I’ve been on and off various kinds of bed rest throughout my pregnancy —not because of anything obstetric thankfully but because of my Crohn’s. To make a long, long Braxton Hicks-filled story short, I went from being super excited that Cap and I were going to enjoy an exotic babymoon somewhere lush and piping hot, to being told that the closest I was getting to sounds of waves lapping on a coral beach was the sound of my toilet flushing.
Why is my kid wetting the bed? Anxiety? Night Terrors? Or just too much milk? Who knows? Some people call it the Twilight Zone. I call it.... The WET SPOT.
“MUMMYYYYYYYYYYYY.”
There’s a tone to the cry that cuts through my sleep and I’m already out of bed, stumbling towards my kid before my eyes are even open.
“I had an acci- Mummy I peed… Mummy it’s all wet… it just came out…” I can hear little sobs punctuate each word.
With my first full-term pregnancy the minutes stretched into languid hours and I ached with anticipation to be able to say ‘I’m 20 weeks’ or ‘I’m 7 months.’ I used to squeak a few extra days into it if I was asked how far along I was, wondering if I’d get caught for saying ‘I’m 21 weeks’ when I was really only 20 weeks and 3 days.
“It’ll be different in your second pregnancy. It’ll fly by.”
It hurts when everyone’s making announcements that they’re pregnant and you aren’t. You want to be happy for them but you’re also pissed off, frustrated, and resentful that you’re on the outside. And while social media platforms can be awesome, when it comes to infertility they’re just another five different ways to get a knife in the heart. #ouch
“What just happened there?” My psychiatrist said, watching the vast array of emotion flit across my face after she suggested I go back on Prozac during my pregnancy.
“So many women experience anxiety, depression, and PTSD during pregnancy . . . You’re not alone.”
I was back in familiar territory at Women’s College Hospital. I’d been part of their Reproductive Life Stages Program before, but this time, sitting in front of the psychiatrist, I felt twice as vulnerable.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder has managed to carve some pretty intricate logic-loopholes as it’s etched its path through my life. A leftover relic from fertility issues, miscarriages and separation, it’s cut me deeply. Now that I’m finally pregnant and safely into my second trimester I want to feel unbridled joy, but sometimes I feel terror and paralytic trepidation instead.
“Hmmm….Your symptoms don’t seem concurrent with your Crohn’s… let’s see what happens over the next couple weeks. It could actually be you adjusting to your new medication… if things are still acting up next month we’ll look at some more tests.”
The last 3 months of 2013 had been peppered with Crohn’s issues, and landed me in the hospital a few times. I’d had some new meds added to my already existing cocktail, and tried to focus on recovery.
Somebody please tell me why we can’t take peanut butter to school, but sending a highly infectious kid is totally fine?
I get why we introduce policies in schools, and I totally understand the ‘no peanut’ rule. Just so we’re clear this isn’t an attack on any existing policies or the policy makers. This is a plea to the common sense that I think falls through the cracks of harried daily parenting.
Introducing your kids to your new partner doesn't have to be scarier than farting in yoga class. Here's my second post about how I handled the Big Intro. If you missed the first part, you can check it out here.
Introducing your kids to your new partner can be one of the most nerve-wracking experiences. Ever.
When I was first single (post-separation), I was not thinking about dating. I didn’t once consider myself "available," I wasn’t getting out there, and sex was never on the forefront of my mind.
Those topics felt surreal and off-limits to me, somehow.
“So, I’m going to need you to go ahead and give me a semen sample.”
Ok. No. That’s not right.
What about—
“So the thing is, if I’m going to go and get my reproductive situation assessed for the future… then… maybe we should talk about the future… and when that might start.”
Not bad. A little Jerry McGuire-ish, but still down to earth. Was it maybe a little too clinical?
I spent some time in the hospital at the end of 2013, and although it wasn’t serious, it was enough to get me thinking about a part 2 for the 50 Things I Need To Tell My Kid article that I posted more than a year ago.
I’ve had Crohn’s for years, but I’ve been lucky enough to manage it with basic treatment (5-ASA drugs) and a few non-admittance visits to the hospital. This year, I wasn’t as lucky.
We have an inherent curiosity and imagination and it spans every generation of my family.
We like to ask questions and then hunt for the answers.
We like to discover and learn.
My favourite thing to hear is my kid saying “MUMMY LOOK! I found something!” or “Mummy, guess what I know!” and as a parent I feel like I’m constantly curating her toy collection and hunting for activities and interactions that nurture that specific kind of natural, organic response.
This past June I got the chance to emcee Social Capital Conference 2013 and it was a HUGE deal for me. It was also the first couple weeks of me taking on a totally new role at home — that super important role of fur mummy!
I’m shuffling my feet and chewing on my lower lip like it’s a piece of Hubba Bubba.
My heart is pounding.
I’ve just called my OB for an appointment so I can learn about my childbearing options. I’m separated, I have a beautiful daughter and a dynamic business, but I’m just… not done yet.
