mother's day.

I missed out on Mother's Day 2010 by a few weeks, very heavily pregnant with Jack, developing a lovely case of PUPPS, and just trying to get a few hours sleep a night through the heartburn, so this is my third Mother's Day. And as with everything, its meaning has changed for me. Again, I will NEVER be one of those people who say I'm so happy I got cancer, it changed my life...because, umm, hello, yes, it changed my life but I could do without that, thanks. I will admit it changed my perspective though. Now, don't get me wrong, I would love to get the mixer I've always wanted and promised myself, or maybe the ring I've been coveting for 10 years now, a surprise getaway, or hell, a card and some flowers would be spiffy. Okay, so I still have mortal wants and desires, cancer doesn't make you a saint people, but overall, while some mothers are out there bemoaning their lack of gifts or time to sleep in or breakfast in bed, I am content with the sheer existence of the fact that I'm here and I'm privileged to get to mother these kids. God willing, I get to spend many more mother's days with them, ingesting the fact that I have had another year to know them, for them to know me. When I was still in the "fog of war" right after my diagnosis, when I was walking around with the 1,000 yard stare, one of the first things that scared me terribly, one of the first things that I cried to my husband was not about me per se, but I sat there looking at him, pleading with him, that "I can't leave Jack, he doesn't even know me yet." The tears flow just thinking about that, because I can relive that moment all too clearly in my mind.

While I strongly believe now that I will be around for a while, I am assured of the fact that no one, not any one of us, knows what is going to happen, and that anything could happen at anytime, which is why I am still compelled to write these things. And I'm also here to reflect on and acknowledge the fact that my kids have endured a pretty shitty year themselves. For this, I have more unwarranted guilt than most can imagine.

Baby, I'm so sorry for this past year. I'm sorry that I got sick, I'm sorry that sometimes I was very sad and you didn't understand. I'm glad you didn't understand. I'm sorry that sometimes I got short with you, and it was not your fault - I was scared or sad or worried or tired and sometimes I am ashamed to say I yelled at you louder than I should have, or got mad at you for things I shouldn't have. I'm sorry that I couldn't play with you as much as I wanted, after two surgeries and chemo and radiation and a new baby. I'm sorry we couldn't do all of the cool and fun things that I have "pinned" for us to do. I'm sorry you got cheated out of a normal Halloween and Christmas. I'm sorry for this whole year.

You have been amazing through all of this, and you are a wonder to me. A year that would have been enough change for you just with your sister arriving, when just navigating the world of being 2 is hard enough, you had to deal with all of mama's crap too.

I pray you will not remember much of this year, that you will remember the 95% good and forget the 5% bad that keeps me up at night, and I pray we will never have to relive it. You don't know how much I look forward to watching you grow, how much the thought of you developing into a little man more and more each day gives me reasons... reasons for so many things.

My little girl, who I don't even really know yet, yet have known forever. My little mini-me. You surely did not ask for this, to be subjected to tests and poking and prodding and toxic poisons before you were even born. But you, my amazing, stunning little beauty came through with flying colors. I think all of our doctors knew you would be fine, they were all pulling for both of us so very much. But when I was in the prep room before going to the operating room to have you, the one nurse came in, and she, not knowing us, started listing all of the myriad things that may be wrong with you, insinuating that I should expect them to immediately whisk you away, terrifying me since up until then everyone was completely optimistic that you would likely need no intervention. She reiterated that the entire NICU team would be in the delivery room, waiting to pounce on you. Well, she didn't know you did she? You came out screaming and bright and pink and BIG for 35 weeks and 5 days. And you needed no help at all, as I knew you wouldn't. Everyone in that room was so happy, for both of us. I am so privileged that you chose me, even with all you had to go through to get here. I am so very eager to witness who you become. And also to see you grow into all of that tulle I have for you. :) Again, even though I didn't know it, you were exactly what mama needed.

To both of you, thank you - thank you for choosing me to be your mother, thank you for your resiliency and forgiveness, thank you for letting me into your world, thank you for bringing amazement to my world. No matter what happens, no matter where life takes our little family, always always remember the inimitable words of Christopher Robin:

"Promise me that you will always remember: you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think."

