supporting the person with dementia

Yesterday I talked about my dad and mentioned his diagnosis of dementia/Alzheimer's. As it happened, I had an appointment with my therapist later that day. And as it happens, she specializes in geriatric depression. Divine appointment?

I expressed my feelings of sadness, helplessness, and frustration at my lack of ability to help him. I wish I could offer him more than a phone call or visit. I wish God would heal him. But until or unless that happens, there is fortunately something I can do to support him. That is to engage his mind.

Supporting a person with dementia is all about meeting them where they are. Putting oneself in their shoes. Understanding the emotions that they grapple with, which in my dad's case must be deep depression, unresolving anger, and utter fear and helplessness that I can only imagine. What if someone told you that, as of now, you can expect your memories, awareness, and comprehension of life to slip away from you slowly, one day at a time, like a dripping faucet until at last you don't know your family or where you are? How do you live for today, for right now? What can you hold on to?

My therapist likened the daily life of a person with dementia to Swiss cheese: On good days, you're in the cheese and you're able to remember things and participate in normal activities. On other days, you're near the edge of a hole in the cheese, just holding on to pieces of conversation or struggling to remember your birthdate.

Engaging the mind is one of the best ways of holding on to it, and two ways of doing that are through activities and memories -- tapping into the past.

My dad used to be a pool shark. He and my mom used to go out and play pool before they had kids, and rarely had to buy their own drinks. He taught me everything I know about pool, and I got to play with him last month. He didn't make too many shots, but he was keen enough to point out the mistakes I was making and congratulate me on good moves. He genuinely enjoyed himself and remarked on how he had more stamina than he thought he would. So, every time I see him from now on, I will take him to play pool with me.

I've been calling him at least twice a month, but now I will make sure to call once a week. And when I do, I will ask him questions about his past. What is his favorite 4th of July memory? What was it like during the Depression for him and his brothers? What is his happiest memory? These questions tap into those precious pockets of long-term memory and engage him beyond the present. It's also a safe bet that no one else is asking him such things. Not because they don't care, but just because it's not something most people think of doing.

Oh yes, and the next time I see him I will give him a big, long hug and cook him a good steak.

the slow death of my father

The other night I had a dream about my dad. He was youthful, and we were going to an amusement park for the day. We were smiling and talking together as we walked. My dad loves roller coasters, and especially loves to sit in the front row since he can't see very well (which scares the crap out of me). The last time we did this was probably 10-12 years ago.

In the years since, he lost his business. Then lost his big, beautiful house. Then had brain surgery. Then had a stroke during that surgery. Then suffered balance, vocal chord, and short-term memory problems that he cannot recover from. Then received a diagnosis of dementia/Alzheimer's. Then started giving the middle finger to his meds, his wife, his diabetes diet, and just about anything that would give him a better quality of life with the years he has left.

The morning I woke up from that dream about him, I stood at the kitchen sink and cried. My dad is losing his body and his mind.

How do you help someone who's suffered one load of shit after another in life, and is giving up trying anymore?

As much as I love Colorado and can't imagine living anywhere else, I'd give just about anything to be close to my dad who lives in southern California. So I'm making more frequent trips there starting this year. I've been there twice so far this year - once on my own, once with my family. If I could swing it, I'd go out there once a month for the rest of his life. I don't know how realistic that is, and it depends on whether I could stay at his house. But visits with me and my extended family seem to be the only thing that helps to pull him out of himself. What wouldn't I do to help him?

I also am determined to make sure my son knows who his grandpa is, and one day be able to tell someone who he was. I also just miss him terribly.

I guess this is the heartache of growing older. Surviving your parents and trying to serve them as they approach the bridge that we all will one day cross. If he won't pursue quality of life, then I will do what I can to enjoy it more with him.

the coming apocalypse -- or perimenopause and the closing door of fertility

Since my body is no longer compatible with the pill, I started tracking my cycle and have observed that it has shortened to every 3 weeks. Since my recent exam came back normal, I am concluding that this is a symptom of perimenopause -- or as I like to call it, The Coming Apocalypse of My Reproductive System. Ha!

