the mother figure

Something about being pregnant makes me want to connect even more with my grandma, who is really my only living mother figure. My mom died when I was 8, and I went to live with my grandma at that time. My dad was living, but he was remarried already, and my stepmother was nowhere close to a mother figure. It's funny, because I heard somewhere recently (maybe from my midwife?) that pregnancy will help you heal the wounds of your past if you're open to it. She asked me about figures in my life who have been important to me and have subsequently let me down. I had always considered my stepmother to be my biggest enemy--the source of all the negative thinking I have in my head when I am weakened--but I now realize she's not. Truth is, I've never looked to her as any kind of mother figure at all. I never trusted her from day one. I never cared one bit for her. So, she really didn't have as much effect as I've always thought, since she had no opportunity to hurt me (though she tried, damn did she ever try).

My grandma, on the other hand, there's a whole bag of worms that I'm just starting to look in the face. My grandma was a wonderful mother to me when I was growing up. She was very supportive of everything I wanted to do. She told me over and over how wonderful, beautiful, talented, and smart I was. She's the primary source of the positive thinking I have in my head, the little part of me that always heard, "You are smart enough and talented enough to do anything you put your mind to. The whole world is open to you," and still accepts it as my basic inner truth. For that, I am forever grateful. She was a wonderful, wonderful mother back then, and I look to her as an example of how to raise my own children.

But, when I turned 17, everything changed.

I was a mixed-up teenager. It's very common in our generation for most teenagers to be a little mixed-up, but I guess my grandma hadn't yet had to deal with as much worry as I gave her. I think I could have been much more mixed-up, but my grandma never looked at it that way.

When I was 17, I graduated from high school, and always hung out with my best high school friend, C. We began drinking a little bit--it was a mutual occurrence, I don't think she was much of a drinker before I met her. We just tended to egg each other on a bit. When I was 18, I started dating my first boyfriend, T. (The first one that mattered, anyway.) We dated for about nine months, and he dumped me for another girl. This is pretty much when the downward cycle began. For that summer, I was devastated. Completely. Heartbroken. I hadn't seen it coming, and I had actually trusted with all my heart (which did not happen after that, with anyone). It's strange, but I think this one occurrence--the rejection I experienced in favor of this other girl--has had the most influence on my adult character than any other occurrence besides the death of my mother. It's hard to even talk about today, because I can clearly feel the same pain, anger, and inadequacy that I felt that summer. Damn the boy that ever does that to my daughter.

After the break-up, I spent the summer drinking more, I started using some "gateway" drugs and I started smoking cigarettes. I also started cutting myself and I tried to kill myself once, in a really silly way, by taking a bunch of sleeping pills. (I didn't come close to dying--I didn't even have to go to the hospital.)

At the end of the summer, T and I got back together for three weeks before he left for college, and then we dated intermittently for the next three years, the last year of which we lived together. I ended up breaking up with him so that I could be free to move to Arizona and date one of my friends who lived out there, and who I had been corresponding with by mail. Even when I moved, I still loved T, as much as you can love someone out of complete inexperience & immaturity, but I never trusted him again like I did those first nine months. It was doomed from the minute he broke up with me the first time.

Still, though, through all of it, I continued the same pattern of light drugs, drinking, & smoking, and my poor grandma worried herself to exhaustion over it. I know I would worry about my daughter the same way.

Fast forward 10 years now. I have obtained my college degree, I am working and completely supporting myself, I have bought a house, I meet my husband, we get married, and she's happy now, right? You would think....

My grandma cannot let it go. She has said once to me that she is proud of how I have turned out. However, at least 100 times, she has said something more like this:

"I think it was a mistake for us to fight your dad for custody. We should have sent you to live over there--your stepmother would have gotten used to you. Maybe then you wouldn't have turned out the way you did."

"I don't know what we did wrong that caused you to turn out the way you did."

