Detoxing from hormones

"Love as distinct from 'being in love' is not merely a feeling. It is a deep unity, maintained by the will."
~C.S. Lewis
(as tweeted by Alton Brown)

The hubby and I recently made the somewhat large decision that I would go off hormonal birth control.

No, breathe, we are NOT trying for another baby. Quite the opposite, in fact - we do not want to have a second child at this time. Financially, it would doom us. I would, though, like to have a second child at some point so any permanent birth control options are off the table right now.

This decision wasn't easy and took months to make - well, months and a year, really, if we look at it a certain way. And while it solves some problems, it opens others. But for us, the quality of the problems this decision is solving far outweighs the new problems it presents.

What it comes down to is this: I cannot find a hormonal birth control option that works for me. Due to my gastric bypass, I do not trust taking the pill. I've read the results of several studies that indicated that the pill isn't metabolized in a consistent way in patients who had gastric bypass and I'd rather not play that game of roulette, thinking I'm covered when I'm not. I don't want to do injections or an IUD (hormonal or not).

I was on the Nuvaring, which worked well for years, but something changed in the past few years and especially since I had Nate. Basically, it was making me crazy. I'm actually not even really ready to fully disclose just how bad I was feeling, but I will share some.

The most ironic part of the Nuvaring is that its purpose is to prevent pregnancy, but the hormones from the birth control made me not want to have anything to do with my husband. I was cranky. Not just moody, because that implies up AND down. No, I was mostly just down. I would wake up and be fuming angry within minutes and nothing would help that. If you have emotional PMS, imagine the cranky/angry part of that, but all month long - and THEN, during PMS? It was that times ten. I just felt rage coursing through my veins. It took serious, exhausting effort not to snap at some comments and requests - and some times, I didn't succeed. And the person who got the worst of it, continually? The hubby. It is truly, solely to his credit that I even still have a husband after how awful it was sometimes.

So, yeah - the birth control really worked two ways over. It prevented ovulation and it prevented me really wanting to even... you know, spend time with my husband.

When I went off the birth control right before I got pregnant, I felt amazing. I remember thinking at the time that I never wanted to go back on hormonal birth control again. But after Nate was born, I did anyway because we really, really didn't want to take any chances.

And I remember having more emotional PMS on birth control before (as in, throughout my 20s) but it's been different since Nate was born, which I can imagine makes sense considering the hormonal flux a woman's body goes through during and after pregnancy. It makes sense to me that my body may react to things differently now, especially hormones.

It simply became unbearable, though - for both me and the hubby. And I really believe that our marriage was on the fast track to disintegration because of it. The change between how things were two months ago and how they are now is palpable. The whole household feels lighter. There are more smiles, much more laughing, much more together time, much more talking. Much more of all that is good and worthwhile and healthy to a marriage and a family.

So we are, of course, still "being safe" as the ever-present instruction goes and that takes more concerted effort than hormonal birth control requires. But our marriage is taking significantly less effort. In fact, it's really feeling like no effort at all at this point. And the effort required, as all marriages do require work, is enjoyable now and worth far more than the energy required. I've been feeling like I did when we first started dating, something I haven't felt in a long time. And it's wonderful.

You can't be the only one

I recently attended a departmental videoconference at work detailing our new organizational structure, redefining some of our responsibilities, and changing who we report to for most aspects of our jobs.

Let me be upfront about this fact: I am not complaining about this situation or about my job in any way - and I'm not just saying that because I'm going to post this when I'm done. I feel extremely lucky to have a job I truly love and feel passionate about. I work in an industry I deeply care about. And if I was single, or at least not a parent, I would very happily give significantly more time to all of this than I'm required to.

(To wit: yesterday I worked an extra half hour, today an extra 45 minutes, and Friday I'll work an extra hour.)

But I am married and I am a parent . . . unlike just about everyone else in my entire department. Not just my location, but my entire department, spread over eight campuses.

So when I was describing that, ideally, I wish I could work both early mornings in order to get work done and evenings in order to accomodate more students, the hubby's natural reaction was, "But they have to understand you have a family and obligations. You can't be the only one."

