Four Years Together

Today marks the fourth anniversary of Primero moving in, thus starting our journey to becoming a family. Primero reminded me of the date earlier this week, commenting that he misses the simplicity of our earlier days. I agreed and we reminisced about the beginning. Part of the changes were due to the little ones moving in and the rest results of Primero maturing. As I mentioned to him, sometimes it seems like four years is a long time, sometimes I can’t believe we haven’t been together longer. Primero has been such a blessing in my life, it’s hard to sum it up in simple terms. I’m very lucky that he is the amazing young man that he is and, despite my recent malaise, he is a really good kid. I’m so grateful I have been able to be a part of his life these last four years and I’m equally as grateful to take a backseat and watch the amazing things he will do next. With his beautiful heart and strong determination, I know he will go far in life and succeed in achieving the goals he sets for himself. I’m looking forward to the next four years and many, many more after that.   

Cry Me A River

Things are hard right now. There are glimpses and moments of happiness and contentment, but for the most part, I have a lot of things that make me want to sit and cry my eyes out.

 

• My mom is struggling emotionally as well as physically with the chemo. There were a bunch of clerical errors before she had her first round of chemo and then issues with the medication and a reaction during her chemo. She doesn’t want to continue fighting, she wants to give up and I don’t know what to say to her. My sister and I talked about how much we wish she would consider therapy. Apparently she told my sister she wanted to talk to our old pastor from childhood (there is a VERY long story that explains how shocked my sister and I were by this proclamation). I did some internet research and found him pretty quickly and we are letting our father decide to bring it up to our mom or not. My sister isn’t comfortable reaching out to him, so it will fall to me if we decide to proceed. I’m going with my mom to her next round of chemo in March.  
• For reasons I still don’t understand, I woke up with hives Saturday morning. It started on my back and progressed to my stomach, chest, arms and down to my upper thighs. Usually I call my mom about stuff like this because she is a nurse. But, my mom was feeling terrible from her first chemo on Wednesday, so I couldn’t very well bother her with my issue. I called my dad. He was less reassuring, but he did talk me into taking some Benadryl. I hate Benadryl because it makes me so drowsy. And, I only had children’s Benadryl. It helped with the itching but the hives remained until the next day when they disappeared as magically as they appeared. What’s disturbing is that I don’t know what caused them so I don’t know how to avoid making them come back.
• Primero, for whatever reason, decided to share with me his experimentation with marijuana, once over the summer with his ex-girlfriend and once edibles at school. The whole at school part has me the most upset, but I also don’t love the fact that he felt the need to try it to begin with. He has seen how this stuff pans out with his siblings but still wanted to try it for himself. He insists it had no effect on him and says when he smoked it I didn’t know. I might have been suspicious, but I don’t remember. I just feel a great disappointment. I’m sure other parents will tell me it’s no big deal, I should be glad it’s “just” pot, but that’s dismissive and unhelpful. Plus, this is combined with his drinking (which he also did at school and got caught) and general “I want to experiment” attitude makes me worry. Primero got upset when I said I was disappointed that he became a follower and let peer pressure persuade him. I’m still processing this whole thing.
• Last week at court was a mess because of an accident that was my fault. The beginning of February we were out shopping and the little ones were acting out, running around and not listening. At one point, I had scooped up Love Bug and I was trying to grab Chica Marie before she slid under a clothing rack. I tripped just as I grabbed her and ended up scratching her on the inner side of her elbow. I scratched her pretty good, leaving very noticeable marks. I felt terrible about it, since my intention was just to grab her arm not scratch her. I sent a text to her TSS and email to the CHOR case worker only it never got to the county. Thus, the whole hullabaloo during court. So, not only do I feel terrible about the whole incident, but now I’m worried which is only compounded by the fact that I can’t find the email I sent. This in and of itself could be a reason to break out in hives…
•  The guy I’m sort-of seeing announced to me yesterday he’s getting a vasectomy in April. I have a terrible poker face and he sensed something was wrong. I lied and told him I didn’t care but it’s tearing my heart out and it’s just all so stupid. It all feels like a cruel joke and I just don’t understand the punch line.
• I meant to do my taxes over the weekend but didn’t manage to get it done because Primero went for coffee with a new friend which ended up taking all afternoon and evening. I need no distractions to do the taxes (I use Turbo tax), so I didn’t even bother to try with the kids being awake. Doing your taxes doesn’t make you want to cry?  

