New Midlife Mommy

I'm Raising A Jerk

Today, she let me know in no uncertain terms that she hates me.  Would you like to know what I did before she said it?  Why, I'll tell you.  I'd just come in from spending the afternoon at my father's house, going through all the junk in the basement, and I came in and kissed her on the head.  DH suggested that we needed to check/change DD's pull up before going out to eat (because she's still hit or miss about going to the potty).  I said I'd change her; she said that she wanted daddy to do it, because she liked him.  That was kind of puzzling, so I asked didn't she like me too?  Her response was "no, I hate you."  WTF? 

Since then, she's told me multiple times that she hates me.  And, before I started her bath, she told me that she hates everyone in the house. 

You know what, little one?  I don't like you very much right at the moment.  But I don't hate you.  And, as you well know (and often remind me of), there isn't anything that you can do that will keep me from loving you.

Damn, she's a brat.  It's not just this.  I know that kids go through this.  No, it's that she thinks it's OK to misbehave in restaurants and out in public, to ignore us when we're talking to her, and to tell us "no" when we tell her to do something. 

We will be changing the gestalt in our corner of the world.  And DD is not going to like the changes.  I can pretty much guarantee that.  No corporal punishment, because we don't practice that.  But this nonsense is over.  Clearly, what we have been doing has become ineffective.

Recently Overheard At Our House

DD:  "Mommy, after you die, you will live in my heart."

Me:  "Yes, that's right."

DD:  "Just like grandma lives in your heart."

Me:  "That's right."

DD:  "And after daddy dies, he will live in my heart too."

Me:  "Exactly."

DD:  "And after you die, I'll get your bracelets.  And daddy's rocking chair."

Um, yeah.  Little schemer.

My Little Paradox

Honestly, my daughter is a study in contrast.  Sometimes, I don't like her very much, and the feeling is mutual.  Fortunately, those times aren't too often.  But on the occasions when she's decided she doesn't like me very much, I generally haven't done anything to deserve her ire, and it really breaks my heart a bit.

Take last Saturday for example.  We had to get up early (ugh) because DD had a swimming lesson.  After swimming, we'd planned to go to an Easter extravaganza -- craft/play activities, moon walk, etc. followed by an Easter egg hunt.  DD was standing near me while I ironed her shirt, which she'd chosen, and out of the blue, she said, "I hope you get burned, mommy."  WTF?  Really, WTF?  I asked her what she said, because I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but she repeated it.  I'd heard correctly.  I told her that wasn't a nice thing to say, but I couldn't mentally let it go.

I've mentioned that I'd bought a cookie for her last Thursday to try to encourage some good behavior.  She didn't get the cookie on Thursday evening, because she got into a cat fight with another girl at school right in front of me while I was there to pick her up.  On Friday, her teacher reported that the DD and the same girl were going at each other all day.  Now, mind you, DD usually plays with this other girl all the time, even though she complains about her regularly at home.  In any event, she wasn't allowed to eat her cookie on Friday, either. 

On Saturday, after the swimming lesson and the Easter extravaganza, DD asked for her cookie.  I asked her if she really thought she deserved it, did she really think that she'd been good?  She looked down and said, "no, mommy."  When I asked why she thought she'd not been good, she said "because I said I hoped you'd get burned."  That was kind of a relief, because at least she realized how awful that was to say.  But then I asked her why she said it, and she said "because I wanted you to leave from upstairs."  Nice kid, eh?

But, in a flash, I remembered another little girl.  One who wasn't very nice either.  In fact, one who was much worse, I think.  It was me, and I was probably DD's age (three and a half), or maybe a little older.  I remembered feeling really angry at my mother, and I told her "I wish you were dead."  Can you believe it?  I actually said that.  In my defense, I was clueless about what that really meant, though I did know that I was saying something unkind.  What an awful thing to say. 

