It's Another Boy! It's Another Boy. Two Boys.

So I found out yesterday that we are expecting another boy. I was obviously prepared for this possibility, but Mike and I did expect that our second would be a girl, just because this pregnancy has been so different from Wilson's. But our reaction and the reaction of others close to us has me thinking about what it means to have two children of the same gender. 

I'm not a particularly gender-focused person, so the gender/sex doesn't really matter to either Mike or I. However, we REALLY want an easy baby. And boys are usually a bit harder as infants and toddlers. Research (and our own limited experience with Wilson) shows that they cry more, have more issues with sleeping, are more prone to disorders and disabilities, are more emotional and have fewer innate social and emotional skills than girls as infants. So when we found out, we were both a little worried - WE CAN'T TAKE ANOTHER DIFFICULT CHILD. We will quit this gig, have a dissociative fugue, and send the kids to their grandparents to live. But, if this little boy is healthy, happy, is a better sleeper than his brother, has an easy temperament and maybe slightly physically resembles his poor mother that had to survive his pregnancy and labor, I would be pretty happy.

But there is something to not having both a girl and a boy to round off your experience as a parent. I see this in our own feelings, in people's pity faces ("Oh....another boy?") and people's requests that we keep trying for that girl. Did we not try hard enough this time? I blame Mike and his strong y chromosome sperm. "Stay back!" My egg should have cried, "It's time for a girl!" And what happens when we TRY again and it's another boy?? Suicide? 

I once joked that we could never have any males in our house (we had 3 female dogs and 2 female cats). We had attempted to bring in male animals who always got sent back to the shelter because they were obnoxious and tried to maim/kill/hump to death our existing animals. So, I jokingly said, "Well, I guess the only way another male is going to get in this house is through my womb!" Ha-ha, so funny.

But there are some definite advantages for us to having a second son:

• We will now specialize in all boys. We will be masters at dodging pee during diaper changes, rough and tumble play, turning everything into a weapon, boy toys and boy clothes.
• Boys get cooler stuff. Their toys, their nursery decor, everything is cooler. You can be a rock star, cool dude, have trucks, sports, dinosaurs and strong imagery on your clothes and toys. Girls get princesses and pastel. 
• Wilson will have a baby brother who is very close in age. They can play together, bond, protect each other and have a potentially better relationship as adolescents (unless they like the same girl...).
• Two words describing their potential adolescence versus the teenage years with girls: LESS DRAMA.
• Instead of having the ever-popular mother-daughter stressful teenage years where I hear that they hate me repeatedly, I will be loved, respected and serve as the model to which every potential partner of my sons must live up to...
• As one of Mike's friends politely put it, "When you have a girl, you have to worry about all the other boys out there. Now instead of a million penises to worry about, you only have one to worry about." Well two now.
• My parents already have 3 granddaughters, so I am fully giving them the male experience.
• If I were a queen, my king and the royal family would be so proud.
• Well, it is a man's world. So my children (particularly if they keep coming out whiter than sour cream) will not face a great deal of adversity on their gender, as women do. And I can teach them to respect and celebrate women, as well as to advocate for others from different demographics who have none of the privileges as they do. I clearly have the background to do this and plenty of Joss Whedon television series and movies to share with them. 
• I won't have to buy new clothes! And most of the girl clothes out there make me want to gag anyway. Who puts eyelashes and high heels on a giraffe shirt? She would have to deal with over-sexualization, conflicting messages about beauty and a culture that belittles her and her accomplishments. 

But in a way, I was looking forward to helping to shape a girl and guide her, as I have done, through this tumultuous culture and life. I have learned so much about being a strong woman, I want to share it with a future progeny who will live it and can benefit.

But as I considered all of these things, I realized that my assumptions about my boy in-utero is faulty. My initial assumptions relied on the suppositions that he will be a masculine, heterosexual, gender-conforming, stereotypical male, similar in temperament to his big brother. As much as I am educated and have experienced gender non-conformity first hand, I have to remind myself to not assume that about this child. He could be anything and anyone: the potential is limitless. My own two brothers could not be any different; And while my oldest brother preferred to hang out with my father, my other brother preferred my mother, helping her cook, shop and clean. So, I still may have a little buddy yet.

Culture dictates to males to be insensitive, heteronormative and "masculine". Even though Wilson is certainly gender-conforming, he is extremely sensitive and loving, defying culture's expectation of what a tough, strong boy looks like - particularly when he sees a furry stuffed animal and smushes it against his face to love it, sometimes falling on it (although sometimes he humps it too...). I have no idea what our second son will be like, but I do know this: I will love him no matter what he is like, help him understand and navigate our world and culture and help him become the person that he truly authentically is and wants to be. And I know this world will have two more amazing men to contribute to it.