"You are smart and you could do anything you wanted to, but you can't commit to anything, and you're so wishy-washy you can't make a decision on anything."

"We made so many mistakes with you, I think your dad could have done a better job."

"You don't need to have another baby. Why can't you just be happy with the one you have?"

"You chose the wrong house. If you had asked me, I would have told you to never buy that house."

Of course, that's not counting the constant criticisms about my weight, my marriage, my schooling, and the incessant revival of every single thing I did as a teenager that upset her. Come on, woman! It's been over 15 years now! Let it go already!

It's obvious that she is not interested in a healthy mother/daughter relationship with me, which has been a hard fact to swallow. Ingrained in my subconscious is this image of her as all-accepting, comforting, supporting, loving, encouraging, and it's hard to swallow the fact that she is none of these things now.

I am asking myself why I keep coming back for more? I crave a relationship with that person she once was to me--the mothering she once gave me--and I keep trying to connect with her that way, and I keep getting hurt, over and over.

I remarked to a friend that I just want her to be a mother figure, and she replied, she is. It's true. I am one of the many daughters that have a completely hurtful, tense, and non-supportive relationship with my "mother." And I, like probably all of the other daughters out there in this situation, crave nothing more than to be wrapped up by her in a big motherly hug, and comforted, just like I do for my own daughter every day.

I am finding myself having to facing some stark realities & making some hard decisions during this pregnancy. There are two people in my life (my grandma is one) who I once completely trusted but who have, over the last several years, hurt me so many times I cannot count. While my grandma is overt in her criticism, the other person is more underhanded, as if I am not aware enough to hear the actual insults. And yet I keep going back. It's like I am constantly searching for that relationship we once had, even though it should be obvious that relationship is dead.

I am going to have to refuse to let my emotions be held hostage by these two women. I am going to have to make demands of myself that I have not made until now, for my emotional health, and for the health of the new baby. I don't know that avoidance is the answer. I'm still working this out. I know confrontation is not. It's met with denial & it changes nothing.

But I do know my number one job is to protect the new baby, and my emotional health is directly affecting him, every day.

the mama bear instinct

I am reading a book right now that I highly recommend, Protecting the Gift. Here's a man who has studied the subject of Predicting and Preventing Violence for a living, and has been a part of three different Presidential cabinets to proactively protect the President, as well as set up systems for protecting countless other public figures, and he is telling us mothers, in a nutshell, to trust our instincts. It is such common practice to deny our instincts in our culture, because they can't be substantiated with evidence.

As the author explains, instincts are coming from our wild brain, rather than our logical brain. Do you think that humans, unlike any other animal, were created with extensive verbal abilities, artistic and creative talents, the innate ability to invent, a conscience, intelligence, and yet no defenses? In the natural selection process, that would be completely crazy (and impossible)! No, humans have distinct signs & signals that they subconciously recognize immediately as impending violence from another human. Think of the signs & signals a dog shows when they are about to be violent: ears back, eyes set, growling, showing of teeth. None of us poo-pooh the dog signals when we see them. We walk away! But if a human begins to show signs that make us feel uncomfortable, creeped-out, nervous, or afraid, we try to convince ourselves that it's all in our heads.

So the bottom line: trust your instincts!

Another of the more interesting parts of the book is that all humans have within them the propensity for violence. Even the most timid, quiet woman, who would "never hurt a fly" would defend her child to her death. I guess I never realized this was such a universal experience for healthy parents. I laid awake countless nights when Jeff was working until midnight, trying to sleep, and running through the "hero" scenario I had created in case someone broke into our home before he got back. I never would have had a hero scenario for myself--in fact, I would probably have been too afraid to fight back if push came to shove. But, with Sassy? I would fight to the death. I would hold nothing back. Stabbing someone in the eyes, for example, is a very gross thing to imagine just sitting here, typing away at my computer, but if you were trying to attack my child? I would not hesitate.