And it was then I stood there and thought about it. Some of my coworkers may be in serious relationships that I'm not aware of, but only one of them (a middle aged man) is married and if any of them have children, those children are older, possibly even adults themselves (and I never hear about them). No one has a young child.

I am the only one.

In an ideal world, this wouldn't concern me, right? It wouldn't matter. But we know it does. The hubby and I have a very tight schedule. On Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays, he gets out of work after Nate's bedtime. That means in no way can I work late on those days. Ideally, I have to leave work by 5pm at the latest in order to have time to walk the dogs before getting Nate. On Wednesdays, I have to work late but the hubby is off. In a few weeks, I'll have grad school on Thursday nights, the other night the hubby is off. I can't regularly work Saturdays because the hubby works every Saturday (and Sunday).

Our schedule is as tight as it can be. As much as I truly want to be an employee who's available any time during work hours for projects and programming and completing assignments, I can't be - because I'm also Mommy. Not only do I need to be there because of our tight schedule, but I want to be there. I hate the nights I miss bedtime. I hate that we don't have a single full day as a family in any given week because the hubby and I have different days off (although that makes our daycare needs significantly simpler). I took a vacation day tomorrow so that we could have a family day but, of course, there are a lot of things going on at work and I could have used the time in the office. I left there today feeling relieved to have a day to breathe, but also worried about all I still have to do.

TIME ran a very interesting article this week: "Working Women Who Try to Be 'Supermom' May Be More Depressed." (I promise you, the article is much better than that awful, sensationalistic headline promises.) In short, women have to assume that they're not going to be perfect at being an employee or a mother. (N.B. I was annoyed at the lack of mention of fathers in this article.) We have to accept that we do both because we get fulfillment from both and that significantly ignoring either our job or our child(ren) would leave us incredibly unfulfilled. (Clearly not taking into account women who have to work because they need to earn. I happen to be in that category but I also take significant personal fulfillment from what I do.)

So while I might be the only one in my department, I'm far from the only one in this struggle and I'm doing my best to make it appear seamless and a non-issue at work but I live with the constant thought that just one of these days... it's going to happen: there's going to be a conflict and I'm going to have to sacrifice some of my success at work because I have family obligations. Nate is 15 months old and I feel like I have juggled all of this quite well so far, but it has to come to a head at some point, right?

I'm hoping the answer to that is no, but I know it will always be a risk and I'm struggling daily with how to feel okay about this. I haven't figured out yet how to clone myself, so the next best thing I can do is accept the ongoing negotiation of balance - contently - and live it the best, most fulfilling way I can for myself and my family.

To quote my grandmother's response to anything difficult in life: "It's not easy, but you do what you can." Being great at your job isn't easy. Being a great parent isn't easy. So, of course, juggling these two would never be easy... but we do what we can.

The defenses rests... when?

Today, a student - a mother in her early 50s - asked me, "How old is your son now?" I have pictures of Nate on my desk at work and frequently refer to him, so most of the students I see know I have a son and that he's young.

"He just turned one last month!" I said.

"Ohhh," she said, "Just wait until he's walking... boy, it gets so hard."

"Oh. Well, he is walking. I have to say, I like it better."

"Oh no, noo. The easiest is when they're babies and you just carry them everywhere. Once they're walking, it gets so much harder."

"Hm," I said, working to sound nonchalant. "I honestly find this part much easier, not having to carry him all the time."

She looked at me like I just told her I'd rather have a dragon as a child. "Oh, no, it just gets harder. And just wait - the potty training. That's the worst. When you're in the middle of grocery shopping and they have to go RIGHT NOW and you have to take them to the store bathroom in the middle of shopping."

At that point I just said, "Mmm.  Hmm. Yeah." and went back to my work because I really didn't know what to say and saw that this conversation wasn't going to go anywhere worthwhile. I don't see how having to pause your grocery shopping to go to the restroom is a major inconvenience. And I would much rather have Nate riding in the grocery cart seat than sitting in his car seat carrier.

But the fact that she told me my opinion was wrong - that, clearly, the baby stage is the easiest, regardless of how I personally experienced it, got me thinking. Why are we, as mothers, always having to defend ourselves? And I say mothers here, specifically, because I don't see men/fathers doing the same thing. Sure, I see the hubby's friends say things like, "Oh just wait, you'll see, when they start doing XYZ, it gets crazy!" but they don't pursue it with the same I-am-so-completely-right fervor I see in some mothers.