And I can always later "try" again for a girl, although that would be a third child, beyond our cognitive, financial and emotional capabilities and would necessitate that Mike touch me again, which if he reads this sentence, will be highly unlikely.

It gets better...But it's still freaking hard.

This last weekend I led a workshop where I showed a clip of Sara Gilbert talking about coming out. She highlighted the fact that being gay does get better, but she talked about how it still scares her to come out or talk about her life with new people or groups. We processed as a group that it was an important message because, as is the case with many issues (e.g., being ill, grieving a loss) even though it does really get better and you want to stay positive, you still need permission to be sad sometimes. To grieve and to process that sometimes your current situation is still hard.

As I was up for the second time (at midnight) last night rocking a teething, growth-spurting Wilson back to sleep, the parallels of this conversation to parenting hit me. It does get better. Wilson is usually only getting up once during the night; his tantrums are almost completely gone; he is talking and signing and communicating well; and his amount of independent play has certainly increased. But, as yesterday proved to me: parenting a toddler is still really freaking hard.

I was up with Wilson the night before for a few hours, finally calling in Mike (the closer) to get him back to sleep when I realized he just wasn't going down. We gave him some ibuprofen on the sneaking suspicion that he was teething again. He hasn't mastered the sign or word for "hurt" yet, so it is still a guessing game. He went back to sleep (I was up from 12 to 2:30 a.m.) and I finally got back to sleep around 3 a.m.; just to get woken by the dogs at 4:30 a.m. who frantically alerted me to the dangerous cat in the yard. Being out of energy and patience, I shushed them, quickly ran and lowered the shades, gave them my best I-am-so-in-charge-of-you-bitches posture and stance and verbally threatened their lives if they woke up the baby. That seemed to work and then I finally got back to sleep only to be woken again when Wilson got up for good at 5:15 a.m. I slowly picked myself up off the couch, stared at the baby monitor in disbelief and watched him blithely taking his teething protectors off the crib edges and toss them around the room. I thought, well maybe he'll still go back to sleep. That's when he began jumping on the crib like a trampoline and I spoke a hushed swear word under my breath. I slowly trudged up the stairs, bottle in hand and fed, hugged and entertained him until 6 a.m., when I passed him off to Mike like a hot potato and passed out in bed for 4 more hours. 

Unfortunately, Wilson was equally cranky when I awoke, having given Mike a run for his money all morning: clingy, whiny and needy. Mike's hair was sticking up and he had the recognizable, exhausted "help me for the love of God, look on his face". Wilson turned his full attention to me when he saw me, targeting me for his neediness until his nap at 11:30 a.m. He went down quickly, but woke up an hour later. My blessed partner-in-misery (Mike) let me stay laid down as I realized I was getting a migraine in addition to the awesome events in our wonderful morning. He gave Wilson some meds and rocked him back to sleep so that he slept for two more hours. 

Upon awakening, I decided to check his teeth for progress. On his first side, his molar was red, swollen and clearly about to push through. As I shifted my gel-coated finger to the other side, it was clamped down on by a new molar that apparently had come through during the night. And when I say clamped, I mean it should have been accompanied by Jaws theme music. Mike frantically got some ointment for my finger and after my shriek of pain, Wilson started crying, clearly not intentionally trying to hurt me. Still, I feel as if "NO BITE" should be our new family theme song (perhaps to the tune of Jaws).

He played a little, led us around by pulling on our hands/clothes/faces, chased the dogs, then wanted to go upstairs to take a bath. I told him it wasn't time yet and he laid his head down on my lap in frustration. He rolled over, pawing his mouth, which should have served as a warning sign, but in my migraine stupor, it didn't look very threatening. Then he buried his head into my thigh and bit me, hard enough to break the skin. I yelled our "NO BITE" motto as Mike came racing around the corner, ointment in hand, with that familiar helpless concerned look on his face. Wilson dissolved into tears again, running to Mike and then back to me with his non-verbal apologies and seeming desire to make sure that I still loved him. After a few minutes, it was time for his bath, so we plodded up the stairs. We got to the top and he ran around checking all of the gates for flaws and then finally proceeding into the bathroom where he began rabidly pulling out the toilet paper and assorted goodies from the drawers.

And that's when it all hit me. I sat down on the top stair and just began crying hysterically. Apparently it was silent enough not to draw Wilson's attention from his current bathroom-focused tornado, but I just hit a mental wall.