My mother didn't say a word.  She waited until I wandered off into another room, and then she hid herself.  To this day, I don't know where.  But I do remember that at some point, I went looking for her.  And I couldn't find her anywhere.  I started to panic, and I called for her.  The next thing I knew, she was back.  And she asked me why I was so upset.  I told her that it was because I couldn't find her, and she reminded me that I'd wished she was dead -- when people are dead, they go away.  That made me upset, and I told her that I didn't want her to go away and that I was sorry that I'd said that.  My mother said that God had heard me, and He sent her back to me (now, that was being a bit of a ham, but whatever).  I never, ever forgot that.

Since my mom has died, I often wonder if she's still around me.  It certainly felt that way when DD acted so mean toward me -- that experience just flashed right into my head in an "aha" kind of moment.  And I realized that while this was really unkind behavior, it probably isn't all that unusual.  It's just another teaching moment, I guess.

But I did say that DD is a bit of a paradox, didn't I?  Yesterday, I went upstairs to wake her up for the day, as I always do during the week.  DD reached out for me, and wished me a good morning.  Warm from sleep, she melted into my neck.  I asked her, as I always do, if she'd had a good night.  She told me she did.  And then I asked her, as I always do, if she'd had any dreams.  She said she had -- "I dreamed about you mommy, only you."  Really, I asked, what were we doing?  "Hugs and kisses, mommy, hugs and kisses."  And then she pulled herself closer and gave me a kiss.

Ah.  Now that was much better.

My Thoughts Exactly

http://www.dooce.com/daily-photo/2008/03/12/one-winter

Winter, you are dead to me.  Please, just go home.

I'll Just Call Her HG For Short

HG.  Hell Girl.  As in where the hell is my sweet little girl?

Within the last 24 hours, she has:

1.  Thrown a literal fit because I was winning at Candy Land.  (This was just after I was mentally patting myself on the back because DD had finally learned how to play this game, as well as Go Fish.)  I mean, a literal fit -- she threw the pieces, the board, and the box.  Needless to say, we put it away, not just for the night, but also for the next night (because she wouldn't stop after I told her we were done for the evening).

2.  This morning, she threw a small water bottle, because I wouldn't let her fill it from her full size cup of water.  Then, she poured half of the water on the floor from the cup -- deliberately.  And, finally, she threw her graham cracker on the floor.  Now, mind you, the rule in our house is that if she throws something, she loses it.  Usually, that's enough to stop the behavior, but apparently, this was just fine with her today.  Until she realized that she wasn't going to get anything else to eat, because mommy was p*ssed off (and besides, she gets breakfast at school -- she calls the meal that she eats at home her "snack").  When I stopped for coffee at the local bakery on the way to school, I let DD choose a cookie to have later on -- provided she was good.

3.  When I picked DD up from school, I asked her to please go to the potty.  I didn't see the beginning of the altercation, but I think that C decided to push DD out of the way so that she could go first (she's kind of a little sh*t like that, and DD has a love/hate relationship with her).  So, we had a cat fight.  DD pushed C.  DD lost a privilege.  She hit C.  DD lost another privilege.  She would have kicked C as well if she could have.  I was not happy.  But neither was DD, since this meant that she couldn't have any candy this evening (the most precious of all privileges that she has is to have a few small pieces of candy in the evening).  Fortunately, DD's teacher, who didn't see what had happened, told me that this was a pretty rare event.

Needless to say, DD didn't get her cookie this evening.  And we made sure that she understood why.

I hope that whereever my little girl is right now, she comes home soon.  I really don't like the substitute.

A Reconsidered Post

You know, I had paragraphs and paragraphs written about something that I can say in a couple sentences.  I called the R.E.'s office (reproductive endocrinologist) on cycle day 1 as instructed.  They didn't return my call.  I had to call again the next day (because they shut their phones off and you can't leave a message).  I ended up having to wait a long time on Sunday between my ultrasound and blood work because they delayed.  The end.  I have no idea how I managed to work that into eight long, boring paragraphs full of vitriol.

