Sometimes the Biggest Challenge is Our Greatest Opportunity

At the age of 31 I had an epiphany that I shared with my husband over a bottle (or two) of wine one night on the front porch of our first home – I wanted children.  That was not news.  The news was that I had realized that I wanted children, but I did not feel the need to be pregnant or to give birth to them.  My husband, the amiable, amiable, indicated he was ok with that and if we adopted or did not ever have children he was ok with that too.  

By confirming we were on the same page I freed myself. I was able to silence the noise of my biological clock, which had been ticking in my ears since my 30^th birthday.  I grabbed this opportunity with both hands and spent the next 6 years enjoying being married to my best friend.  We danced and drank.  We threw dinner and birthday parties. We threw wedding and baby showers.  We slept in. We had sex whenever and wherever we wanted.  We took our time working long hours in jobs we loved. We stayed awake for movies.  We spent those 6 years building our village with hopes that the village would be there if and when we did bring children into our family.  

Our last year as a childless couple was quite an adventure.

At 36 years old I became pregnant with our first child.  We were lucky, we got pregnant within the first month of trying and our lives were forever changed.  At 37 I gave birth to our son Whitman and the center of our world shifted. 

January 19, 2012 Whitman Stevens Hagan Dier made

two wild and crazy kids playing adults into parents!

August 2011 - 14 weeks pregnant & walking in the Tomato Art Fest Fashion Show
at the tender young age of 36

At 40 I got pregnant again with our last child, our baby daughter Eliza.  Gone were the days of thinking of myself first and doing whatever I wanted on a daily basis.  

Our little family of three as photographed by the talented Judith Hill of Judith Hill Photography
before we became a family of four.

Today, as a 41 year old woman (gasp) who is the mother of a 4 year old son and an infant daughter, who works full-time outside of the home, is the breadwinner and the family organizer and coordinator, I sometimes feel like I am the female version of Bill Murray in the movie Groundhog’s Day.  In the movie Bill Murray plays an arrogant TV weatherman who, during an assignment covering the annual Groundhog Day event in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, finds himself in a time loop, repeating the same day again and again.

His character wakes up to the same alarm clock playing the same song at the same time every day.  The same announcements and the same people doing and saying the same things.  Once he realizes he is actually repeating the same day over and over and he is the only one who remembers it he begins to take chances and do things he would never otherwise do. I mean, why not right?  What an opportunity.  He has nothing to lose if he is just going to have another chance the next day.  Of course, my life is not a movie, but at times I do feel like it is just a series of “wash, rinse, and repeat.”

Almost every morning when my alarm goes off for the gym or for a run at 5:00 a.m. I hear this in my head, “you will never regret going, but you will always regret not going.”  This mantra really does help me get out of my comfy bed to go do something that is good for me both in mind and in body.  Most days, I put my feet on the floor and get out of the bedroom with the promise that if I get out of the house and still want to sleep I can come back.  Secondly, it has helped me to recognize that not unlike Bill Murray in Groundhog’s Day, I can only escape repeating the same day over and over and losing myself in the process if I make time for what is important to me and my family.  This means establishing boundaries, picking battles, asking for help, taking chances, staying at work or walking away from work when I need to and paying attention when I am home.

For example, one day a few years back our child literally feel asleep in his lunch at day care. The

picture was hysterical.  If he hadn’t of deserved it, I would have felt awful. 

You see, that morning he got up at 5:00 a.m., which as I’ve mentioned is my sacred time and he would not go back to sleep.  So, guess who got to go with momma to the gym?  Yep.  In an attempt to not wake up his father and have to listen to the bitching session of how I “woke Whitman up early” with my alarm clock and then woke up the old man, I got Whitman dressed, put on his shoes, took the dogs out, fed the dogs and took him with me.  

Why? Because working out with my girls, like I have done for the past 8 years, keeps me from hurting people and makes me feel like Jennifer and not just Mother.  The child loved class and even learned to do a burpee, but apparently does not do well with super early mornings.  Now other parents might have stayed home so the child could sleep, but not me. Will this screw up my kids? I sure don’t think so.  In fact, I think I’d screw them up more if my world revolved around them and I stayed home with them and did not work or work out.  Society seems to think I need to feel “guilty” for these things, but at my ripe “advanced maternal age” I am now telling society to shut the hell up and mind its own damn business.  

As a Momma, I am an expanded version of who and what I used to be.  Some days I do not remember my life before my two children, but I do not and will not accept that being a Mother means I must be someone or something different that I was before they came into our lives.  The love I have for my children is not a love of choice.  It is an unconditional and consuming love that, without constant attention and boundaries might just take over the person I am today and smother the person I was before I had a family.  I look at my two beautiful children and our village and I know that if nothing else, I’ve done something right, something good and something worth the wait and my time.

Whitman, age 4, and Eliza, age 4 months, make everything better including me.  They don't complete me, but they do make me a better person every single day and I hope that they will think the same of me some day.

The moral of this story? It is ok to love both your family and yourself unconditionally.  It is ok to have a job you DON’T WANT TO LEAVE at the end of the day.  It is also OK to want to run out the door and grab your kiddos and take them to the park when it is sunny and you have a deadline at work.  This is your life and you have the power to do with this time what you want.  Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.  Do what your gut AND your heart tell you is right because there is a very good chance that “regret” only visits when you are not listening or paying attention to yourself.  You were you before you had children and you'll be you after they leave the nest so be sure not to lose yourself.