I'm 13 weeks pregnant and some days I can't keep down water. My house is a disaster and I desperately want to clean and organize it, but have no energy or time to do so. I teach four graduate level courses with over 100 students in them cumulatively, making grading a weekly nightmare and something that I'm perpetually trying to get done. I have 3 active research projects and have not been able to give them much attention this semester. I have over 15 committee assignments at work and over 5 of them are chair or leadership roles. I just did 3 training presentations in a 3-week period. I supervise a fellowship student and mentor countless others. I am finishing up my counseling hours for licensure as a Professional Counselor. I am parenting a difficult-tempered toddler, who despite his sweetness and affection, is harder than any other tasks in my life combined. He drinks his formula voraciously, but is the pickiest eater on the planet. Every meal is a crap-shoot, with me employing dancing, singing and other distraction techniques just to get some food in his face. Half of it always goes to the dogs regardless of my dancing and singing skills. He has disturbed sleep, having a very difficult time falling and staying asleep, moving frequently in bed and clearly having a hard time managing teething and growth spurt pain. He has hella-limited skills with managing his emotions and frustration. He is very smart, which is positive; except that he has managed to outwit most of the child safety locks in the house, figuring them out quickly then causing mass destruction to whatever he can open. My mind shifts from my current anxieties to how-in-the-heck I will survive without family support in town, with dwindling finances and with TWO KIDS.

Will Wilson be better by next June? Will I get my sabbatical proposal approved so that I have off for 7 months after the baby is born? Will Mike and I manage to stay close and not kill each other with the birth of a new baby? Will Wilson try to eat/smother/return the baby? Will my house ever be organized again? Will I ever find work-life balance? Will this baby have a better temperament (please for the love-of-everything-holy)? Will I make it through this parenting gig sane?

At 11 p.m. when I had to get up with Wilson again, plodding up the stairs carrying camilia (a holistic teething pain-reliever) and a full bottle, I picked him up into my arms and then snuggled in the rocking chair. He pulled the bottle from his mouth and made a kissing noise, leaning up to kiss my face, then stroke it with his hand, softly saying "mom-mom". He put the bottle back in his mouth and then softly rubbed my already-protruding belly before easily falling back to sleep. Although he got up two more times, Mike got up with him once, his Abuela (his wonderful babysitter Susi) told me she should come to watch him all day today, my best friend Jess and I are going to lunch, and my colleague and close friend Cheri texted me first thing in the morning telling me she is coming from Tuesday to Thursday to help with Wilson and give me a break. The social and tangible support gave me the hope I was so desperately needing.

Because that is the thing that when you are struggling as a parent, you need more than anything. Words of encouragement and support. Help with your child. A hug. Time away. A little kiss and touch from your child reminding you why you do this gig in the first place. I wonder how many moms and dads out there suffer silently. Grin inauthentically when people ask them how they are doing. Telling others that they adore everything about parenting, that their little one is the apple of their eye and their purpose for living. I know that many parents, especially moms, do not want to ask or accept help because it means we can't do it on our own. But that's the thing. NO ONE EVER DID THIS MUCH BALANCING IN PARENTING ON THEIR OWN EVER. 

When you were a stay-at-home-mom in previous generations, it was much more common that you lived close to your family, you had constant support, a close community, continual hands to take the baby, words of encouragement and some much-needed-breaks. Your role was that of mother, partner and family member. With the much-needed advent of feminism, we, as women, are able to break out of that mold. But, many of us still choose to be mothers. And with that choice comes the traditional expectations of being an energetic, involved, caring and competent mother and most often, primary caregiver. We feel the cultural expectations that we can still take care of our houses, children and partners with ease. Yet, we also have careers, reasons for existing that do not involve breastfeeding and wiping butts all day. But with both roles, we now have a new challenge. Go to work and work on par with males, who don't have swollen breasts and morning sickness; and who, although these expectations are shifting, do not have such internal anxieties and pressures surrounding being SuperMom. SuperMom: she goes to work, exceeding everyone's expectations and getting that well-deserved raise, only to come home, clean the house, cook dinner and help with homework. She's everything to everyone. Except, unfortunately, just like Superman (although it would be really cool if he was real!), she is a myth. Instead, we feel like we are failing at every role, keep apologizing to everyone and sit on our stairs crying hysterically after a particularly bad day. But we still don't feel like we can let people see this side of us; No, we still have to be SuperMom and be everything to everyone. I talk about this all the time with so many mothers I know - it is almost a universal feeling for both working and stay-at-home moms; we are overwhelmed, disillusioned and feel like we are always disappointing someone.

