense of relief. It's a strange balancing act.

 

A divorce from a husband who is just now getting personality and/or mental disorders ascertained and treated makes it doubly hard. For many years of our marriage, he didn’t have a job. Being the person I am, I made light of this and made sure he didn’t feel bad for not working. I tried to make sure he felt he could take as much time as he needed to go to school, or just not do anything at all, so he could manage his stress and depression. Many many months would often pass where he wasn’t doing anything but some errands and work around the apartment. Many of those days were actually spent playing video games, sleeping in … while every Monday through Friday I was up getting ready for work. Unless I was sick or on a rare and too-short vacation, I was at work. For the entire 8 years of our marriage. And I told myself time and time again that I was OK with being the sole breadwinner. I was OK supporting my husband in this way so that he could … something. I don’t even know what that something is at this point. So he could … find himself? So he could have time to write the book he’s been threatening to write for a decade? So he could go to school in order to get a (better) job? I honestly don’t even know. I feel that I was so generous with my grace and my time and my energy with him. But I see now that I was lying to both of us.

I lied to myself because I wanted to keep the peace.

I lied to him because I wanted to keep the peace.

I wanted to show him I was supportive, caring, loyal. But hindsight is painfully clear; I was living my life in a lie. I was walking on egg shells every day because I was afraid. I didn’t want to admit I was afraid, so I bucked up and I was the strong (but losing my grip), dedicated (but faltering), confident (but secretly suppressing my conscience) wife who couldn’t say or do anything off kilter, who couldn’t be selfish with the big stuff, who couldn’t say the real, hard truths that must be said in a marriage of longevity and worth.

Because I was afraid. I was so afraid of his temper, his sensitivity to my “demands”. I don’t even know what else had me so hamstrung, but I sat by for so many years afraid to take action, to even be able to enjoy my own life. Because of him. I know there is no malice from him; I know he doesn’t like this truth any more than I do. But I also know that he carries much of the responsibility for it.

He ignored my kindly crafted statements about needing more money to support our life and our future, needing to know he was “with me” on whatever the issue - moral, ethical, financial, etc. He ignored all my concerns year after year. He thought sitting by and just existing together, going to movies on the weekends, finding new restaurants and watching new TV shows together was enough. He simply didn’t try. Not even in the beginning. And in my euphoria and my rush of teenage confidence stupidity, I ignored that reality. I ignored it so successfully for 8 years that I didn’t even see it coming when the massive wave of pent up hurts, anger, frustration and fear rose up and nearly drowned me. One day it just all came back and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I think it was God’s way of crafting a comeback into my life. Something epic and dramatic and mind jolting to get me to see the extend of my drift away from Him.

I had drifted for so many years away from a faith in which I previously had total confidence. I had drifted away from God, from my family, from my friends, from the core beliefs I knew were true for me, so that I could have a relationship with my husband. It’s a long story and one I tire of even thinking about, let along typing. But here I sit at the end of this journey … or the beginning of a new one … or both. It’s all so very overwhelming. I wonder how every other person who is divorced with a child has managed to get through the crushing pain and guilt; the late night talks with your soon to be ex; the bitterness and the realization that you are just now beginning to communicate with your spouse because you no longer have anything to lose. And the little whiff of doubt that sometimes creeps in: Should I stay? Should I try yet again to salvage this?

My marriage has been a practice in trying. I look back and realize, as I lambast myself for not being better at this whole marriage thing, that I DID try, I DID talk and ask for and request and tell him when I needed him to be or do something for me – for our marriage. So we wouldn't get here. I DID do those things. And they fell on deaf ears. On ears unwilling to hear and a heart unwilling to change.

You can only invest so much, and watch it go to waste, trickle away over the years with no return, no increase, until you just can’t anymore. It has to stop. You have to take your energy, time, love, effort, loyalty … and place it somewhere else. Another bank, another account, maybe even a jar buried in your backyard. Anything would be better than the current wasteland.

And so here I sit, aching with uncertainty and struggling with all the questions:

How do I proceed? What is the next step? How do I move on from here? What will my life look like in a year, or 2 or 5? Will I have more children? Will I have another relationship? Will I ever get married again? Will my ex be a gracious co-parent to our beautiful son? Will my ex find peace? Will he stop blaming me for his depression and his lack of purpose? Please God, will he stop blaming me? Will he have a renewed mind with peace and positivity or will the rest of my life be shadowed by his negative outlook? Will my son be OK?

Will my son be OK?

I think of what I will tell him if (when) he asks why I’m not with his dad. I try to make it sound logical. I know it is logical but there is that constant questioning and self doubt. I can’t quite jump that hurdle yet; not at this stage. I think I’ll tell him that I tried so long to make it work. We had good times, we had love and happiness. But ultimately some relationships aren’t destined to work. That this one wasn’t working. And that happiness, my walk with God, and my financial and emotional stability won out. I hope he sees me model happiness as a person, as a mother. And that one day he will understand why it meant the end of my marriage.

And so here I sit with my emotional and financial banks depleted. Wondering when they will see stability again.

Maybe in a couple years this all won’t seem so bad.