A blogger on Babble recently wrote about how she didn't understand women who choose not to breastfeed - to not even try at all, for whatever reason. She then had to follow up that post with one basically apologizing for asking the question in the tone in which she did. I found this to be incredibly frustrating. If we can write post after post about why we should breastfeed, why some of us don't, why some of us start then stop, then why can't we ask why some don't want to at all? I can see how it seems judgmental, but I find it to be no different from the more passionate pro-breastfeeding posts I've read. I don't think she should have had to defend her original post.

We defend why we breastfeed. We defend why we don't. We defend why we use a sling or why we use another carrier. We defend why we use daycare or why we don't. We defend why we work or why we stay home. We defend why we use baby food or why we make our own. We defend our use of cloth or disposable. We defend the soap we use, the toys we buy, the books we read, the clothes we buy, our sleeping choices, our discipline style.

What aren't we defending at some point? Is there anything? Frankly, it's exhausting. I can't tell you how many times I've written something about Nate here and revised what I said in order to be as clear as possible because I hear the anticipated objections and arguments in my head. I'm doing the best I can, but I've made mistakes and I will make more. And I've taken the easy way out with some things, but it's what I've felt I had to do because of how our life is.

For example, I would have loved to use cloth diapers, but when Nate was born, we lived someplace without a washer and dryer. Even the more ardent cloth diaper users I know said, "Oh. Yeah. That'll be difficult." I think adjusting to your first newborn is hard enough; I wasn't about to add something that women I consider quite accomplished told me would be difficult.

But see what I did? I explained. I defended our disposable diaper use. I feel like I've been conditioned into this, like it's something that, now, I can't stop myself from doing. It's like I have to be sure people know that I know there's a "better" way to do something - that I'm not just doing what I'm doing because I don't know better. And in the moments when I feel comfortable and don't automatically defend something, I find myself in a conversation being made to defend myself.

When the truth is, I shouldn't care because I know why I do what I do. And the hubby knows. And amazingly enough, I cannot think of anything regarding Nate's raising so far that we have disagreed on in any significant way. And that's all that should matter.

So maybe I can let the defense rest. And I hope other women can, too. Can we trust that we're doing the best that we can and that we all have our own individual experiences and stories? Maybe your Suzy was a really easy baby and a really annoying toddler, but her Jack was a terribly needy baby and a really joyous toddler. We're all different and so are our needs, our children, our stories, and our experiences. I think it is so much more enjoyable and useful to share these stories and experiences than it is to tire ourselves out defending each turn along the way.

The universe's balancing act

I may not have a strict belief in a higher power, but I do believe there are forces and actions that equal things out.  I know this viewpoint comes from a place of privilege, but it is how I've experienced the world.

So when I found myself recently bitter about all of the hoopla over a coworker's baby shower, I sat and tried to think about why this inequality occurred.  My family threw me a fantastic baby shower that I loved every minute of.  And I did have two small baby showers at work - one at the campus I work at and one with my base department (the members of which are spread out over several campuses).  Both showers had about five people at them.  The one at the campus I work at was very clearly thrown together at the last minute and involved no planning.  There was a cake and a baby store gift card (which, don't get me wrong, I greatly appreciated) - but there wasn't a reserved room on campus, there were no decorations, diaper towers, huge gifts, ballooons, or baby shower plates and cups, and the entire campus administrative staff certainly did not receive an email from the campus chief operating officer about a fake mandatory meeting that would be the cover for the shower, much less three other reminder emails.

I can only guess this was because most of my coworkers didn't realize I was pregnant unless I told them.  At the staff meeting two weeks before my last day, I mentioned it'd be my last meeting until September and was met with half a room of, "Why???"  "Uh, because I'm pregnant?"  "Oh, congratulations!  When are you due?"  "Two weeks, roughly."  "What?!  Where is that baby?" as I mumbled for what felt like the hundredth time, "Yeah, I know, I haven't gained much weight, but he's in there!"