This is very interesting to me, because I realized that I have subconsciously known this since she was born and have been acting accordingly. In our city, there are many crime-ridden areas around the downtown area. Ever since Sassy was born, I have been completely nervous and on edge to go into these areas without her, but when she's with me, I barely worry about it at all. The reason suddenly clicked for me while I was reading the book last night. I feel strong, empowered, ready (and able) to fight with every dirty trick I could think of. Why? Because when Sassy's with me, my whole job is to protect her, and I am secure that I would not hesitate to do so, and it gives me a different sense of confidence.

Oddly, it's the same in normal social situations. I don't feel like an awkward (and hopelessly dorky!) 30-something when I'm in a group of 20-somethings at the coffee houses or shopping centers, or what have you, when I have Sassy with me. Instead, I am always in protector mode, and I'm much more likely to say, "F*** off," than anything.

And what's funny is that this attitude is magnified even more when I'm pregnant. I have been wondering why I have become more confrontational while pregnant. The other day, I made a flippant comment to a man in the store about how sad he must be that he's so grumpy all the time because I smiled at him, and he blatantly looked away, no smile back, three times. Jeff says that pregnancy might not be the best time to be so confrontational. But, I think there's two reasons for it: (1) when I am carrying a baby, I am always in uber-confident protector mode and (2) my midwife says your body instinctively knows not to let your emotions overrule you while pregnant--that your body tries to keep you as stable as possible for the health of the growing baby. I have noticed how I keep letting anger float right by, where I used to hang onto it for days, or weeks. Saying what I really think to rude people helps me let the anger float away, and protecting the little joey gives me the confidence to do it.

Does everyone else feel more confident in the public when their kids are with them, or is it just me?

when sleep becomes a misnomer

I don't remember this happening in my first pregnancy until the end. I cannot sleep! I do this thing that looks like sleep. I lie there, pretty much all night, usually about ten hours or more. My eyes are closed. I'm not exactly awake, but whatever it is I'm doing feels more like activity than sleep. Maybe I'm REMing the whole. stinking. night?

I'm sure I'm alone in this comparison, but it's like wearing the strongest nicotine patch to bed every night. One of the side effects to the nicotine patch, listed on the side of the package, is "vivid dreams." Every single night for the past two weeks, I have had countless dreams, each one of them vivid...lifelike! And the dreams run the gamut of peculiar plots. I believe I have a had a dream about every ex-boyfriend I have had in the last fifteen years. That would be perfectly understandable if I gave much thought to ex-es during the day, but I don't. Or if the dreams were, ahem, compromising dreams, but they aren't. They're just random, strange dreams. Last night, for example, I had a dream that my ex, we'll call him C, slept with my sister. And my sister was the forward one in the situation. And it bothered me, but you know why it bothered me? Because in my dream, I was thinking, "I'm never the forward one anymore. I always wait for Jeff to make the first move." It's like I was lamenting my 22-year-old self in my dream.

Mind you, this is only one tiny snippet of the dreams I have every night. If I were counting them, I would guess that there would be at least 15 of these little diddies each night. And it's exhausting!

The other thing that's exhausting is the sudden stab of worry at midnight. Usually, I am beat by 9:30 these days, and I go to bed somewhere around that time. Roughly 50% of my nights involve me waking suddenly around midnight with a jolting fear of something. Jeff told me yesterday to try to sort out whatever it is I'm afraid of before I go to sleep, and then I could sleep all the way through. That would be fine, except these worries are all-consuming, sudden, and completely random.

For example, last week, I woke up at midnight with a sudden worry about the year 2010. I was encompassed by a fear that there would be a major disaster in the year 2010, and that I might be either pregnant with the next baby or living with a very new newborn at that time. I tossed and turned for at least 45 minutes, worrying about nothing. Another night, a few nights ago, I awoke with a start when I remembered a story I had heard that morning from my friend Crystail, who had a natural birth. She told me that the labor & delivery didn't hurt as badly as the Novocaine shot they gave her in a very sensitive place to stitch her up. I tossed and turned again, cringing at the thought of burning Novocaine in that spot. Another 45 minutes of "sleep" lost.