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Fat Girl Yoga

I know, in the world of infertility, there is no real winner, no one with an easy path and I’m not trying to join the Pain Olympics. But, in dealing in passing with the unwanted pregnancy of Primero’s friend it struck me that I have never, not once, not even a little bit, been pregnant. Not that I want to have been pregnant and lost the baby because that is so painful in a different way, but it makes me profoundly sad to think my body is so messed up it simply cannot do what it was designed to do. My ovaries and uterus are like a beautiful yacht sitting on dry land; it looks like a nice seaworthy vessel but it’s never been in water let alone sailed to a beautiful destination. I don’t know why it makes me feel as sad as it does.

 

Maybe I’m just struggling right now because my period has been such a bitch I honestly contemplated doing something permanent to no longer get a period. I just can’t stand how much it interferes with my life, the gushing blood and time it takes to clean up after the mess. And all for nothing because my ovaries don’t do the only thing they’re supposed to do and my uterus just collects blood to irritate my for 10 days every month. The progesterone helps a bit but what I’m finding is, it’s hard to keep the supply coming at a steady pace (both a me issue and an issue with the pharmacy taking FOREVER to fill the prescription and mail it to me), which results in the hot flipping mess that is my pointless, miserable period. This has been going on for too long and I am so tired of it; tired of how miserable it makes me feel, tired of hoping I don’t bleed through the tampon and pad while I’m not at home. Tired of stained sheets and ruined clothing. This is what pushed my mom to have a hysterectomy – just to stop the madness. I feel so done with it all.

 

Primero’s friend has finally decided to tell her mother so she can get an abortion and get on with her life. I’m glad she’s finally decided to take responsibility about the whole thing. When I was visiting my sister and we were talking about it my sister expressed her deep fear (still, to this day) of getting pregnant when she didn’t want to be. But, unlike Primero’s friend, she takes precautions to ensure she is much less likely to get pregnant (because nothing barring abstinence is 100%). And, while it’s not something she wants in her life, she is in a much better place (stable, loving relationship, financially secure, own a home, has a job, not a teenager) to care for an unwanted pregnancy. Honestly, I’m just waiting for the day I get to stop hearing about all of it. Not that I don’t want Primero to share what’s going on in his life, but it’s just so painful to hear and it’s nearly impossible for me to not take it all to heart. Life isn’t fair and there’s really no point in trying to make sense of any of it.

 

In other news, I spent this past weekend visiting my sister and we had a lovely time reconnecting. I hadn’t been down alone to stay with her since my birthday in 2012, so it was due time (I had been down to visit with my parents and grandmother when she graduated from grad school last spring). She had our schedule pretty planned out, because that’s her type A planner, but it wasn’t too intense and we had a lot of fun. She took me to a yoga class, my first ever live class. I was a little very nervous because I had only ever done yoga at home with a video and I tended to yell profanities at the instructor (it was a more intense yoga, my sister took me to a beginners class) when it got hard. Plus, if I look a fool in my living room who cares, but in front of a room full of people? No thank you. And, I should mention, my sister has just become a certified yoga instructor, so there’s that. Anyway, I ended up really loving the class and only having minor issues with two poses, so it was pretty cool. The instructor, who my sister knew, was super sweet so that certainly helped, but what I liked most was the peacefulness at the end of the class. The instructor told us to spread out, make ourselves take up as much space as possible, connect with our breathing and relax and it was so nice! So, I came home and, as fortune would have it, promptly found a yoga studio (sadly, not the one my sister uses) offering a beginners six week class and so I signed up and apparently I do yoga now. I am a little intimidated because yoga isn’t really a fat girl thing, but I’m lucky that I’m pretty bendy and so, other than the standing on your head things, I can get into most of the poses. I also need to purchase a few things I can wear because I’m really not a t-shirt girl (too short-waisted and chubby) and I only have a few leggings. I do have a yoga mat, so there’s that. Yeah, so I do yoga now, who knew?

New Chapter

I’ve been thinking about why I found it so hard to let go of inanimate objects. These things in and of themselves are fairly meaningless. Yet, I attached emotional meaning to them when they became tied to my hopes of being a mother. So, the crib and swing and all the stuff was somehow holding the dream, keeping the hope of a baby alive. But, the reality was, this stuff was just sitting in my basement. There were no (more) babies coming to sleep in the crib or bounce in the chair. Still, giving it away felt a lot like giving up. The silly part is, there’s nothing happening in regards to adding to my family. I mean, other than officially adopting the little ones, but as far as accepting another child into the home, that’s not happening. And, as much as I would like to keep fostering, I don’t think CHOR could approve my home for more children because I’m at capacity with three (I’ve always been approved for three). So, even with a lot of very good reasons, that emotional spot in my heart held onto these things. Some of it is the longing to have a biological child, which despite the odds I can’t readily shut off. Part of it is feeling regret for not cherishing baby Love Bug as much as I should have from the very beginning. Don’t get me wrong, I love him, but a small part of me also held back for a long time because I feared losing him and experiencing that pain. Again. And all of this got tied up into things; cold, hard, immovable things.