What has amazed me is how quickly I have descended into feeling that I've lost control of things again.  I've been here before.  It is very familiar to me.  My clinic file is at least four inches thick.  I don't really have options.  Well, I suppose that I do.  I could go somewhere else, but then I would likely have to repeat a lot of the tests, which is more time and expense.  And, I don't know that the people at any other clinic would be nicer, or more responsive, or generally give a damn.  Maybe they would.  Or maybe I am seeing them through jaundiced eyes.

I think the hallmark of infertility treatments is the loss of control.  They tell you what to do and when to do it.  You don't even have to have s*x to have a baby -- in fact, neither my husband nor I were there when my daughter was conceived by the lab technician's hand (we used ICSI -- intercytoplasmic sp*rm injection, where they actually insert the sp*rm head into a punctured egg to insure fertilization).

And, the whole thing is a little manic/depressive.  Cycle day 1 is the first day of your period.  And the beginning of fresh hope.  After two weeks of jumping through hoops, which vary depending on the treatment you've chosen, you wait for another two weeks (the 2WW as it is "affectionately" known).  And, most of the time, unless you're very, very lucky, your period comes.  On cycle day 1.  Which is depressing, because your hopes are dashed again.  But, at the same time, it's also exciting!  Because you can start all over again!  And again!  And again!  I was on that merry go round for about four years before I was able to get off. 

I wasn't quite the same when the ride was over, but I was able to put it behind me.  I'd crossed over to the other side.  I was a mom.  With a wonderful daughter, and by G*d, it didn't matter that she wasn't genetically related to me.  In fact, if someone told me now that it would be possible to have my "own" child, provided I gave my daughter back, I would turn away without hesitation.  Now, that's amazing.  The one thing that I wanted so badly that I was willing to subject myself to all kinds of torture is something that I would push away with both hands.  I have my miracle, thank you.

So, here we are again.  Our donor is on birth control pills, as am I.  We just received our bill from the egg br*ker -- $4,500 due as soon as the donor starts her Lupron.  Though we're not quite sure when that will be.  Because no one really tells us anything.  (Sorry, some snark crept in.)  The egg br*ker told us that they are looking at an April transfer.  They haven't told us that yet, though they have insured that we have made immediate payment for all the donor's medical expenses.  (The person who calls about the bills doesn't have any information -- she just processes the payments.)

I've decided to look at this differently, because everyone has a cross to bear, don't they?  I started thinking about what would be worse.  Losing my mom was worse.  Losing my husband, my daughter, or my father would be worse.  Being told I have cancer would be worse.  At least with infertility, there are options.  Clomid.  Intrauterine insemination.  Injections.  IVF.  IVF with donor eggs.  Adoption.  Foster parenting leading to adoption.  The hardest part, I think, is coming to grips with the fact that you can have your dream, but it might not come to you in the way you imagined, in the way that it seems to effortlessly come to everyone else.

So, there are worse things than infertility.  And sometimes, people who work in doctor's offices get busy.  And they don't have time to return phone calls.  And they are not always polite. 

I just need to remember that everyone has a cross to bear.  And I need to keep my eye on the prize.  And what a wonderful prize indeed.

I Must Have Missed The Memo

You know, I'm kind of a news junkie.  I listen to a news radio station in the car during my very long drive to and from work (when I'm not forced to listen to Kindermusik, which is every time that DD is in the car).  I scan the national and local headlines every day when I arrive at work.  We sometimes watch a little bit of CNN in the evening.

But, honestly -- can someone please tell me when the heck our solar system went from nine to eleven planets?  The new ones are Ceres and Eris, and in order, they are:  Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Ceres, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto and Eris.  There is even a mnemonic for those of you who are interested:  "My Very Exciting Magic Carpet Just Sailed Under Nine Palace Elephants."  I learned about this from reading someone's blog,* which I guess is as good as any other way of finding out the latest news, though it is kind of sad that I didn't get this information in a more mainstream kind of way.

Sheesh.  You would have thought that I would have heard about this.  I swear, when DD gets old enough to think I'm an idiot, I'm afraid that she probably will be right.

* -- I just can't remember which blog so that I could give the writer credit (sorry).