A theoretical question

So, as a parent are we expected to be completely human and fallible or completely perfect or somewhere in between. If in between what does that look like and how do we define it or does it matter? 

When your child is part himself and part you and part your partner (if that is the case) how do you put your best self forward as to your contribution or alternatively not screw it up royally as to your part and still be yourself or your best self?

Moral of this story? Being an engaged, in the trenches, parent is not for the faint of heart or ego, but also not for the egotistical or lazy. It is also not just for the biological. Parenting with purpose requires you to be human & present, bringing your A game and prepared for some serious humility whether you like it or not.

You hear that clock ticking?  That is not your biological clock. Nope. As an engaged and present parent, that is your mortality meter and personal gauge adjusting to the fact that you now answer to another generation that will judge you as you judged the parents before you.

The best birth control? The reality of the immensity and beauty of parenthood as well as the truth that the decision to not have children is legitimate and meaningful.  How green the other pastures are when you are across the fence.

The Reality of Life

There is a saying that I hear at 5:00 a.m. when my alarm goes off for the gym or a run, "You will never regret going, but you will always regret not going."  Yeah, so? Well, first of all, I hope it helps to encourage you one day when you are thinking of getting out of your comfy bed to go do something that is good for you both in mind and in body, but secondly, I hope you recognize that it goes for so many other opportunities in our every day lives.

 

Yes, that is our child literally sleeping in his lunch at day care.  You want to know how that happened? Well, he got up at 5:00 a.m., which is my sacred time for the gym/a run and he would not go back to sleep so guess who got to go with Momma to work in an attempt to not wake up his Daddy/the hubs and have to listen to the bitching session of how I "woke up Whitman early" and left the man to take care of him?  At 5:45 a.m. I changed his diaper, put on his shoes, took the dogs out, fed the dogs and  off we went to the gym because that is what keeps Momma from physically harming people and makes her feel a wee bit like a normal person.  Whitman loved being a part of our class, but apparently does not do well with super early mornings hence the sleeping in his sweet potato fries and puffs.  Come on, you know that makes you laugh.

All that being said, lately I've noticed that it really much easier to assume the worst and that any effort is going to be wasted than to make an attempt at something and actually (gasp) not succeed as expected or event (gasp) fail. Of course, if you succeed then what will\ you do?  Where does the need to be right, accepted or at least acknowledged come from?  Childhood experiences? Expectations?  How do we raise kids that are not sitting around pondering these things and are instead, out in the world grabbing issues by the short hairs and in that sweet voice of theirs just demanding that they be heard and changes be made?

Good question. It is one that I think about every day. I look at this beautiful person and the fabulous people that surround him with light and love and I know that if nothing else, I've done something right, good and worth my time.  

 

There are a lot of important things going on every day and you know what?  My kid, as awesome as he and his Dad & our family may be, is not going to keep me from getting in that car every morning and driving to the gym or to the meeting place for a run with my girls.  Does that mean I will ever leave my child when in need? Ugh, hell no, but it does mean that we will work together to make it work when and if it can.

As a Momma, I am now an expanded version of who and what I used to be, but I do not and will not accept that that means I must be someone or something different than I was before he came into our lives.  The love I have for Whitman, not unlike the love I have for my rescued cat Abbey and my rescued dogs Alice, Bella, George, Mr. Teddy Pants and new addition Luke, is not a love of choice. It is an unconditional and consuming love that, without constant attention and boundaries I respect, might just take over the person I am today and smother the person that I was before I had a family.

So what?  I don/t know.  Just felt like it was important to say that it is ok to love both your family and yourself unconditionally and it is so fucking ok to have a job you DON'T WANT TO LEAVE at the end fo the day, if I honestly, hear one more woman (it is ONLY the women) say that she feels "guilty" for wanting to do something for herself or that she enjoys time to herself away from everyone else I may just have to start tweeting.  Don't make me do it, you know it will suck.

Remember ladies, at the end of it all, it is your life and you have the power to do with this time you have what you want.  Don't let anyone tell you any differently.  Do what your gut AND your heart tell you is right and trust me, at the end of it all, do not ignore your gut because there is a great chance that "regret' only visits when you are not listening and paying attention.

Onward and upward my friends!
Jen

Your Day, Your Choice - Just 24 Hours in a Day

How much of who we are and what we do is attributable to conscious choice or is there such a thing in this world we live in right now?

So, the other day I found myself with a captive audience of young professional women in my office in Williamson County - some married, some not, some with kids, some with none - and if you know me or you've ever read my FB posts you know there is not much I love more than a captive audience and a microphone.  So, I took the opportunity to share my thoughts about some of those age-old issues women at large professional service firms are bumping up on a daily basis and of course, some words of wisdom that were shared with me when I was a bright eyed young professional woman starting at a large law firm that I actually found to be helpful and keep in mind every day:

• Take your days off each year - no one is going to walk into your office and tell you you've been working too hard and should take a vacation.  It is your time, manage it and take time off when you can because you will make up for it another day.
• Manage up - make the manager's job easier and make the manager look good and you will look good. Treat your manager like your customer because that is your customer and you want him/her to know that you understand how it works.
• Be clear, be concise and be honest - I have a hard time with the concise part, but the clear and honest part I can do.
• Apologize when it is warranted, but do not default to "I'm sorry."
• Better to ask forgiveness than permission 98% of the time.