It's not like I feel cheated, really (because that would seem unattractively materialistic to me) and it's not that I'm such good friends with my coworkers that my feelings are hurt (although I am feeling a little undervalued).  It's just that it was another episode where having a pregnancy that didn't fit "the norm" had me feeling left out of this universal experience.

No one would mistake my coworker for anything but 8 or 9 months pregnant.  Turns out she is 8 months pregnant but she does look near term, so I heard a few, "So, how many you got in there? Two? Three?" comments - which, really, are no better than my, "Wait, you're pregnant? Where is he?" comments as my belly got stared at.

If there's anything I learned in pregnancy, it's that it's a unique experience.  No two pregnancies (even in the same woman) are the same.  And we're all different, so why shouldn't our gestations be different?

In the end, I'm still happy to have had the pregnancy I did.  Sure, I missed out on some very typical, standard pregnancy experiences, but in the end I benefited by having a "small" pregnancy.  I lost my pregnancy weight by the time I came home from the hospital.  Since then I've lost an additional 25 pounds.  I didn't have to deal with people telling me to watch my weight during my pregnancy, like I had been told my whole life.  Basically, I had the pregnancy that was best for me.  It might not have been made for inducing people into throwing huge baby showers because I was waddling around for months, but it made me happy.  It was my pregnancy.  I don't do much in the same way that everyone else does, so why would I do this the same way as someone else?

We have to cherish our bodies and the amazing things they do - and honor other people's bodies, as well.  I attended that baby shower and wished my coworker well and pointed out how useful certain things were that she received.  And I'm glad she has all that support and good cheer from our coworkers.  I always have to remind myself that we don't know other people's stories.  Who knows how much this meant to her?  Maybe it meant nothing, who knows - but she seemed genuinely happy and grateful.  And the more happy pregnant women there are, the better.

Rollin' rollin' rollin'

While at BlogHer, I got a text message from the hubby that said something like, "Nate just flopped from his belly to his back. He looked confused. It was so funny."  To which I - as your normal female/mother-type-person - responded something like, "Flopped? What do you mean flopped? Do you mean, like, he ROLLED OVER?  As in ROLLED OVER?  Like huge milestone ROLLED OVER???"  I think the hubby's response to this was something along the lines of, "Um, yeah, like that."

He rolled over and I missed it because I was in NYC with a bunch of other women who like to type things and post them on the intarwebs.

Then today, it happened again.  The difference now is that the hubby understands the significance of such things and properly punctuated his text:

"Nate's rolling from back to tummy! He did it twice!"

I.e. I MISSED SOMETHING ELSE.

Gah.  Is this the heart of being a working mom?  Missing milestones?  Being allowed to stay home for six/eight/twelve/fifteen/however many weeks, only to have the big stuff happen in the one day you do something else or during your first/second/whatever week back at work?  Does it mean writing yourself a sticky note so that you remember to add it to the baby book when you get home - and then remembering that you probably didn't write down the front to back rollover from earlier in the month? 

Then thinking, "I hope the sticky note doesn't fall off my dayplanner in my purse" and then thinking, "Well, at least I wrote this blog post; that'll help me remember."

My blog post will help me remember to parent.  Sonofa&*$%&T@$.

No.  My son reminds me to parent.  When I wake up on a day "off" and I see his face, I don't need reminding that I'm a parent (NB: being a parent means not having a day off without "off" being in quotes).  When I get home from work and see his little-but-getting-bigger-every-day face, I am reminded just how much I'm a parent.

And I know there'll be moments I'm there for while the hubby is at work.  Or moments we're both there.  And it feels selfish in a way since I did get to carry Nate for forty weeks and feel the flutters and kicks and talk to him when the hubby couldn't.  So it really only seems fair that Nate now bestows some special moments on his daddy, like there's catching up to be done.

But it still sucks to miss stuff... although I can't imagine there's a way to miss nothing.  You're bound to miss something at some time, so I should get used to it.

I just don't want to miss the first steps.  Crawling, I could deal.  But walking?  I hope I'm there.  I hope the hubby is there, too.  But this kid has his own agenda.

So, Dear Nate: Please do not take your first steps until Mommy AND Daddy are both there to see it.  And until we've moved the coffee table with deadly corners out of the living room.  Thank you.