Chemo brain

For those of you who have been pregnant, you know pregnancy brain is a real thing. Some may get it worse than others, but for the most part, every woman I know who has been pregnant has had some degree of pregnancy brain. Now, try being pregnant AND going through chemo and I often wonder how I even managed to keep Jack dressed and safe last year. Thankfully, the pregnancy brain has subsided, but the chemo brain is definitely still showing its pretty little head. For me, the biggest effect that I have noticed (maybe there are others that I just don't remember that I've noticed, who knows!) is that I often have a very difficult time finding the word/s I want to use. For someone who had made their living as a writer (not the fun kind) and always took pride in her slightly colorful use of vocabulary, to not be able to place the correct word that I want to say or write, to literally sit there for a good length of time searching my addled brain for what I am looking for, is absolutely maddening. Don't get me wrong, I forget things much more easily now also - some bills have fallen by the wayside, and this is from a person who is exceedingly careful a.k.a. tight with money and a stickler for paying bills on time; I leave things in incorrect places and then either forget about them or wonder where they are - what I do NOT do is forget anything my husband tells me, so when he tries to say I told you that but you must have forgotten....no. :) Anyway, here is an article saying I'm not crazy! At least about this...



http://www.breastcancer.org/research-news/20130425-1

33% done...

Not a big number, but it's a milestone for me in this radiation business. I don't love it. But I think after I resoved myself to it this week I've come to a tacit agreement with it that we just go about our business -  I go in, I leave, I slather on my creams and potions to counteract the burn in between, and in 21 more business days it will be over. That is all.

To all, have a wonderful Cinco de Mayo tomorrow, be safe, have fun, enjoy!

Here.

 

Today I was sending out some invitations for my son's third birthday party -THIRD birthday! And then I started thinking how it was last year around his birthday when I started noticing the mass, and assumed it was hormonal changes from the pregnancy, and how a few weeks after that - well, you know. Amazing. Even though I realize that May will be a loooooong month of radiation, in all actuality it will probably go by before I know it. Soon my boy will be three, and I will look back on the past year with so many conflicting emotions. I have gone through hell and back and by the grace of God, maybe won't have to go there again. Through the worst crap of my life, I've watched my baby boy grow up before my eyes, and had another baby on top of that. I am here. Here to celebrate another year that my boy is on this earth, making his mark, finding his way, learning who he is and what life is. Here to celebrate with him, here for him to learn who I am and what I want for him, here to try to convey even one ounce of the weight of my love for him, here to be his mama.

You might be a redneck...

If your neck is actually red because you are apparently radiosensitive and start turning red after the third treatment! Go me! I asked my tech on Tuesday, "umm, so is it normal to start turning red already?" and he laughed and said, "nooo, we usually don't see skin changes until after week two (ten treatments). But that means you are radiosenstitive so this should all be working really really well on you!" Fabulous! I'll have no skin left, but awesome! Ugh.

6 Months.

Realized I forgot to post a picture of my beautiful little outcome of this whole mess...six whole months old! Where does the time go? (Although it does seem to go simultaneously quicker and much slower - at 4 in the morning when she won't go back to sleep and wants to party)

My big little tiny girl...

Finally

I am finally starting radiation tomorrow...not that I want to. I think if I had trepidation about any part of this process, this would be what concerned me the most. But, we do what we must, and I must get irradiated like a crispy critter. So, 33 business days from tomorrow I shall be done with this part of the process and I will dance a jig. I didn't get as many tattoos as I thought I was going to get, and they are in far different places than I expected, but I did get drawn on today like a battle plan gone awry. I'm waiting for someone tomorrow to tell me I have a little something on my neck, sort of like people have told me I have a little dirt on my forehead when I have ashes on Ash Wednesday.

Off to an early morning of zappy zaps.

How...

 

This is what I woke up to this morning. Late last night, we heard what I thought was someone dropping something heavy into the back of a pickup truck. What happened was a guy on the next street, who had many mental issues and was very much the oddball in the neighborhood - think a suburban unabomber - blew himself up (not known whether intentionally or accidentally) and left other unexploded pipe bombs around his house. All of my neighbors across the street were evacuated last night and police, fire, hazmat, FBI, and news trucks covered our neighborhood all day long. A police car was parked directly in front of my house, blocking the street, for the better part of today.

 

 

 

Then, after the kids went down for their nap, and right after our neighborhood drama had started to subside, I started seeing facebook posts about the Boston Marathon. Literally 15 minutes after I saw my brother post pictures of the marathon as he and his family sat watching on part of the course, I saw posts about the bombings. And watched the news with a growing sickening feeling all afternoon long. It was a horror movie on a loop.  

 

 

When women are pregnant, they are often asked 'How can you bring a child into this world, with all of this hate, madness, destruction, war, etc. etc?' It is a legitimate question I think, one that I have posited to myself on occasion. And occasions like today certainly validate the question, and give me pause.