However, you know I had to throw something out there that would raise some eyebrows and I think found it when I looked around the room and exclaimed:

 

Can we please stop talking about "work/life balance" and just start dealing with the fact that we all have 24 hours in a day and 7 days in a week & for most of us, how we spend those 24 hours and each of those 7 days is our choice? 

Of course, I did not let the room sit in silence for long. It felt like a long time, but was probably only thirty seconds.  Five years ago I might have wondered, "oh no, did I cross the line?"  Not now, not after years of working and playing in this world.  Nope, I may have learned not to fill silence when the boss is speaking (thanks Mike Rissman wherever you are) or someone else in charge, but when I have the floor and no one else is speaking up, well then, like any good attorney, I will answer my own question.

Yes, many don't have a choice, but if you are sitting in this office right now there is a good chance even if you don't think there are options, you choose to be here and every day you have a choice as to how you will spend your 24 hours and what you will do with those 7 days every week.

Sitting back to think about that statement, I've started to realize that there is much more to it and I am probably not even scratching the surface.  I know I may have simplified it so now, with that being said, I will say we may have choices, but I doubt the choices are actually the ones we want to be considering.  The issue, it seems to me, is that we really could not "choose" to balance work and life even if we tried since those of us living and working in this "family friendly" country we call the United States are trying to make "choices" in a system that is fundamentally flawed, twisted or even perhaps, just broken. 

Either way, the unfortunate and distressing truth, I do believe, is that until we have white middle class men sitting at the same table pondering if there is a "right" time to start a family and what it might do to their career, talking about how hard it is to leave a newborn with someone else at just a few weeks or even a few months of age, discussing the issues with finding and affording quality daycare and having to respond to co-workers, friends or maybe even family asking them whether they feel guilty going back to work and letting someone else "raise" their children we will just have to continue to pretend that there are "choices" to make that could result in a work/life balance. 

 

The expectation is the perception and the perception is the reality - your work is your life and your life is your work. The two are intertwined and you have just got to figure it out while also working to change the fundamentally flawed system by educating others and making it every one's concern that there are families having to choose every day between keeping a job by paying for the bus and paying a baby sitter or buying groceries. Luckily, I am not one of those people.

As a professional, who happens to also be a woman, a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother and a friend, every day I try to take my 24 hours and make a conscious effort to be "present" in my personal life while also making my way across the jungle gym (thank you Sheryl Sandberg - http://leanin.org/) that is my career path.  As an educated professional woman my "choices" are really not a matter of survival, but they are a matter of being happy in my personal and professional life.  If you know me, you know I don't like to lose.

Reflecting on my choices over the years I recognize that if I were at a law firm I would be a partner by now.  Maybe I should have more money by now. But, you know what, right now, I make choices that make sense for my family and more importantly for me and the person I want to be today and tomorrow not who I was yesterday.

My husband and I chose at 37 and 36 respectively to start a family after 14 years together. We waited intentionally and we made a choice to start our family together. It was a choice we made and it was the best choice I've made thus far.

Every day, I make the choices in how I want to spend my 24 hours.  Why? Because I know, although I don't want to think about it, that some day I won't have a tomorrow and I may not be here next week.  I also know that some day if I am still around, my little man will not want to hug my neck when he wakes up or want me to lay down with him when he goes to bed.  But right now, today, this week, this is my life and that little blond haired blue eyed wonder is mine and he depends on me and his Dad to make his every day a good one full of learning and love.

 

I get up at 5:30 every morning except maybe Saturday and Sunday.  Why? Because I need time for me and my child and husband sleep until 7 a.m.  I exercise because it keeps me relatively sane or at least keeps me from throttling people. This is a choice I make.

 

 

I run on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I run with one of my 5 dogs and one or two of the 4 good girlfriends who often get up to run with me.  I go to boot camp at 6am on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I am home by 7:15 and have time to spend 45 minutes with my family while they eat breakfast before everyone runs off to their own little corner of the world for the day.  I don't get to the office until 9:00 a.m. This is a choice I make.

 

I come home every day by 6:00 if I can, why?  Because the work will still be there tomorrow or I can do it after the child goes to sleep at 8:00, but the 16 month old eats at 6:30 and gets a bath at 7.  We have a schedule and I am part of that routine.  I want to see him and kiss those little cheeks. This is a choice I make.

I cook. I used to cook a lot for a lot of people, but now I find I mostly cook for the small person that calls me Momma.  The hubster and I may eat an organic frozen pizza and a salad because it is 8pm and we just put the Whitster to bed.   This is a choice I make.

 

I choose to work in an accounting office in Brentwood, because they are good people, I have great clients, the work is challenging and interesting and they value my strengths and push me to get better in those weak areas.  I have flexibility and autonomy.  Sometimes, it is may be a little too much as I can wander and yes, I choose to work here despite the fact that it is in Brentwood. I make less money than I did when I left the law firm in Chicago in 2005, but I make more than I made at the state and federal government jobs.  I have a "billable hour" but the choice I made to work where I work means that the billable hour is not even close to the same requirement of the one I fled from 8 years ago when we moved to Nashville. This is a choice I made.

