Prodromal Drama

So for the last four weeks or so, I have been experiencing "prodromal labor". Also known as early labor or false labor, it is essentially, early labor contractions that are, I can attest to, quite real, but go nowhere. Meaning that they vary from uncomfortable to intense; and although they can aid in labor progress (dilation and thinning of the cervix), it's not real labor and ends up stopping, only to come back again the next day or even within a few hours. Needless to say, weeks of on and off contractions can really make it difficult to do work, care for a toddler, clean the house, oh... do anything.

As I googled prodromal labor for the 50th time trying to find an answer to why I am experiencing this in a feeble attempt at feeling slightly informed or in control, I learned a few things. These contractions can be useful in getting a baby in position; one theory is that the contractions serve to push the baby into the correct position. And indeed, they did lessen when Waylon appeared to change positions. Another theory is that they are linked to second-time and later mothers as the uterus is more sensitive to oxytocin and "knows" what to do. But the most compelling theory I read was in a OB's blog, who noted that anecdotally, he saw this kind of labor in mothers whose babies appeared ready to be born, but whose mothers were not psychologically or emotionally ready. 

Understatement of the year, that theory. Although my common sense and my extensive college education would make it very clear how babies are born, I was not thinking that I would get pregnant right away. It took me 3 years to get pregnant with Wilson; it was literally hard work and we totally lost sight of the fact that that it only takes one sexual encounter to lead to pregnancy: we became those teenagers on 16 and pregnant believing stupid things (minus the ridiculously active fertility). Our lesson with Wilson was getting pregnant was difficult - a serious undertaking. When we decided to start trying again, my mother warned me that "it happens easier the second time around", so even though we were trying the first month, we skipped my ovulation time. Hey, practice makes perfect; and we were both a little gun-shy after having a difficult infant and toddler. But, this baby was ready to be conceived - my ovulation moved up a full week and a half and I got pregnant right out of the gate. This meant that instead of my beautiful calculations of having a 3 year old in preschool and an infant, I would now have two children under the age of 2. Awesome sauce.

So, I started off, not being too ready. Then, when the contractions started, one of the first thoughts that came into my mind was how much work I had left to do. This was literally my To Do List when prodromal labor started about a month ago:

• Buy and Install Stairway Gate
• Buy 2 white noise makers
• Secure Nursery Furniture with Dresser Straps
• Do spring cleaning
• Finish Waylon’s Nursery
• Birth Plan
• Buy Deck Gate
• Bring baby stuff down from attic
• Pack Hospital Bag
• Organize house
• Finish paying doula
• Send Postpartum Placenta Paperwork
• Call insurance – re: doula & pre-certification for Yale hospital/ send in Yale paperwork
• Newborn photos contract
• Reschedule Thursdays to Wednesdays for Appointments
• Take Mike’s Car In for Brakes
• Take My Car In for Service
• Return Carter’s
• Get Diaper Changer from Basement
• Clean & Organize Office
• Copy Course Content to Psychopharm Class for August
• Organize Portfolio Paperwork into one area
• GSA Schedule for 2014-2015
• Submit Teaching Book Proposal
• GSA Student Mentors & Orientation
• Get in all Paperwork for Licensure
• Multicultural Study
•             IRB
•             Create Online Survey
• CES Journal Reviewing
• Graduate Institute Course for Fall
• DSM-5 Presentation for UCONN in August
• Finish Multicultural Article
• Gender Role Study
•             IRB
•             Create Online Survey
•             Submit RA Paperwork
• CT-ALGBTIC
• CCA Multicultural Committee
  CACES Resources and Goal Setting
• Set Diversity Committee Events for Next Year
• Change Baby Signs Business Name & Do Taxes
• LGBQ & Religion Study
•             Finish Interviews
•             Do Thematic Analyses
• Finish all Technology Committee Tasks
• Finish Report for President’s Commission
• CACREP Mid Cycle Report
• CACREP Evaluation Report & Other Compliance Tasks
• LGBTQ+ Book Proposal
• Finish Grading for ALL Classes
• Religion & Counselor Ed Article
• Finish Mutt-i-grees Publication

Please note that one item on this list could be an immense task - like writing a 50 page report for the President's Commission or grading multiple papers and finals for 4 graduate level courses. Also, note that shit is crossed out. I actually DID everything on my list for home and work. 