 

 

 I obviously do not regret having my kids, but how do I protect them from things like this? And I have to realize, I don't, and I don't want to. I don't want a hair on their heads to ever be touched, but this crap, this madness - it's a part of this world. They will know it exists, but they will also know that abounding goodness exists, that some people are evil, but most people are amazing. I want them to know that while events like these will make their heart hurt, their heart will hurt from wonderful things also, from having too much love and pride and joy to hold. I want them to learn that while their eyes will see ugliness that they didn't know existed, their eyes will also make them gasp at a dazzlingly white snow covered forest, or an ocean that falls off the end of the earth, or the sky right after a rainstorm, or the first red leaf of fall, or their first look at their children.

 

 

I can bring kids into this world because within three hours after this horrific event, there were over 700 people offering rooms, sofas, futons, food, water, car rides, whatever, to strangers in need. I can bring kids into this world because there will always, always, be more people running towards chaos to help then people running away. I can bring kids into this world because runners ran right through the finish line and on toward the hospital to give blood. I can bring kids into this world because even before little girl was born, there were mamas lining up to feed her, to help people they didn't know. I can bring kids into this world because now I know, after this past year, that there is so much blinding beauty to behold, that there is more love than hate, that there is magic.

Blue skies....

My goodness, the sky was just an absolutely brilliant blue today. Believe me, I love a beautiful slate grey, threatening, cloudy sky, but really - who can argue with this?

USS Iowa

I mean, that's textbook California blue right there...

San Pedro harbor

 

 

The harbor water even looks amazing....

 

Can't argue with this handsome face, although he's learning to argue with me quite well as he speeds towards three...

 

Actually not terrible but as my hair - and subsequently my grey - grows out I need to get some henna going stat!






 

Overall, an awesome, fun day with the family visiting the USS Iowa. Tomorrow I am off to get mapped, which means I will be having another CT scan to determine where the radiation beams will go and will be tattooed in those spots. Not the next tattoo I was looking forward to, but nonetheless...

What we need.

(ocregister.com)
 

God gives us what we need, not what we want.

I never wanted a girl. To paraphrase a song I've never heard - never, ever, ever, ever, never, ever was I having a girl. Ever since I myself was small, or whenever I first started entertaining the juvenile desire to be a mother, I was adamant that I wanted boys. ONLY. Maybe it was because I grew up in a female-only household and was pretty much sick of the raging estrogen and resultant lunacy, maybe it was because most of the kids I grew up with, including the cousins I was closest to, were boys, maybe it was because I knew what shits girls could be and didn't ever want to have to deal with that.

As time went on, I amended my wish to be having a boy first. I desperately wanted a boy first, I think because I had harbored a unbridled desire from early childhood for an older brother (which when I was 35 I found out I actually had! and a younger sister! But that is an entirely different chapter in this book. Feel free to pre-order now.) Lo and behold Jack showed up as a VERY pronounced boy at my 20 week ultrasound and I was ecstatic. I remember driving back to work from the US and texting my friend "I have a penis in me!!!!" And I was blessed with a giant, beautiful, smart, funny, and extremely energetic little boy who tests me every day, who forces me to face my faults, who makes me desperately want to be a better mother, who made me a mama, who truly is my heart.

When we attempted to add number two to the family, my husband was already certain we would have a girl. In fact, before Jack, he was certain we would have a boy, then a girl, no matter what happened, what I wanted, whatever. That was it, that was the way it was to be. So, during my 13 week US, the Dr said "It's pretty obvious what it is if you want to know" which I automatically took to mean a boy, I mean, pretty obvious, right? He said, "Yep, pretty obvious it's a girl." The 20 week US confirmed it, although the tech was pretty pissed actually when we said, oh yeah, we know it's a girl. She was a little bent that her surprise factor was usurped. Oh well, the trials we live with. Obviously, you know what happens next - mama gets diagnosed with cancer and to be perfectly honest, as I've mentioned before, the whole "whoohoo, we're having a baby" excitement sort of fell by the wayside. We even, for a few days, did not know if we would be able to keep her.

But then the ground started to solidify again, and I started to breath, and she came. And all of a sudden, this not-quite-tomboy-but never-a-girly-girl started buying ruffly, frilly clothes in sizes that she won't wear for many many months, and that I desperately hunger to see her in. This little girl, who tenously climbed a mountain with me before she was even born, gave me more than she will ever ever know, she gave me another reason to believe. This little girl, who I only met five + months ago, gave me tangible visions of a future, of manis and pedis and dancing and tutus and glitter. This little girl, with her cornflower blue eyes a thread connecting her to her ancestors, a mirror image of me otherwise, puts her powder-soft hands on my face and twists my heart. I need this little girl to know that even though I didn't know that I wanted a girl, she was exactly what I needed, at exactly the right time.