I choose to send my son to daycare not because I don't love him or want to raise him, but because I hate to tell ya, I am a much better mother when I have a day job outside of the home.  I am fully engaged with my child when I am with him and everything he does makes my heart sing. Well, almost everything. Could we choose for one of us to stay home?  Probably, but it would not be me.  We cannot afford it and even if we could, I would need to have at least a few days where I went somewhere and worked with people.  This is a choice we make together.

What will tomorrow bring?  More choices I hope.  Until then I think I will choose to have a glass or two of wine and sit in the play room with my son and my fantastic husband.  What about you?

 

 

 

Waiting for The Other Shoe to Drop & Baby Drama Puts Everything in Perspective - Three Posts in One

Days 34, 33 & 32 of the Final Countdown

The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds, and the pessimist fears this is true. - James Branch Cabell

I'll admit I've never considered myself to be an optimist. Although I don't think it is fair to say, at least not since my mid-20s, which has been quite a while, that I am a pessimist either.  I do think, well at least I hope, that those who know me now would say I tend to be quite optimistic in terms of thinking how we, as individuals and working together, can through gaining knowledge and sharing information, influence others and change our world (see the "Don't Say You Weren't Warned" disclaimer).  That being said, I think most people I know would also agree that my optimistic outlook on life is usually tempered by an acute awareness of the constraints of reality, the realization that not everyone else feels the same way or may want the same thing and the one trait I've had as long as I can remember - the expectation that even if I have all of the information and some of the power, there is a good chance I will get screwed (probably a topic for another time here and with the amazing Dr. D).  Not always a fun way to live, but at least this way you are rarely surprised when things go awry or at least that is the theory anyway.


It is my inability to trust completely that "everything is going to be o.k." in the face of information gathered and facts examined combined with the inherent belief that most people are usually looking out for themselves and their own interests over all else that makes me one of those people who not only enjoys buying cars, houses, and negotiating with the service provider, but is also pretty darn good at it.  As the self-appointed "bad cop" of my household I consider it my responsibility to make sure we have as much information as we can find in the time we have, we read the fine print before anyone signs, and discuss the pros and cons of every situation.  Come to think of it, it is a pretty exhausting role at times.


Needless to say, as far as I know, I've never been described as someone who is light, bubbly or carefree and although sometimes I often wonder what it must feel like to live a life a little less examined, a little more spontaneous and a lot more happy go lucky, I have to uneasily admit that I am most comfortable when things are going well, but are not perfect, and sometimes relieved when reality bites me in the ass.  Apparently it is only then that I can really start to relax and appreciate the good times/things in my life.  Yep, I may be kind of screwed up, but I would prefer to think it makes me interesting. 


All of this is my long-winded way of explaining and/or rationalizing a few things in my own mind (again, refer to "Why I Write"): 

1. why it took seven years of dating to get married and seven years of marriage before we were ready to add a child to our family,
2. why after getting pregnant the first month we tried I have spent time each week, month and trimester trying to quiet that pesky voice way back in my head saying "this has been way too easy," 
3. my fear that I'll somehow "screw up" my child by forcing my "healthy doses of reality" on him and prevent him from achieving his own state of nirvana or something like that, and 
4. why I keep my appointments with the amazing Dr. D each month.

"Waiting for the other shoe to drop": to await an event that is expected to happen, due to being casually linked to another event that has already been observed. 

- The Urban Dictionary

As I have already mentioned several times, I have a fabulous therapist (Dr. D) and an amazing husband that do a great job keeping me "sane" in a host of ways including counter balancing my occasional foray into the dark "what if" world with the reassurance that "it is all going to be o.k." and usually they are right.  In fact, throughout our pregnancy that has been their mantra "it is all going to be o.k." as they look at me with that bemused and puzzled look men get when they think you are being a little nutty and again, for the most part, they've been right.  For the first 33 weeks of our pregnancy things went so well I just could not believe our luck and I mean it, I just could not believe it.  Don't get me wrong, I did not want to think anything would or could go wrong, but as I have mentioned before several times (see "Who You Calling Old?" post) at this point in my life I know way too much from reading and life experience about all of the things that can go wrong during pregnancy.  


Of course the first trimester sort of sucked as I felt like I had a massive hangover from weeks 6 through 13 - like I had been out until 2 a.m. partying each night drinking tequila and red wine, but without any of the "fun" of the partying.  The good and kind of sad news if you think about it was I know how to function with a hangover as I have had several years of practice so I was able to work through the discomfort and for the most part keep going as usual for those 7 weeks.  After week 13 the "all day sickness" and exhaustion subsided and I got to enjoy 17 weeks of good health, energy and positive news at each doctor's appointment.  Despite those lingering fears that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness right before sleep in bed at night, all of our doctor's appointments showed the pregnancy was "low risk," our genetic tests came back clean, the baby was growing and I was able to work out with my girls at the gym and even keep running for quite a while, albeit a little bit slower and not as far as my running friends, but I was still running.  Then, without warning, after my 33 week appointment the other shoe dropped.

Baby Drama Puts Everything in Perspective

Best guess is it all started to go downhill in December as the holiday party season began along with cold and flu season.  Take a pregnant woman whose body is busy growing a baby and apparently not focused on fighting potential illness* and who is not "sterilizing" with any alcoholic beverages and throw her in a room of 50 to 300 people shaking hands, hugging and having close conversations while also eating food off of buffet tables (you know a pregnant woman must eat) and you apparently have a recipe for disaster. 