However, that was not my only worry or anxiety when I started having contractions. My next thought was, "Oh God, Oh God, we are all hot messes, how can we add another one???" Let me explain.

My husband is normally detail oriented, anal, organized and perfectionistic. Fatherhood and parenting a difficult-tempered child took some of that out of him, but knowing that another baby was coming has made him a serious hot mess. He now was forgetful, distracted, half-listened to our conversations, broke things and lost things (like our toddler's shoes down the highway when he placed them on the car and then forgot to actually put them on when he got him in the carseat). Every morning he grated his ignition forgetting that he had already started the carstarter when he put the key in; and every night he desperately tried to get some gaming time in (while dodging flying objects from our toddler lodging random complaints of this activity which did not include him), full well knowing that any personal time he currently has is coming to an screeching halt as soon as Waylon appears. If you know Mike, you know that distraction and mistakes are NOT like him at all. Let's just say, I'm not used to being the stable one. He is anxious and anal; he usually, annoyingly, remembers everything that needs to be done and does it perfectly. But not, now; he's a hot, hot mess.

My son is a hotter mess. He is needy, demanding, high-maintenance - oh, and a toddler. He grabs at everything, eats a huge amount, still gets up at night, has emotional regulation issues up the wazoo, has NOT quite mastered being gentle and needs our 100%  full attention when he is awake. Wilson is stubborn and does things at his own pace. For example, he decided that he would like to use the potty. That was great and for 3 weeks, he had few mistakes and used the potty a lot. Then he decided, "eh, that was over-rated." And now, he hasn't used the potty in 2 weeks. Getting him to sit on it against his will would so not be worth it, as we have learned you don't force a difficult tempered child to do anything if you value your sanity. Wilson has a cold right now, so he's miserable, wiping his nose and face on everything in sight: me, Mike's pants as he's about to go to work, the dogs, the couch and the floor. He whines constantly and has no fear of repetition of his favorite things: every day we have to play Beyonce's Who Runs the World (Girls) and Katy Perry's Darkhorse repeatedly. Seriously. Back to Back, over and over. He asks for it in this pathetic whiny voice "Grrrrrllllsss...." and then "Keeeeeettttty". Although his tantrums have gotten better, he still throws himself on the floor dramatically, as I said in a previous blog, akin to a Spanish soap opera. We've done everything we can think of in preparing him for a little brother, but how my little hot mess will actually do with a new brother is a little scary to think about.

And then there's me. I may seem that I have my ducks in a row - mostly because somehow I do maintain productivity at work, but really I'm a bigger hot mess. I'm HORRIBLE with money and finances; and while I maintain focus at work, I leave laundry piles in the bedroom, dishes in the sink, trash 2 feet from the actual trash in the kitchen as I'm horribly distracted at home. With Wilson, I found a way to mostly balance work and home - something I was very proud of - but couldn't figure how to balance anything else - like a social life, eating healthy, spiritual needs or working out. I consider myself a very resilient person, but weird shit happens to me all the time. Like a 50-hour labor with Wilson. Random illnesses that no other person has heard of. I got the swine flu when it was on the decline. I have vaccine reactions. I have a genetic condition called hypermobile joints, meaning I'm mostly double-jointed and injure myself when I sleep and especially when I'm pregnant and have the hormone Relaxin, which further relaxes my ligaments and joints (i.e., I literally throw a hip out every night when I sleep). I have prodromal labor. I also think a lot about how I had Postpartum Depression after I had Wilson. How am I going to survive a toddler AND a newborn with my sanity intact? Being in the third trimester, I'm the biggest hot mess of all: I sometimes can barely move (which my toddler takes full advantage of), have indigestion, insomnia, random hip-out, issues rolling over, distractability, forgetfulness, crave bucketloads of sweets, drink gallons of water a day and feel like something in between a teapot and a cooked turkey. 