 

The things is, I want to be happy and content with my life right now, as it is. I love my children and while the path to get them in my life was not always a happy one, if I had to do it again to be their mom, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Yet, in contrast to that sentiment, I also wish things had gone differently in my life. I think holding on to the baby items, trying to keep a dying ember alive, it was making it hard to fully embrace the life I’m living instead of pining for the one I always thought I wanted. My hope is, in giving up the stuff, I can also let go of those constrictive feelings that bind me to a former me in a different realm of time. Too often I have a what if mentality, trying to prepare for an unknown potential in the near or distant future. I try to exert control over things I simply cannot control – probably as a results of not being able to control my infertility. Letting go hasn’t been easy, but growth is never without some discomfort. I do feel a sense of satisfaction, giving up things that are just unnecessary clutter. I am open and ready for new things, a new chapter to my life. And, you can’t start a new chapter without first turning the page, right?   

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Follow Up

Last night Primero took the pack-n-play to Esperanza’s expecting friend. I also sent the baby bottles, nipples and a large bag of clothing along. I tried to not think of the baby clothing, just dumped it into the bag, all of the baby boy clothing I had from 0-6 months. I kept a few pieces, things that I have vivid memories of Love Bug wearing, but the rest I just sent along. Primero brought the crib back to the house so now I need to decide to rehouse it or find another home in need. I heard from Esperanza that her friend’s grandmother is planning on buying her a bassinet, so my worries about a newborn sleeping in a pack-n-play were relieved. A bassinet is a much better option, in my opinion. I was sincerely worried for this young woman when Esperanza told me the only thing she had was a diaper gene. I know, it’s really none of my business, but the thought of bringing a baby home and not being prepared at all just frightened me. Maybe her family was planning on getting her things, I don’t know, but she’s due in April, so I think it’s better to be prepared than not.

 

The other not-my-business situation with Primero’s pregnant friend really has me upset. Again, not my circus and all that, but I am only human and things tend to crawl under my skin. The pregnant friend, as reported to me by Primero, is still hoping her estranged father will consent and pay for her to have an abortion. It does not seem that she has spoken to him, so it might just be wishful thinking. She is still struggling with high blood pressure and taking blood pressure medication, which Primero stated she hopes causes a miscarriage. Her back-up plan is to have someone punch her in the stomach to cause a miscarriage. And I just can’t. I understand her not wanting to proceed with the pregnancy and her desire for an abortion. Do I think she should have done a better job in actually preventing the pregnancy? Yes, but an early abortion under the direction of a doctor would help her out of the sticky situation she got herself into. It’s her continued irresponsibility that is making me have heart palpitations every time Primero brings up her name. I have voiced out loud if she sincerely wants an abortion or if perhaps she wants to have the baby. By her current actions, she seems a likely candidate to have a baby in a public bathroom and walk away. I know that sounds harsh, but asking someone to punch you in the stomach to end the pregnancy is pretty reprehensible. As someone unable to get pregnant, this entire situation rakes over me like nails on a chalkboard. My steady recommendation to Primero is that she just tell her mother. I understand the girl is worried about her mother’s reaction, especially considering how angry her mother was after the boyfriend was caught sneaking in, but these are the consequences she faces for the choices she made. She chose to sneak the boy back into her house, multiple times. They chose to not use any form of birth control. They were being reckless and irresponsible, as teenagers are wont to do. But, it’s time to man-up now and face the music. Her mother is suspicious and asking about her period, what better time to fess up? I keep hoping her mother finds out so the whole saga can be put to rest. Not my circus, not my monkeys but it’s been bothering the hell outta me!

 

Yesterday the endocrinology office called me to let me know everything is ok with my thyroid, the findings were negative, benign. So, that is good news. I’m not sure if I need to go back to see the endocrinologist or not, the office is supposed to call me back with an answer to that question. In the meantime, I’m continuing with the regimen the nutritionist has me doing because I think it’s is helping. Except the Progesterone. It takes time to get the refills, which results in time without the medication that results in errant bleeding. Oh does that drive me batty! Mid-cycle bleeding, early spotting before my period, random moments of spotting for no reason at all – I hate my body! Will my body ever just make the hormones it needs? Could my body just be normal?! No, I suppose not. But, at least my thyroid is not trying to kill me….  