*pregnancy observation #1 - from what I can tell from my non-scientific info gathering, most pregnant women have at least one cold/flu or stomach bug during their 10 month pregnancy journey and some unlucky ladies have more than one illness on multiple occasions or one they cannot shake for months at a time.


So, after catching a flu bug from the first weekend of parties and suffering through it while working for one week I naively thought I was safe to attend a second weekend of parties where I, along with at least five other folks, promptly contracted a stomach virus (thanks Edgefield Holiday party). At my 31 week appointment I could barely speak and had lost 4 pounds, but everything measured o.k. and the doctors just said to be sure to hydrate and get some rest. Crisis averted or so we thought.


Only two weeks later at my 33 week appointment I measured "small"** for the first time and was scheduled for an ultrasound the next day just to make sure all was well with the munchkin and nothing was going on with me.  No obvious emergency, I even went to my regular Wednesday morning East Park boot camp class the next morning and worked a full day then headed to my ultrasound where Zach, who happened to take the week off for the holidays, met me so he could see the bambino in what we thought would be our last ultrasound before the big birthday in February 2012. Oh how wrong we were.  


** pregnancy observation #2 - measuring fundal height is a holdover from days before ultrasounds and can be inaccurate, however, it is still used by most o.b. doctors to monitor the mother and baby's growth throughout the pregnancy and the mother's fundal height should correspond with the number of weeks she is pregnant. 


From the beginning of the ultrasound things were not going our way - we were greeted with the words no couple who has researched and decided to have a natural childbirth, logged over 20 hours of natural birthing classes (2 hours every Thursday for 10 weeks), and hired and bonded with a doula want to hear - "did you know your baby is breech?"  Well no, of course we did not know that, but that became absolutely irrelevant as the ultrasound continued. The ultrasound tech took the baby's measurements, checked the blood and oxygen levels, and measured the amniotic fluid.  All I heard was "the baby is measuring small" and "your amniotic fluid looks pretty low" followed by "are you going back up to see your doctor after this?"*** To which we responded that we were not instructed to do so, but based on her question it seemed like a good idea.  She agreed and upstairs we went.


*** pregnancy observation #3 - The ultrasound tech is not supposed to tell you much if things are not good, they need the radiologists & doctors to review the results & do the talking, but you can definitely tell when there is something up and a tech's question/ recommendation about going to see your doctor after the ultrasound is often not a good sign. 


Once back in the doctor's office my doctor's nurse came in and explained to Zach and I that my amniotic fluid was really low at a 5 where the normal should be 8 to 20 and that the baby was measuring really small for gestational age (10th percentile for 33 weeks) and these two things combined with low fetal movement, which I explained was because it was after lunch and he was asleep, were scary factors that meant they wanted me to go straight to the Centennial Women's Hospital ER.  The nurse explained that the baby's heart rate, blood and oxygen levels looked good so the umbilical cord was working, but they were concerned that the placenta might not be providing the necessary nutrients or failing altogether and we might have to deliver him sooner rather than later.  Did I mention that the other show was apparently a combat boot?


After mopping up the tears, letting Zach and the nurse hug me (you know I was pathetic) and help me pull myself somewhat together (of course neither Zach or the nurse bothered to tell me that I had mascara smeared all over my face, but they were so sweet I can forgive that), Zach and I made our way to the ER, where I again burst into tears (the nurses there are amazing in dealing with panicked pregnant women by the way) and then was put in a bed for at least one hour of monitoring and a test to see if there was an amniotic fluid leak.**** Upon my o.k., Zach then ran home to let the dogs out and pack a bag in case we had to stay in the hospital for more than just the hour.


**** pregnancy observation #4 - checking for an amniotic fluid leak is not like checking for a leak in a tire, although the image when I was asked that question did make me giggle, it is more like taking a pregnancy test with someone else doing the work, but takes 10 minutes to develop - a very long 10 minutes.


By the time Zach made it back to my bedside it was clear that the baby was not in distress as his heart rate and non-stress responses were all good including fetal movement (see I told you he was asleep, but I bet the crying and drama woke him up) and the amniotic fluid test was negative so we were sent home somewhat relieved, but still scared out of our minds with instructions to rest, eat fat and protein, hydrate and come back the next day for another ultrasound to see where we were.  Let's just say Zach took (and still takes) these instructions very seriously and my dinner that night while lying on the couch being forced to drink water and not get up except to go to the bathroom was the T-Bird (chicken, bacon and avocado) sandwich hand delivered from by my rock star hubs from Silly Goose.  We did not tell anyone what had happened since we did not know what had happened and we had no idea what would happen.  It just did not make any sense to worry anyone else until we had a better grasp on the situation.*****


***** pregnancy observation #5 - there are many times you have to look out for your baby, your partner and yourself first, which may mean excluding others from information or a situation in order to keep the emotions in check and manage the stress as much as possible. Of course, sometimes that may make others sad, mad or upset, but you just have to remind yourself that at the end of it all there will hopefully be a healthy baby to show for it and those who care about you only care about that.