So, are we ready? No. But, without the definitive illusion that you have when you believe you are "ready" for your first child, no one could ever be really ready for a second child. You know what it will be like at first - the lack of sleep, the loss of identity, the things you weren't expecting, the difficulties you face healing from childbirth, all the things you cannot control... But, as I sit here tonight, I also reflect on all the things we can accomplish as a family and individually. Mike's sanity will return, he really is an epic father and his love for Wilson will soon be his love for Waylon as well. Wilson will be an excellent big brother - he wants to help, he loves babies and he really is the sweetest boy I've ever known. And I'll figure it out - just like I found a way to balance things with Wilson, I'll figure out my life again with 2 children. And together, we love each other and are capable of great things - I mean, look at that list - we did all that in 3 weeks, as hot messes with me having contractions. And we do have help - our close friends Jess and Joe, some awesome childcare help and family members who are willing to come to help us transition (thanks, Mom!). 

So, I'm making it official. Universe, Waylon, body: I'M READY. That's right, bring it on. Labor, birth, fourth trimester, mother of multiple children. LET'S DO IT. Aaaaaannnnnd here comes a contraction.

Parenting a Difficult-Tempered Toddler...

So, as many of you already know, my son has difficult temperament. I've talked multiple times about what this is like when he was an infant. But, as crazy as it seems, he's not a baby anymore; he's a few months shy of being 2 years old and is full force into toddler mode. 

Parenting a toddler, under the best circumstances, is not for the faint of heart. It's exhausting and simply put, brutal. They move too fast, have limited emotional and social skills and are all about testing boundaries. And that's when they have easy temperaments...

So I've had people tell me before that they hate the phrase "difficult temperament" because it seems to cast a negative cloud on the child. I've also had people tell me that they didn't quite understand what difficult temperament was and how it couldn't easily be modified. And I do get how it's not easy to picture or to understand when you have never had a difficult tempered child before. I am a developmental psychologist and I did not fully understand before having Wilson. So I always say the same thing, "Come over for a day and you'll get it." 

Because this is what a day looks like: Wilson wakes up at 6 a.m., smiling and talking. Mike gets him up and attempts to get him changed and dressed in between him lunging at the lotion/butt paste, frantically pushing buttons on the stereo when you are throwing out his diaper, running towards and attempting to open the closet, throwing his pillow, dancing and giggling. He comes downstairs, drinks his juice and gets some breakfast - well at least a little before throwing the rest to the dogs or racing towards the trash (as we scream NO!) to throw it haphazardly in the general direction of the trash, causing us to clean up a mess. While our backs are turned, he is opening the snack drawer (neatly and easily opening the child lock) to get more food with which to eat/ throw to the dogs/ throw out. The next few hours or so he races around, as we remind him to be nice to the dogs, not to injure himself, not to grab things he can't have, stop opening the dishwasher to stand on the door and push the buttons on the toaster oven, don't throw that, be gentle, get out of the silverware drawer, stop trying to open the door, where did you get that fork?, get off the table, don't kick the dog, stop throwing your food, get out of the dishwasher again, where's your juice cup?, stop hanging on the baby gate, don't climb the banister, don't stand on that, get out of the fridge... it goes on. And it's endless. ALL DAY LONG. This in a house which is so well gated and child-proofed it could function as a maximum security toddler prison. Our chairs are bungeed together because he was taking them out and pushing them through the house in order to reach outlets, light switches, ipads and computers an anything else he shouldn't have. Gates protect the television area with over a 2 foot clearance from the gate because he uses tools to jab at the buttons on the television, cable box and receiver. The dog food and water is behind our office gate (which has a similar clearance) and which he lodges his daily complaints by throwing things at us when we sit there without him for 5 seconds. There are baby locks everywhere and every door knob has a baby proof covering. If a door or a lock is insecure for 5 seconds, he shows up immediately, like he has a telepathic connection to it, and raids it. He breaks something literally everyday: a toy, one of our possessions, part of the house... Sometimes all of the "no!'s", boundary setting and mommy/daddy blocking get to him and he collapses into a heap on the floor, lip-quiver and all. He whines pretty much all day long, crying frequently even over things like "my toy won't do what I want it to", where he yells at his toy, cries, throws it and falls in a dramatic spanish-soap-opera-esque heap on the floor. The mental and physical effort that it takes to keep this kid alive, be responsive, be empathic, teach him patiently and peacefully is more than I have expended getting a doctoral degree and tenure as an Associate Professor combined.