Growth Is Hard

Over the weekend I finally got around to digging out all the baby stuff to clean it off for Esperanza’s friend. It ended up being a lot more than I thought. In addition to the crib (which converts into a toddler bed and twin bed), there was the mattress, a stroller, a bag of blankets and burp cloths, a walker, a high chair, a swing, and a bouncy chair. It was exhausting, digging it all out and wiping it off. It was also raining and the backyard was a muddy mess, so having to drag a few of the bigger items out the basement door was also an arduous task. Primero helped me heap it all into the van and there was barely enough room for the kids to fit when it was all tucked inside. Luckily it was a short drive to the girls apartment. Esperanza, Primero and the mom-to-be unloaded the car, I stayed with the kids and handed them items. The girl was appreciative but I heard from Primero and Esperanza that her mom was agitated. Her mom was yelling at her about all the stuff and how she wasn’t supposed to be there (I’m thinking the mom might be getting public assistance for the house and letting her daughter live there illegally? I have no clue). My heart hurt for her so much to know her mother wasn’t excited about having a new grandbaby (or she might be and I just don’t know the whole situation). Esperanza text me stating she cannot keep the crib because it’s too big. So, now I’m faced with the dilemma of either giving her the pack-n-play or offering her the small apartment crib I didn’t want to give away. I have no problem giving her the pack-n-play because I have two of them, but I worry about having a newborn sleeping in it. I just don’t know if it’s safe. I know some pack-n-plays have a sort of hammock for new babies, but this one does not. I really like the small crib and I think my attachment to it is because Love Bug slept in it. He never slept in the convertible crib. Still, I go back to the original thought, which is there is no need for me to hang onto these things. I don’t know if I think I’m totally done family building, maybe I’ll adopt again in like 10 years, but for now it’s not being used and has no prospect of being used in the near future so why not pass it along? I also need to dig out the baby clothing, which I know will be hard for me to part with but again it’s just stashed under my bed taking up space. Ugh, growth is such hard work!

Finding My Lobster

Today marks six years since my ex-husband left. It’s a complicated day for me, one I’ve grown to despise. On the one hand, I don’t think romantic love should be celebrated just once a year and I’m not big on the showy, over-the-top displays of affection. On the other hand, it gets lonely being single and it makes me feel sad that there’s no one who thinks I’m special enough for even a simple gesture of love. I really should avoid social media on Valentine’s Day, but I didn’t think of it until it was too late. A mom to one of Chica Marie’s former classmates posted a card from her husband. It wasn’t that the card was uber romantic or anything like that, it just spoke to her. It had a picture of Ross and Rachel (from Friends) and the bottom had little red lobsters and it said, “You’re my lobster.” If you’ve never seen that episode of Friends you won’t really get it, but being a fan, it was cute. And it made me long for someone to “get me” like that.

 

On the romance front things are complicated. I don’t regret breaking up with my boyfriend and it’s not that I’m totally miserable being single. The complication comes from a friend. We’ve been friends for a handful of years and there has always been an underlying tension and chemistry but when we first met we were both married. Our friendship intensified when I became single but he was still married and I kept him very much at arm’s length. We now find ourselves both single and we’ve been making good on the whole chemistry thing. Except…. I like to know where things are going and we are solidly in limbo-land, which kind of bugs me. Some days more than others. I don’t think we are dating, but we also aren’t seeing other people. It’s just sort of a mess and, if I let myself think about it, I get a little crazy. I feel like I’ve done a lot emotional work and I’m really ready for a serious relationship. You can’t tell someone else when/if they are ready, but in terms of time, he’s only been separated from his wife for 2-3 months, so I doubt he’s ready to really dive back into something serious. Not to mention there’s his kids and my kids and I know his wife, we used to go to church together, so there’s that added awkwardness. I don’t know. It’s complicated. And all I want to do is find my lobster….