The next morning (Thursday, December 29) the drive back to the doctor's office and the time waiting for the ultrasound was quite quiet and painful for both of us as we were scared and hopeful at the same time.  A different ultrasound tech saw us this time and again immediately asked about the breech positioning.  At this point I wanted to scream "who the hell cares about his position?" but refrained as I know that it is early in the morning and she does not have all of the background (though you would think you could take the time to read the chart).  I could not watch the screen and turned away once I saw and heard that his heart was beating and he was moving around.  Again you can tell that things are not great simply by the concerned expression in the tech's face and clipped phrases and low and behold my amniotic fluid had dropped from a 5 to a 2 in 24 hours (now in the danger zone). Upon hearing this I start to shake and again burst into tears. Zach triest to clean up and reassure yet again and we then trudged (really the only word for it) back up to the doctor's office again where I told the sweet receptionist who now knows me on a first name basis that we were back to see the doctor and it did not sound good.  


This time the doctor came in with the nurse a whirl of blue/green scrubs and concerned expressions.  Zach and I were told that they still had no idea what was going on, but they were going to do their best to find out so I was to report to the 6th floor of Centennial Women's Hospital (the "Special Care" floor) and get in a bed.  I would be there for at least 24 hours for monitoring of the baby and of my fluid levels.  The doctor explained that we should prepare ourselves for the likelihood of a "January baby not a February baby," and that there was a chance that we might have to deliver him in the next week if the fluid levels remained low. This was when, through the heaving sobs (which I don't do often, but once it starts cannot stop) I asked if it was possible that all of the crying might have reduce my amniotic fluid even more. Yes, it was my attempt at some humor (kind of) and our nurse did with a hint of a smile respond that it was a great question, but highly doubtful.  Of course, she had not seen me cry before and had not seen my sobbing in full force so hey, I thought it was really kind of a valid question.  


So, after 33 weeks (apparently really far along by "Special Care" standards) of "low risk" pregnancy, including abstinence from alcohol, any meds and 1/4 of the caffeine I normally drink as well as 10 weeks of natural childbirth classes, I found myself lying in a hospital bed strapped to machines, poked with needles to take blood and give me steroids to mature the baby's lungs in case they had to bring him out of his studio apartment and labeled as a "high risk" pregnancy and you know what, I did not care about anything happening to me. At that moment and every moment since all I have wanted was for this child, our son, who I have not met, but already love like crazy to be o.k..  Nothing else mattered to me at that moment or has mattered since but having my husband by my side and my baby safe.  Nothing like a little baby drama to put everything in perspective.  Of course at that time we did then call a few (very few) people just to let them know where we were, but still did not share the information with all of our family or friends as again, we just needed to deal with it in our own way until we knew what was going on.  


"Success in marriage does not come merely through finding the right mate, but through being the right mate."  ~Barnett R. Brickner


I must also say that as I was losing my shit over the 48 hours we were bounced from doctor's office to hospital to home and back again, Zach was the rock who kept repeating, no promising in true "best husband ever" style, that everything was going to be o.k. and guess what, eventually he was right yet again (and this time I don't mind admitting it).  However, it would take 24 hours on the "Special Care" floor, another ultrasound, multiple blood tests, several discussions with doctors about the best and worst case scenarios, many more tears, NYE's weekend confined to the house and bed rest and another week of ultrasounds before I started to believe it.  I guess this is where the idea of relativity and perspective again comes in because what is "o.k." to us now is based on our experience and right now, at this moment, things are o.k..  


No, the situation is not how I planned and it is not ideal as we are still considered "high risk," the baby is still small for his gestational age, but putting on weight (now up to 4.6 lbs), he is still breech and for the duration of our pregnancy (hopefully 4 more weeks) we will be carefully monitored and very medical with me on modified bed rest working from home and visiting the doctor twice a week for ultrasounds. But today, I can say that Zach and I have made the transition to parenthood and are thankful to be where we are today - home together with a wiggling little man living and growing in his studio apartment the lease for which ends next month.  Now, we just have to get him to put his butt where his head is and his head where his butt is, but that is now a minor concern and another story.


Interested in the rest of the details of our little medical adventure so far? I am guessing no, but if you are, stay tuned for the rest of our medical journey including 24 hours in "Special Care" and weeks of doctor's appointments as I'll post that later today under another heading - covering Days 31 & 30 (today) of the Final Countdown.  Why? Because I am really writing this all to be sure it is documented for our son more so than to bore you with the details so feel free to read it if you are interested and/or simply ignore it and move on to something more interesting.  Maybe by tomorrow I'll have moved on myself to something a little more light hearted, but I will make no promises.

The Final Countdown & A Letter to Baby Hagan Dier

The Soundtrack of my life right now - The Final Countdown 

Ask any pregnant woman and I am pretty sure she'll agree that once that second blue line showed up on that stick her life became a series of weeks marked by one specific day of the week. I never understood parents counting their child's age by weeks, but now, after having made it to 35 weeks (a.k.a. 8 months, 3 weeks) of pregnancy, I now understand that it takes over your brain. In case you are wondering, my life, since June 24th at 5:15 a.m. has been made up of a series of Mondays - each one with its own meaning and milestone (we'll get to that at a later date). Lately each Monday has become a celebration of the final countdown in our journey, bittersweet, yet thrilling at the same time.

For most of my life I've really believed that "success is a journey, not a destination." However, at this time in my life I am realizing that, success is both the journey AND the destination. 