Maybe this is my body's way of preparing me for the lack of sleep to come in 9 months? Well, jeez! You'd think my body could wait a few months. I mean, come on! We have all the way until late May for this!

symptoms - MIA!

I had symptoms really early with this pregnancy. I was about 5 dpo when they first started. I was super tired, and I mean tired. I would shut my eyes and fall half asleep while doing dishes. I would go to bed at 8:30 and get up at 9:00. I couldn't make dinner most nights. Not only did I not have the energy to actually make the dinner, I didn't even have the mental energy to think about what we were going to have.

I had some of the usual symptoms, too. My face was all broken out. My breasts were sore. I had crampiness in my lower abdomen. I was emotional and experienced, ahem, mood swings, which just might be the understatement of the year. Here's an example: Thursday night I took some carrot cake I had made out of the freezer and put it into the refrigerator to thaw so I could have it the next day. Well, Friday morning, my dear husband woke up and thought, "Yum! Looks like the carrot cake fairy was here! I think I'll have this right now!" Hours later, when my afternoon tiredfest hit, I sent Sassy up for quiet time, and headed into the kitchen for that delicious piece of cake I had set aside for myself the night before. But....no cake!

Well, I immediately had Jeff paged at work, and while on the inside, I was screaming, "Why the f*** did you eat my cake?!?!?" into the phone, I said, "Hi, honey. I took some cake out of the freezer last night to have this afternoon. Did you perhaps move it somewhere? Have you seen it, by chance?" at which point he admitted that he ate the cake, assuming that I had taken it out for him (???).

I (grumpily) said goodbye and hung up the phone. I stood against the kitchen counter and thought about how I had been looking forward to that cake. I imagined the cream cheese & butter icing I had made my hand; I remembered how I had used half butter instead of oil in the cake to give it such a firm, but moist texture. I thought about how I had been all prepared to sit down in my rocker and eat that piece of cake with my hot tea. The tea kettle began to whistle in anticipation of the impending snack. And I.....I.....broke down and cried. About the stupid cake!

Jeff, caring husband that he is, called back, and I blubbered into the phone about my cake, how much I wanted it, how nobody made me a cake on my birthday last week, how nobody loves me. Go ahead, laugh. I would.

That was Friday. Saturday came and I was in such a good mood all day. I wasn't even impatient, let alone, weepy. My fuzzy head thinking was gone. I had been feeling like I was trying to think through about a foot of water, but my head was all clear. I wasn't so tired. My afternoon slump didn't even hit. My breasts were a lot less sore than they had been. So what gives?

Obviously, I was (and am) a little worried. But, I didn't even have any symptoms with Sassyfrass until 5 or 6 weeks, and I'm only at 4 and a half right now. Jeff says maybe my body is just adjusting. Maybe?

This morning my coffee didn't hit my stomach right. I ate some pancakes to try and make it feel better. I don't feel great--kind of pukey, actually. And I'm so glad to be feeling it. I'm also pretty tired this morning, but I did only get 7 hours of sleep last night (thanks, Sassy), as opposed to the 10-11 I've been typically getting. I also feel a little fuzzy-headed again. Boobs are a little sore. They haven't been extremely sore yet at all, but they still are less so than they were a week ago. I frequent Gentle Christian Mothers nearly every day. One woman cracked me up last night. She said she didn't know if her boobs were sore because she was pregnant or because she kept grabbing them to check and see if they were sore. Too true!

Here's hoping our little joey is still kickin' in there.

On an unrelated note, Jeff is coming to our church with us this morning for the first time. I do hope it's a good sermon and helps him in some way. I would love for him to attend with us sometimes, or at the very least, to have a good impression of the place.