Thyroid Biopsy

In addition to being wrong about weight loss curing PCOS, the endocrinologist was wrong about how the thyroid biopsy was performed. I’m really starting to not trust her at all, honestly. Sadly, there are limited options for endocrinologists in our area and it is notoriously hard to get appointments, so I’m sort of stuck. She told me they cannot numb the area when getting a biopsy and so they just use a numbing spray. I remember the numbing spray from when I had to have my toenail removed and it does help, as long as the nurse has a steady spray on the area. Fortunately, having a needle jammed into your thyroid is not as painful as getting an infected toenail removed or having an infected dog bite scrubbed two times daily. On the pain scale, thyroid biopsy registers as a mere discomfort, akin to getting a cavity filled or having a hysterosonogram biopsy. The only pain was the pinch of the first needle, used to inject lidocaine into my neck because no numbing spray was used. According to the doctor, there is a national shortage on the drug that makes lidocaine not burn when injected and so it burned. It felt just like a bee sting, only instead of hurting and throbbing for hours or days, it gets numb after a few moments. Then, the uncomfortable part, where the doctor jams a needle into my thyroid and pokes it multiple times to get a tissue sample. The worst part was concentrating on not swallowing because that makes your thyroid move. They have a pathologist in the room to check the sample and make sure it has enough tissue to test, which the first poke did not get. So, the doctor stabbed me again, taking a second sample. Getting a thyroid biopsy is not an easy task, apparently.

 

Today I’m feeling a little sore and my neck is a little swollen, probably because I eschewed their advice to put ice on my neck. Um, hello it’s February? The doctor doing the biopsy assured me, as every doctor has, that my thyroid *looked* ok, so nothing to really be worried about. I don’t know when I will get the results, but I will have to go back to the endocrinologist for that information, which I’m not looking forward to, but whatev. I’m glad the biopsy is over and that the anxiety waiting to get it done was really the worst part of it all.

Bullet Recap

Bullet recap of recent things:

 

• Primero’s friend who is pregnant told the baby’s father about the pregnancy. She snuck him into the house, again (which she got in trouble for doing before and is the main reason she won’t tell her mom about the pregnancy) for a secret rendezvous and told him her plan was to get her father (he’s estranged from the family) to help her get an abortion. Primero was angry at her for sneaking her ex-boyfriend back into her place and angry at her for telling him because he thinks it means she plans to keep the baby. Meanwhile, her blood pressure keeps spiking high and she’s taking medication that is probably not good for a developing fetus, should she decide to not get an abortion. The entire mess makes me batty, so I have to practice deep breathing and remind myself, “Not my circus, not my monkeys.” Sigh.
• Mini Momma came for a sleep-over. We had a minor spat regarding her wearing her heavy winter jacket during the cooking class, but mostly it was a nice visit. For whatever reason, she got it into Chica Marie’s head that I should buy them baby dolls while we were out at an adoption meet-and-greet for our foster dog. I had previously promised Chica Marie she could get new earrings  (she settled on ice cream cones, donuts, and unicorns), but refused to buy them dolls. She also tried talking Chica Marie into getting me to stop for McDonalds on the way home from church, but I pretended to not hear them. It bothered me because Chica Marie doesn’t usually ask for things like that (if she sees something, maybe) and it all just got on my nerves, honestly.
• We went to church on Sunday, the first time in a long time. Getting me and three kids out the door on time reminded me why we don’t often go to church – because I totally need to repent of all the unkind words I said in my head before
• Mini Momma told us two of their older siblings are going to be parents. One of their older twin sisters is expecting and one of their older brother’s girlfriends is due in April. Chica Marie, not understanding biology, was upset that her sister didn’t tell them at the picnic over the summer. I didn’t confirm with Grandma if this is true, but I will try to do so tactfully in the near future.
• Have you ever had a nightmare where pregnant bellies were busting open and zombie babies were trying to get you?
• I finally packed up all the baby stuff and delivered it to Esperanza’s friend’s house. She was grateful for everything but her mom pitched a fit about it taking up too much room, so I’m going back to collect the crib and either give her the small crib I didn’t want to part with, or the pack-n-play which I worry wouldn’t be good for a newborn. I also still need to go through the baby clothing to give her things for the baby to wear. I don’t know how she can be so zen about having nothing for the baby other than a diaper gene. I’m freaking out for her!
• Someone I follow on Facebook posted a story about how she thought she would never have kids, she tried to convince her husband to leave her so he could have the family he wanted and just two months after that she found out she was pregnant. She went on to have a second child all because she never gave up and had enough faith to make it happen. Barf! I so wanted to reply, but given all the positive (other women who struggled with infertility but managed to eventually give birth) responses I knew I would be shamed for being negative. To me, there is nothing worse than the self-righteous infertile who claim faith and perseverance for their good fortune in baby-making. The reality is not all infertile people will resolve their infertility with a biological child. And it isn’t because they lack faith or because they didn’t stick-to-it, it’s just the way the genetic cookie crumbles. Life isn’t fair and no amount of faith or perseverance can change that fact.
• I’m having my thyroid biopsy today. I’m nervous about being stabbed in the neck four times, even if they do try to numb the area with the magical spray. I’m not worried they will find anything life-altering and I’m looking forward to putting the whole thing behind me.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Babies Having Babies