This doesn't mean that parenting is this hard for everyone. Some babies really are easy, many parents have ongoing family support that they need to make their adjustment easier, and others have fewer roles that help them to not be spread too thin. Still others were not naïve enough to think it was a good idea to get pregnant right away after having a difficult-tempered child who just turned a year old... But no matter the level of difficulty you are experiencing, sometimes you just have to pause, say "this parenting stuff is hard", give yourself permission to be sad (or to cry hysterically), recognize your limits, let go of the parenting myths and get some much-needed and much-deserved help.

Once More With Feeling?

So right about now I am feeling INSANE. Diagnosably so. For some reason we told each other that trying to have a second baby earlier rather than later would be smart. We had good reasons. It will be nice for Wilson to have a sibling. We can get it out of the way. It will be easier the second time around. It is likely to take us awhile to get pregnant. I mean, it took us 3 and a half years to get pregnant with Wilson. Even if you cut that in half, it's over a year. Wilson would already be two and almost in preschool by the time the baby was born.

So our first month, we thought we would play it a little safe. We skipped my like-clockwork ovulation cycle. But I had a funny feeling. Even though my ovulation cycle is ALWAYS on day 17, it decided to come a full 10 days earlier. Almost immediately, I felt something happening. Having been pregnant before, I recognized those familiar cramps, the stretching of my stomach ligaments and an increased thirst. I told Mike that I wasn't sure, but if I wasn't pregnant, I was suddenly getting fatter, so I needed to go back to the gym either way. We laughed. Ha ha - so funny.

Later that week, I noticed myself rubbing my stomach ligament, something I only do when I'm pregnant. The month before, I had dreamt of a little girl talking to me and telling me she was ready to come to us. In my dream, I hugged her and said yes. Oops. At this point, my intuition was screaming it, but with Wilson, I remembered so many times that I was wrong; it was just wishful thinking. I decided to stop and get an early pregnancy test when I was 1 day late. I had to get a Birthday card for Mike, so thought - eh, might as well. I read the instructions to see that I didn't need to wait until morning, so I again thought - eh, might as well. I followed the instructions and held the little stick in my hand after putting the cap back on. And there it was. Hmmm, I thought - is that the baseline? Nope, that is the pregnant line, coming up stronger and quicker than the baseline, which showed up about 20 seconds later. A second test confirmed it. Very pregnant.

That excitement turned to a bit of anxiety as I revealed the news to Mike in his birthday card - it read, "For your birthday, I promise not to ask you to do anything...Except to go bring up my maternity clothes from the basement. Once more with feeling, daddy?" He read it, then read it again, and then one more time. He looked at me with a smirk. "Seriously?" he said. There was a reaction somewhere between excitement and nausea. I felt it too. Because, now, baby number 2 is real. I still had to show him the stick. He said, "Well that line is so much lighter though." I had to show him the diagram that revealed that light line was the baseline. "Oh, crap," he said. The ridiculously thick and dark line was screaming "Oh, you are sooooo pregnant."

Then the other realizations came flooding in:

• We have to pay our insurance deductible before June...
• Wilson will be around 21 months when this baby is born...
• Mike won't be out of work yet and has to plan his Field Day while I am puffy and ready to pop...
• Wilson, with his unique needs, already feels like having triplets...
• I have to get the house ready...
• We need another nursery...
• Hope they both want to go to SCSU for college...
• How am I going to take care of Wilson and be pregnant? The first trimester with him all I could do was lay on the couch, mumble, vomit and put my head back down again...
• Will my blood pressure be an issue again? Will I need to be induced?
• Please, for the love of god, let this one be of easy temperament...And maybe look a little like me??
• Will Wilson still be so needy?
• Will he try to beat this baby up?
• Oh, the poor dogs...

So the first trimester is coming to an end in a few weeks and I did make it. I would sometimes lay on the floor while Wilson was playing; beg him to let me sleep in the mornings on the couch, praying that he would want to snuggle like he did when he was small (no-go) and go to bed at 7 p.m. like I was 80 years old. I almost threw up on my students in class...multiple times. I almost threw up on Wilson. I've thrown up in my car, every time of day and actually had to be on bedrest for a few days because I couldn't keep anything down. All the while, Wilson was teething 4 molars (that have popped through now), 2 front teeth (also through) and 2 canines (those suckers are still poking him) within 4 weeks. BUT, we made it.

I'm pretty worried about what life will be like when this little one makes their entrance. But, one thing I have learned is that with the support of my awesome husband, my family and friends, I can make it through anything. So, despite our reticence, anxiety, slight shock, fear, nausea and dwindling money supply, here we go: once more, with feeling.

...And seriously universe, throw me a bone here. BABY WITH AN EASY TEMPERAMENT. I beg you.