When I started this blog and took the time to write a couple of posts we (the hubs and I) were only 1/3 of the way through this journey called pregnancy, but now, after a long hiatus (a topic for another time) including our 7th anniversary, our last Thanksgiving, Christmas, NYE and my birthday as the childless couple known as "Jen and Zach", several adventures and a little drama, we are in the homestretch with only 36 (give or take) more days until we hit that magic number of 40 weeks.  Our little man, yes, since I was last here we confirmed we are indeed welcoming a little man into the family, should arrive on or around February 14, 2012. Of course, given our recent "baby drama" (a topic for another time), the fact that this is our first child and that he is his parents' son, there is a slim chance Mr. Hagan (no hypen) Dier (legally a Dier) will actually make his grand entrance on time or on budget as like any child he is already on pace to blow the budget (again, another topic for another time).  

Keeping all of this in mind I've even been gracious enough to give him an approved window of time letting him know he is more than welcome to come after February 6th (39 weeks) but before February 20th (41 weeks). Although at this time I am in no hurry for him to make his appearance, I have reminded the munchkin that this is not an open-ended lease, rather it is a month-to-month lease and Mommy will need her body back pretty soon. That being said, for right now I like him where he is as I realize that is probably the last stretch of time in my life where I have my amazing husband all to myself and I can be sure that my son has everything he needs, I know exactly where he is and what he is doing and I know he is safe (again, we'll discuss this topic at another time).

I honestly cannot even begin to tell you (and I promise not to try) how much I've learned in the past 35 weeks or how guilty I've felt for being an absolute failure at keeping either a pregnancy journal or updating this blog to document this journey. So, in an attempt to asuage my guilt and sense of failing my child before he is even born I am committing as of today to posting something each day for the next 36 days or at least until the little man decides to make his appearance. Yes, most of these blog posts will be about pregnancy as that is all I have going on right now (again, another topic, another time), but I hope they'll each include something interesting beyond my simple observations and experiences during this journey and maybe, just maybe, you'll get a good laugh or maybe even a good cry out of it. Don't say you were not warned. Proceed with caution.

Letter to Baby Hagan Dier from Mom, handwritten December 15, 2012 - thanks to our doula Lauren Cardwell for asking us to write a letter to our baby & for supporting us through this entire process from birth education, the decision to go natural to our detours along the way. She will be there with us regardless of how the childbirth process proceeds, she is amazing and you need to know her!

Dear Baby Hagan Dier (sorry, we don't want to name you until we meet you, only seems fair and although you will technically be a "Dier" you'll have "Hagan" in your name and always have the option of hyphenating down the road - smile, but I digress),

Writing this today comes at a very strange time in our journey together as I've been pretty sick over the past week and unable to shake the bugs that have attacked me due to carrying you. However, I would not trade it for the world. With only 10 weeks to go, 9 weeks now, I got a little cocky. I think your Dad and I both did. In fact, I overheard him the weekend before I caught the cold bug bragging about how great the pregnancy has been and how lucky we've been so far. In truth, we have been very lucky - lucky to get pregnant with you just as we started trying (gross to you I am sure), lucky that you've been healthy and have all of your fingers and toes, and lucky to have each other to share the pregnancy journey with.

It really does fly by, those 40 weeks (10 months, not really 9), but drag at the same time as we are both anxious to meet you and see who you look like - do you have hair? will you be tall or short? blonde or brunette?  will you have your Dad's gorgeous blue eyes or the Dier nose? Only time will tell.

Your father and I have been together for over 14 years by now, we were just wee ones when we got together, but that is for another time, and we are ready to add another member to our party. We've had an amazing adventure so far and are both committed to making your life one that is interesting and full of love and laughter.  We may not always like each other, but we always love each other and I am sure you'll feel the same way about us and we'll, at times, feel the same way about you.  However, you will always be our son and we will always be here for you no matter what the world throws our way. 

Your Dad and I were lucky to have parents who raised us to forgive, give, care and relish the good times. Our parents are not perfect (shh, don't tell them) and sometimes I wonder how we all survived our teenage years, but they did teach us both how we want to raise a family and of course, a few things we want to do differently. You will find that your grandparents are different from us and I am sure one day you'll find you are different from us. My hope is that the day you decide to partner with another and if you decide to bring a child into the world you look at our family and your parents' relationship and think "that is what I want - we had so much fun." That, as simple as it is, is my primary mission in raising you. 

I know I won't be a perfect mother, but I promise I am going to do my best to be a good one and put you in a position that you can do anything you dream.  As for your Dad, I honestly don't know where to start except from the point that you are an incredibly lucky boy and I am an incredibly lucky woman to have him in our lives. The one consistent thing I've heard during the fourteen years your father and I have been together is "Zach is going to be a great Dad" and I totally believe it.  

To put it into perspective, during our wedding in New Orleans (November 13, 2004) we wrote and recited our own vows and your Dad promised to "be the best husband ever" and after seven years of marriage and almost eight months of pregnancy I can say he is well on his way.  Your Dad is one of the most caring, compassionate and funny people I've ever known.  It does not hurt that he's also one of the most intelligent people I've ever met and a damn fine Scrabble player. Your Dad is loyal and loving and I truly hope you take after him in so many ways.

Our time with you during this pregnancy has been exciting and sobering and has given me a chance to really reflect on the many reasons your Dad and I make a good team. Thank you for that and for the opportunity to be your Mom - I hope you find we are a good choice for parents and if nothing else, we are going to have some fun! Let the adventures begin little one.