Last weekend I bought a pregnancy test for the first time in years. It wasn’t for me. Primero had a friend at school who was two weeks late and thought she might be pregnant but couldn’t buy a test for herself because she was afraid of tipping off her mom. See, she had gotten in trouble for sneaking her boyfriend into the house months ago and, even though they were technically broken up, she snuck him back in and here we are. Her mom is very strict. She doesn’t like the boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend. The girl wants to  get an abortion, but in helping Primero research, she would need consent from a parent or permission from a judge because she is under 18. Her mother is suspicious, asking her why she hasn’t gotten her period yet and, as if all of this wasn’t bad enough, the girl has renal failure due to a serious illness and hospital mess-up 18 months ago. She was telling Primero last night how her blood pressure was high and her mom wanted to take her to the hospital. Instead, she was given medication to lower her blood pressure, but I recommended she just tell her mom what is going on, to stop lying and get help. This whole situation bothers me. It’s not my circus, not my monkeys, but still nothing about it sits well with me. I don’t like being a part of kids lying to their parents. I don’t like the lying and secrets, because the father has not been told yet either. Teenage pregnancy, possible health consequences, abortion – nothing about this sits well with me. I have spent a lot of time talking with Primero about this, making suggestions, researching things (like the cost of the abortion pill) and really feeling terrible about the whole damn thing. I’m lucky that Primero trusts me to talk to me about things and I told him he should always feel like he can tell me if he gets himself into a pickle. It breaks my heart to think this girl is dealing with something so huge and feels like she cannot tell her mother. And, while I would not judge her for making the decision, I’m not a huge proponent for abortions. They were careless, playing fertility roulette and had a previous pregnancy end in miscarriage about 6 months ago. As always, I promised Primero I would help where I could and recommended he just be a good friend to her as she deals with all of this.

This latest drama is the third teenage pregnancy I’ve endured since Primero moved in almost 4 years ago. The first was his girlfriend. Then, his brothers girlfriend  got pregnant and had a baby in August of 2016. Now, this girl. I'm not making it about me, but it is hard, being someone who cannot have children, learning of these irresponsible young people "accidentally" getting pregnant, mostly because they choose to not use protection. Sigh. It's hard, but I try to stay disconnected from it, since, like I said it's not my circus, not my monkeys. I hope things turn out well for this girl, but I sense they might not. The combination of her strict mom, sneaking around and lying, and her health issues, well, it just doesn't make for a positive outcome, honestly. I keep urging Primero to suggest she tell her mom. But, it seems her mom might get physical with her, she apparently was when she found out the boyfriend was sneaking over, so I can see why she might not want to talk to her mom. Still, if she does nothing and the pregnancy progresses, her mother will eventually find out. And, having been kept in the dark for multiple months, I don't think the mom will be any happier. Babies having babies, good Lord.

Racist Watermelon

Before I became a foster parent, I didn’t give much thought to race. I grew up in a rural town with not much diversity. In my grade school there was one black kid and a few Asian kids who were adopted. The vast majority of the kids and families in my area were white. My college experience was also similar, small school, more rural than not and not a lot of diversity barring the foreign exchange students. So, I didn’t give diversity much thought because I didn’t have to – I lived my life in ignorant white privilege. But, when I became a foster parent and I had black children placed in my care, I began to slowly understand. I’m not saying I’m perfect, by any means. Often times I still find myself confronted with my privilege and it’s uncomfortable. I do it for my children because they are not going to have the same experiences that I had growing up. I live in town now, which is much more diverse than the rural area of the county where I grew up, but that doesn’t always make it easier.

 

Love Bug is too young to understand racism, but Chica Marie is starting to see differences in people and she has made some comments that make my heart hurt. A few months ago her mobile therapist was coloring with her and trying to get her to interact. She took a picture of Cinderella and said it was Chica Marie. She started coloring the skin of Cinderella a light brown color, representing Chica Marie’s skin tone, and Chica Marie began to cry, yelling, “I’m not brown! Brown is ugly!” A few days after that she told me she doesn’t like black people. I sat her down and talked about how she was feeling and gently explained her statement wasn’t true, pointing to her family and how she did love them. Sadly, to Chica Marie, white is pretty and black is not. So I consciously try to compliment her, especially in front of other people, in hopes that she will see her own beauty. I worry that being a white mom is not helping her.