When it is time for his nap, I seriously rejoice. Seriously. It's one of my favorite parts of the day. After the initial whining, getting his bottle ready (as he attempts to grab everything in the fridge), walk up the stairs where he stops to try to pull things out of the trash, get at the recycling, fall off the stairs, then suddenly run into the bathroom and attempt to lock me out, test every gate upstairs, run away giggling as I try to corral him into his bedroom, whining as I change his diaper, pushing the buttons frantically on his white noise machine until I pick him up and sit in the rocking chair, where pure bliss occurs. He snuggles in quietly with me and his blanket, drinks his bottle and goes to sleep. I lay him in his crib and he sleeps for 2 to 3 hours. I shower, go to the bathroom, sometimes sleep, do work and sometimes just sit in a chair comatose. Oh and by the way, that was just the first part of the day, which was just 3 hours. We then have the afternoon to contend with. He requires constant attention (just to survive), is a complete drama queen, is only capable of playing alone for a maximum of 10 minutes (and that's if you are lucky), has no emotional regulation skills and a seemingly endless supply of energy and motivation.

So yes, I think difficult is a great term for that temperament. Or maybe 'freaking horrific', 'horrendously exhausting' or 'perfect-birth-control-because-you-will-never-want-to-procreate-again' (yes, we did have a moment of insanity and now we will be adding another to our brood - God help us). Any of those would work. And in terms of changing his behavior? Believe it or not, we have made HUGE strides. We went through a biting phase, a pinching phase, an extreme tantrum phase - as challenging as he is, he improves almost every day. We are working now on throwing and hitting, which is slowly but surely improving. We are consistent with him, always responsive, we calmly say no, we also have yelled when we feel appropriate, we keep boundaries and always intervene. What we've learned by parenting a difficult toddler is less about what we need to do (because we know what we are supposed to do), but more about how to support each other to stay positive and sane and to remember the absolutely amazing thing about difficult children and Wilson, in particular.

See, the reason 'difficult' children are difficult is because they are very sensitive. He, like all difficult-tempered children, need routine. He has to maintain a very rigid schedule at home because if we deviate in any way, he won't nap, he is cranky and cannot regulate for the rest of the day. Wilson is detail-oriented and sensitive, physically and emotionally. He is affectionate and loving, hugging his stuffed animals, coming to lay his head on my leg when he is having a rough time coping, and gently lays his head on the dogs when he pets them. Wilson is very bright - beyond his chronological age. He is contemplative, has an impeccable memory, focuses intently on things and figures things out that are far beyond on his year and a half-life. He is persistent; he knows what he wants and he is insistent about achieving that goal. He is incredibly social; he loves other children and is incredibly astute in that he realizes he needs to be reserved around people that do not know him well (he acts like an angel with most other people for a few weeks at least). He has a strong personality and is completely authentic with his emotions, expressing them to the fullest. He loves music, which helps him be in the moment, stay calm and feel joy. He has his favorite things, of which he never tires and easily communicates that he is happy to experience them OVER AND OVER. Despite being potentially the crappiest infant sleeper ever, he is now a good sleeper, still getting up once a night a few times a week; but he sleeps from 6:30 p.m. to 6 a.m. and puts himself to sleep after his bottle and a snuggle. He is starting to communicate better and he desperately wants to do what adults do, meaning he loves to help with throwing things out, cleaning the house, vacuuming, washing dishes, putting things back where they belong and re-locking the safety latches he has outsmarted.

Bottom line: the same things that make these children annoying toddlers will make them successful and amazing adults. And that's the challenge: you don't want to crush their spirit or make them feel shame for being who they are - even when it is annoying, frustrating and exhausting. You want them to be who they are and follow social boundaries and learn emotional skills to further develop their resiliency and strength. But it's freaking hard. And that is why I am writing this blog tonight; after a long day where he broke a kitchen drawer, almost stabbed me with a fork, tried to kick the dogs multiple times, threw food at dinner (causing him to have to leave the table), hit me for taking away things he wanted but could not have, spilled water all over the floor, and that is in addition to the normal high maintenance needs throughout the day, I want all those parents who parent this rare (less than 5% of children) child who befuddles others and makes you question your own patience, sanity and parenting ability. You are not alone. And I do hear that it gets better.