Love Always, 

Your Mom

Tomorrow - waiting for the other shoe to drop and how "baby drama" puts everything in perspective

Who you calling old?

Often throughout my childhood and adolesence, I would overhear my Mom, sometimes in a wondering tone and other times as a somewhat matter-of-fact complaint, state that she did not feel as old as she looked and she sometimes did not recognize the person she saw in the mirror. She was my Mom, she was the same age as everyone else's mothers (she was 26 when she had me) and I had no idea what she was talking about. 

Well, now I do.  Apparently, it happens to the best of us.  

One day you are worrying about who to invite to your first slumber party and the next your begging to shave your legs and fretting over what to wear to your first day of high school. The next thing you know you are excited about getting your driver's license and then ordering your class ring. In a blink of an eye, you are graduating from college, saying goodbye and moving into your own place. Then, before you know it, you've gotten married, acquired a mortgage and you find yourself in the bathroom at a concert washing your hands and upon catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you realize you are no longer one of the "young, hip" folks in the joint.  

Like my Mom, I am not sure how it happened. However, unlike my Mom's experience I cannot say it bothers me in the least.  Heck, I am married to a perpetual teenager (in a good way) who still thinks we are way cooler and I am cuter than all of the young hipsters that surround us at these shows, but I do have to say it surprised and frightened me the first time I looked in the mirror and did not recognize that woman looking back at me. Of course, that was at the tender age of 29.

Now, at the age of 36 I usually don't even notice anyone being "younger"or "older" than me. My closest friends range from 24 years old to 50-something years young and I don't even notice.  I am more comfortable in my own skin (thanks to a fabulous trainer named Misty, years in the gym and a diligently patrolled diet), with who I am as a person and who we are as a married couple than I ever have been in the 14 years I've been with Zach.  

In fact, it is the 14 years Zach and I have spent together and the feeling of comfort in who we are now as individuals and as a couple that made Zach and I realize earlier this year that we were finally ready to try and welcome another person into our little corner of the world.  Lucky for us, we hit the baby lottery and now are expecting our first (oh, so planned and oh, so wanted) munchkin on or about February 14, 2012. The crazy part? The doctor's office refers to me as someone of "advanced maternal age."

I appreciate that you think I only look 32, but my eggs know they are 36.

How is it that we have responsibly waited until we were actually ready to be parents that won't raise a complete nut job and I am in what is supposed to be one of the most exciting times of my life that I am now so keenly aware and constantly reminded of how much "older" I am than the average woman in Nashville having her first child? Not that it bothers me, because it really doesn't. Heck, most people don't even know how old I am and I am not ashamed to admit my age and that it is my first child to anyone who asks.

No, what bothers the hell out of me is just the blasted term "advanced maternal age" and the fact that every pregnancy book, magazine and website define it as a woman giving birth to a child after the age of 35.  Although they've gotten better about not trying to scare you completely to death, most materials still treat 35 as some magic number that signals the end of fertility, uncomplicated pregnancy and a dramatically decreased chance for a healthy delivery and a healthy baby. Turns out no matter how young you look, your eggs are your true biological age and there is no age defying treatment available for them.

Although it may be true that your eggs are older (they were older at 33 and 34 as well) and you may not get pregnant as quickly (you probably need to know when you ovulate and have lots of sex anyway) and yes, you have a slightly increased chance of a chromosomal abnormality after the age of 35 (so slight it should not even be a statistic), the fact remains that many women are choosing to start their families at a more "mature" age for a host of reasons. Many of us are in better shape than the 25 and 30 year olds having babies, we are more financially stable, more patient and honestly, we are going still going to make kick ass, hot Moms.  More importantly, most women over 35 (hopefully including me) who don't have a family history of problems are having uncomplicated, healthy pregnancies and delivering healthy, happy babies that are going to be amazing little people running this country someday. 

My super sweet male friend, "well, getting pregnant is the easy part." Hyper-sensitive, older Jen, "actually, no, that is not necessarily true." 

The only downside to being 36 and having your first child? Too much institutional knowledge and it can make you crazy if you let it. 

I remember the first time a friend confided in me that she had had a miscarriage. I was living in Chicago, I was 28 and she was 31. She was clearly still upset and I was completely floored. I had never known anyone who had had a miscarriage or any problem getting pregnant, or so I thought. That same friend had two more miscarriages before she and her husband were able to get pregnant and give birth to two beautiful childen - when she was 33 and again at 36.  She was a lucky one. Sadly, it is so much more common than most people know.

Crazy that a 16 year old can get pregnant after one night of unprotected sex and then get pregnant again "accidentially," while so many amazing women in loving relationships around us struggle with fertility issues, suffer repeated miscarriages, premature births and even the devasting loss of a child. It is this institutional knowledge that is the major downside to being of an "advanced maternal age." It is these things I've seen that linger around the edges of my thoughts and often threaten to dampen the excitement of planning for our new family member. The questions are there. How did we get so lucky? Why are we different? Will everything be ok?  It takes a heck of a lot of willpower to keep the crazy "what if" thoughts at bay, but I'm trying. 

Would it be different if I was 25 or 30? Yes, I would probably not know about a triple screen or the odds of miscarriage with an amnioscientsis.  However, at the end of the day, you could not pay me to be 25 again or even 30 again - "advanced maternal age" be damned.