 

For her birthday Chica Marie got her ears pierced. They are now healed and she is very excited to try new earrings. Previously, she had spied a pair of little watermelon earrings I had in my earring box. I wore them when I was a child and have managed to keep them all these years. She desperately wants to wear my watermelon earrings, but I have told her she cannot. I never knew it until joining a Facebook group directed at white adoptive parents of children of color, but watermelons are a seen as racist. I won’t pretend to understand how a simple summer time fruit can be used to belittle an entire race of people, but that is what happened post emancipation (this article explains it better than I can). I am particular with Chica Marie’s hair because I have learned of it’s importance in black culture, and the racist treatment black people face because of that. I don’t let the children wear clothing with monkeys on it and don’t encourage them to act like monkeys. And now, I have to explain to Chica Marie why she can’t wear watermelon earrings. She doesn’t understand and neither do I,  but the very last thing I want is for her to face racist comments because of my ignorance. Had you asked me five years ago, I would not have had a clue. But, I am learning and I need to be sensitive to things like this, especially in the cultural climate of our country right now. It’s hard trying to explain racism to a first grader, but to not talk about it would be negligent. Right now,  Chica Marie thinks it’s unfair I won’t let her wear the watermelon earrings and sadly, this is only a small part of what so many black people in America face in their lifetime. I don’t like it, but I have to prepare my children for it, especially as they get older and are out on their own.

Just Lose Weight

I met with the endocrinologist last Friday. She talked to me about my nodule, explaining the entire right side of my thyroid is a nodule and there is also a small nodule on the left side of my thyroid. Because of the size of the nodule on the right side, she wants me to get a biopsy. She thinks it looks ok, but wants to be sure through pathology. I’m more worried about getting the biopsy than I am worried about a malignant thyroid tumor. Still, I would like to get an answer, so I will be getting the biopsy done as soon as they can get me scheduled with the radiology department. I feel mostly conflicted by the endocrinologist. She was not in favor of the medication the nutritionist prescribed for my thyroid, cautioning it could push me into hyperthyroidism, which could lead to its own set of potential issues. She was in favor of the weight-loss surgery, assuring me that losing weight would “cure” my PCOS. It was at that point that she lost a lot of credibility in my book. PCOS has no cure. And losing weight might *help* my symptoms but it also might not make that much of a difference. She seemed unsympathetic to my plight with miserable periods and near constant bleeding. Without looking at my labs (other than the ones done by the weight loss clinic, which were more concerned about blood sugar level and cholesterol), she didn’t think my progesterone could be as bad as I explained it to be. Um, yes it is possible for someone my age to have such a low level of progesterone they are nearly perimenopausal. I suppose if I lose weight my body will magically start producing the right amount of progesterone too, right? I mean, no thin people have hormone issues, do they? Do I need to lose weight? Yes, yes I do. But, should I be made to feel that all my health issues are directly related to a higher BMI? No, I don’t think so. And, I feel like demanding someone with PCOS just lose weight is being ignorant of the disease itself. I’m literally fighting my own body to lose weight because the mess that is my endocrine system and hormones that it actually causes me to hang onto excess weight. So, rather than trying to fix my hormones why not have surgery to swirl around my intestines and digestive tract permanently? I did ask her how it was possible that my thyroid levels could be mostly normal (within the normal range, which doesn’t mean normal really) when the entire right side of my thyroid is a nodule. She explained either the nodule is producing hormones (that sounds great) or the left half of my thyroid is an over-achiever. But, that’s cool I’m sure losing weight would fix that too, right?