I have read consistent accounts in the research that difficult-tempered children turn a huge corner around age 3, making the consistent, supportive approach worth all of that time and energy. And to that, my husband and I, after putting him to bed, hug each other, hanging onto each other for physical and emotional support, sigh and say, "Is he almost 3 yet?" It's a very good thing that he is cute.

So...That Sucked.

So, I have been pregnant before. Gone through the third trimester before too. I've also had the stomach flu. Not this norovirus knock-you-on-your-ass-and-make-you-weep strain, but I've had the stomach flu. But what I've never had, before this last week, was having the stomach flu WHILE being in the third trimester of a pregnancy. Let me count the ways in which this experience might be the single worst experience of my adult life.

First, in your third trimester, you are ginormous. It hurts to move. Seriously, when you want to roll over in bed, you need to hold your belly, take a deep breath and heft yourself over to the other side. Your back hurts because your pelvis is spreading preparing for the "miracle" of birth - namely a baby head being pushed through that small opening in your pelvic bone. The sides of your stomach hurt as the round ligaments are stretching beyond what is comfortable. Now add onto all of this - the aches and pains of the flu. A fever, muscle soreness, stomach cramps and an overwhelming need to get to the bathroom ASAP multiple times a day does not correspond well with the third trimester belly-heft and slow-waddle.

Second, throwing up is never fun. Morning sickness was crappy with both of my pregnancies. But throwing up violently with a giant belly and an inside baby kicking the crap out of my stomach was kind of horrible. And then guess what? When you throw up in the third trimester, you get labor contractions as your reward! Yep! Labor contractions. And if you aren't careful, you go into full-blown labor, leading me to the next point.

Third, you don't want to eat or drink when you have the flu. That's not a possibility when you are pregnant. You HAVE to drink even if you are throwing it up right away OR you need to go to the hospital to get an IV because it can obviously harm the baby and/or cause early labor. Fun! So if you are not waddling to the bathroom, hefting yourself on the floor in front of the toilet, fighting labor contractions, fighting a fever and muscle pains along with your achin' pelvis, you are shoving water down yourself while praying that you don't throw up again (which you know you are going to...). 

Fourth, there are some medications that you can take that do make the flu somewhat bearable. But, not while your preggo. No pink stuff, no ibuprofen, no Imodium, no Tamiflu, no NOTHING. LAME.

Finally, your body does this other really cool thing when you are pregnant - it increases the hormone Relaxin so that (as the name indicates) all of your ligaments relax and loosen preparing it for that beautiful, horrific miracle of birth. Cool fact: throwing up violently is as jarring to your body as participating in intense sports! And, particularly with the addition of Relaxin, can cause similar injuries! So as I was throwing up for the 8th time one night, I sprained the tiny muscles in between my ribs, making it hard to breathe without stabbing pains, engage any of my stomach and chest muscles, pick up my toddler or just plain live. 

So thanks Norovirus. You have now made me less fearful of going into labor for the second time because labor (not even my first 50-hour labor) could not be as bad as these last 5 days with the stomach virus while being 35 weeks pregnant. 

And Universe, please don't take that last statement as a challenge.

Happy Valentine's Day, My Loves!

To my big Valentine, Mike: When I met you about 10 years ago, I knew there was something special about you. And I had no idea how much my life was going to change! We had 8 years of pretty much pure bliss. Then we had kids. While I believe that our bliss will someday return (maybe after retirement?), watching you step up as a father and a husband has made me so proud of you and more in love with you each year. You always try so hard to be the best and most thoughtful father and husband; when you struggle or stumble, you are always the first to apologize, try even harder and let me know how much you love us. We don't have much family support here in town, but because we have each other, I know that we can get through anything.

To my little Valentine, Wilson: I see how sweet you are, even when you are feeling upset or sick. I love your kisses and hugs; I love how you want to be big and try to help out with everything that I do. Even when you are feeling pretty cranky and you see mommy or daddy take a few deep breaths, we always love you. Life is about to change pretty significantly for you, which will be difficult for all of us; but we want you to know that we believe you came to us for a reason and that our hearts are big enough for you and your little brother.

To my smallest Valentine: You are still in mommy's belly, but I hope that in a few months when you enter the world, you know that you will always be surrounded with love. Fair warning: we are a pretty crazy family and we are not perfect (or even close), but we will always love, respect and cherish you.

Second Verse, Not the Same As The First...

I had heard that every pregnancy was different; and that the second pregnancy was very different than the first, but I really was not sure how until I experienced it. So here I am, in my 6 month of pregnancy; and I have to say, it is a lot different.

1. Time is moving quicker. I'm in no hurry for numero dos to be born. Although I am sure I will feel differently near the end of the third trimester, right now I'd be happy if he stayed there until Wilson was 18 years old. But, time feels like it is flying. It feels like I just found out I was pregnant and now I am 1 week away from being in my third trimester. With Wilson, time moved so slow because I was conscious of every minute and so looking forward to the birth; which brings me to number 2.
2. I'm so not looking forward to the birth. It's not the labor I fear; rather it's the devastating change in life that is now lovingly coined the fourth trimester. Where sleep is gone; your identity is gone; you look at your partner with resentment and disgust; your life changes entirely and it takes a good year for you to get your bearings. Which brings me to number 3.
3. I have no disillusionment this time around. With my first pregnancy, I couldn't wait. I couldn't wait until I was out of the first trimester. I couldn't wait until I felt the baby. I couldn't wait until the baby reached viability. I couldn't wait until my first contraction started. I couldn't wait until I met my son. This pregnancy, I absolutely can wait. Because with every milestone you reach comes a new challenge, a new ordeal and a new obstacle. I am happy to stay pregnant now, even though being pregnant sucks too. When I was pregnant with Wilson, I remember thinking how happy I would be when this baby came out and I got my body back. What I didn't realize, is that you don't really get your body back; along with that loss comes your sleep, time, energy, leisure and toilet time (I remember the days of peeing alone). And even though I'm not afraid of it, I'm not eager for labor. 
4. The first time around, I was PETRIFIED of labor. I wanted to believe that it would not be painful and that I could have an easy labor. After 50 hours of induced active labor in the hospital and 5 hours of pushing, I have no illusions about labor. But, I also know I can survive it - even when it is long and arduous. My midwives swear to me that this baby will, in comparison, just fall out, which would be fabulous. But, if not, I'm prepared. Not eager for it; but prepared. 
5. My first pregnancy, I slept. ALOT. The first trimester was a blur of sleeping on the couch, throwing up and going back to sleep. I napped frequently and was still exhausted. In my second pregnancy, rest and relaxation is a bit more difficult to attain with a toddler. "I love you, Wilson, but mommy can't move or she'll throw up." Wilson looks at me with disapproval, whines, then runs and smacks the refrigerator. "Oh, I guess I do have to feed you." Of course, that happens every half an hour, as he either wants to eat snacks, meals, a bottle, or his sippy cup. And that doesn't include the time that he wants to be held, snuggle, play, lead me around by the hand to ask for things he can't have or just to feel connected to me, which believe me I want to...just not while I'm having morning (er...all-day sickness). On Friday, I laid on the couch and said, "Wilson, mommy is getting sick. Can you take it easy on mommy today?" He looked at me, patted my head, laughed and then climbed up on me and sat on my head. Yep. 
6. I have an inside baby and an outside baby. And they don't communicate. Sometimes Wilson will push on my belly and Wayland will kick him back. But because of his age, Wilson is oblivious to the presence of Wayland. And besides for potentially recognizing Wilson's whines, screams and giggles, I think it's safe to assume that Wayland is not that sure of who makes all those cute and yet annoying noises. Meaning that I can't explain to Wayland why I forgot to eat lunch yesterday (because Wilson didn't feel well and due to being busy and fatigue, I simply forgot). And I can't explain to Wilson why mommy's belly keeps getting huge, she's tired all the time and why for the first 5 months, throwing up became a normal pastime in the Ginicola house. I know that he is wondering though...I gave him a little flashlight yesterday and the first thing he did was turn it on, pull up my shirt and push it against my belly. I told him that he couldn't see Wayland that way, but he kept trying anyway. 
7. You get bigger....faster. I already look like I'm about 8 months pregnant and I'm only 6 months. When I was 2 months pregnant, I looked like I was 4 months. It's not pretty and I hope it slows down soon or I'll just be one giant belly and two huge boobs by full term.

Well, at least there's hope! I'm saving out hope that this theme continues and Wayland, unlike Wilson, will be easy-tempered, sleepy and chill. Please, Universe. Give me chill.

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.