I Could Never

I hate the sentiment, “Oh, I could never give them up! I don’t know how you do it!” in regards to both child foster care and dog foster care. I posted on Facebook that our foster puppy found her forever home. She was an adorable black, fluffy lab mix with the sweetest puppy dog eyes and soft floppy ears. I loved her, the kids loved her, but we knew we could not keep her and so she has moved on to her home with new little kids and kitty friends and she’s going to do great. But, a friend of mine posted the above I-don’t-know-how-you-can-do-it comment, which I just couldn’t let go. Usually, I go the short route and say it’s hard but we manage. This time I wrote a little more because it bothered me. It’s sort of a back-handed compliment, really. Oh, you are so hard hearted you can take in these babies and then let them go? No, that is not the case. I do feel sad and often times I cry (I always cry when it’s human babies leaving), but my loss is nothing compared to what they have gone through and the losses they feel. I know my place, I am a way station, just a temporary stopping point for these babies. If I tried to “keep” them all then I would not be able to help any more babies. The sad reality is, in our broken world there will always be a need for foster homes. So, please don’t tell me you can’t do it because honestly, if I’m being real here, it’s not that you can’t do it, it’s that you won’t. You won’t tolerate the up’s and down’s of an imperfect system messing with kids’ lives. You won’t love with all you’ve got knowing that baby, that child, that teenager (or puppy) will not be with you forever. You don’t want that hurt, that discomfort. I understand, truly I do. Fostering is not for everyone. But, don’t say you can’t do it because that just isn’t true. For me, I’m willing to hurt in order to help the babies, both furry and human, in their time of need. For me, it is better to have loved and lost than for those children (dogs) to never have felt love at all (which is not the case, their families do love them, there are just barriers preventing them from taking care of and protecting their children).

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

All Good Things Must Come to an End

Last week was all good news, rainbows and sunshine. I knew it couldn’t last. I found out yesterday morning that my mom had emergency surgery the night before, while I was out enjoying new friends at a Friends trivia game. She had a cyst on her ovary that had twisted (ovarian torsion), causing her a great deal of pain. While performing the surgery the doctor discovered the cyst had grown into the bowel, so a gastrointestinal specialist was called in to scrape the mass off of her bowel. My uncle text me in the morning, so I called my dad. He gave me the above information but wouldn’t say the word that no one wants to say out loud. I don’t know how they know without testing it, but the cyst was malignant. My dad worried that the doctor wasn’t able to get all of the tumor off of the bowel, but didn’t know what that might mean regarding further treatment. He was concerned about how negative my mom’s attitude was because she self-diagnosed herself with just 6 months to live. He was worried she was giving up. I know my mom doesn’t want to go through chemo or radiation again, I mean who does? But, I don’t know how adamantly she will reject the doctor’s recommendations. In terms of positive outcomes, ovarian cancer and pancreatic cancer are not favorable. I want to remain positive but, with the little information I have, the outlook seems bleak. My mom left the hospital early in the afternoon yesterday, still feeling a good deal of pain. She will be starting chemo treatments next week. Prayers and good vibes are more than welcomed at this point.

Childless By Choice

As a single parent, the county has asked me to name someone who would take care of the children should anything happen to me. This makes logical sense, and really any parent should have a contingency plan in place, but I found it to be quite an emotional thing to contemplate. Originally, I thought of my parents. They raised three kids, so they have experience, but since my mom got sick, both my parents have developed a sort of negative elderly mindset. I haven’t broached the subject with them, but I sense that they would not feel up to the task. I panicked a little, thinking who would I choose, until I naturally thought of my sister. The only hang up is that she does not want children. And I don’t want her to feel like I’m foisting my choice to parent upon her, but I’m really planning on sticking around for a while, so it’s all hypothetical, right? Only, it’s a really big deal. Such a big deal that I started crying while typing the text message to my sister. I wanted to wait to speak to her in person when I go to visit her later this month, but it can’t wait that long. So, I text her and got emotional. It hurt my heart thinking I might not be there for my children, thinking of the loss they would endure. Again. It is important to me that my children would be raised doing the things I think are important, like making sure they keep in touch with their families and helping them to understand race and racism, and to be cognizant of their trauma histories. And, I would want to make sure the three of them stay in touch with one another, since in my hypothetical future Primero would be older and possibly moved out of the house. I would trust my sister to do her very best in all of these areas, I just don’t know if she wants the job, even if it might never happen. I promised her, in my emotional text, I would respect her decision and not be upset if she said no, although I might ask her opinion on a runner-up.  

 

In thinking about the county requirements, I’ve also started thinking I should probably have a living will and make sure Primero is noted as beneficiary of things like my pension and life insurance. I have spoken to him, as the oldest in our home, that while I put him in charge I expect him to divide whatever assets I leave with the little ones. But, knowing how people act when someone dies, I really should put things in writing. I hate this kind of stuff because I don’t like thinking about not being around, but it would be neglectful of me to not have things in order should the worst possible scenario happen. And, I would hate for the state to keep my pension and life insurance just because I didn’t name a beneficiary.  The children should get my money, just like they get it now, right? Just trying to inject a little levity into the situation, but this has now moved up on my to-do list and is priority status.