All hilarity aside, this means I suffer from anxiety, sleep disorders, mood swings, and other hormone-related side effects more often -- to my dear family's detriment as well as mine. It could possibly explain my inability to concentrate and remember things too, like grocery shopping and locking my keys in my car (which I did just the other day).

 

It's making me increasingly frustrated.

 

Reckogning that perimenopause is a signpost of aging and subsequent infertility is kind of depressing in its own right. Oh yes, all women go through it unless they skip this stage by surgical necessity. But that doesn't make this part of the journey more enjoyable.

 

I am all the more confronted with the reality that our childbearing time is over as quick as it began, even though it's as much choice as circumstance.

 

Yes, I'm 45 and as strong as I feel some days, I know this is a precarious time at best to consider another pregnancy. As I recently told someone, I don't expect lightning to strike twice. It would seem foolhardy to put the Lord my God to the test (Matthew 4:7). But like the end of a lifelong frienship, feeling the door slowly close behind me still makes me melancholy.

 

In the meantime, I'm booking a consultation with an herbal specialist to see what I can add to my diet to help balance things out in the mood and stress department. I owe that much to me and my family.

I turned 45 and didn't take a single picture of my son or me

You might think I'd want to immortalize the occasion, but it just didn't work out that way. It was a simple day that included church, a nap, and comfort food surrounded by loved ones.

We joined family and friends at a restaurant that specializes in overweight-family-style eating with endless side dishes and generous heaps of fried hushpuppies. My husband described the ambience as "Disneyland and a retirement home had a baby." It's big, country-thematic, inexpensive, and super entertaining if you're under 5 -- which, HELLO, is exactly the reason I picked it!

Seriously, when we were ushered to our table we passed by an area with a sign declaring it an "adults only section." As if it were some animal exhibit at the zoo. "Ooh, look at all the childless diners... how sad and quiet they look..." Not like the screaming-tasmanian-devil-toddler-section we contributed to sat in.

Most of us ordered the fried chicken, while my mom broke the spell with liver & onions. I had hoped to convince the boy of the wonders of fried chicken and gravy-slathered mashed potatoes. What did he do with a chicken leg? Stabbed and dismembered it with a toothpick flag and straw, then declared he was "all done." The chicken certainly was. Oh well -- at least he enjoyed playing with ice cubes and straws. I made a point to smile and thank him, more than once, for being a good boy in the restaurant. It seemed to help. I'm still working on the positive-reinforcement tactic.

After we ate, we strolled down the hallway and came across a theatrical display of googly-eyed plush chickens sitting atop hay bales, automated to talk and sing songs. My son, because he is under 5, LOVED it. He danced to the music, stared open-mouthed at the talking chickens, and could only be lured away with the promise of buying treasure with the wooden nickel our server gave him. What did I do? I stood next to him, dancing along with him, beaming with joyous pride and hilarity at our little moment together. And although I thought about it, I did not whip out my phone and take a photo or video. I allowed that time to absorb me, deeply imbedding the sweetness of its beautiful memory like honey poured over hot biscuits.

Some moments are so precious that to preserve them artificially is to diminish their value.

Well, my husband did take a photo of us from behind, unbeknownst to me. But the moment is still mine.

Although I don't put a big priority on presents, my family chose to bless me with some special ones. My husband gave me a lovely, purse-sized day planner (partly in response to my failing mommy brain) and brought me a glass of champagne along with my own happy-birthday-cupcake while he sang to me. My mother gave me a big, glass rooster to decorate a different spot in my kitchen since the last one met an untimely demise, having crashed to its death from its perch in the window sill. My friend, knowing something of my heart's desires, gave me two journals; a directive journaling book and a songwriter's journal (more on that another day). And my other friend gave me an adorably girlie cut-glass bowl with butterflies christening the edge.

anxiety and the search for peace: part 3 (hormones, baby!)

Somewhere in the last few months it occurred to me that there was a pattern to my insomnia and I started paying attention. This is a bit easier to do since I've been on the same pill formula since I stopped breastfeeding when my son was 8 weeks old. Sure enough, the second week of my cycle is when I can't sleep and I must rely on a number of sleep aids to get me through. So I put a call in to my doc to see what she thinks I should do.

Is it the pill? Is it my post-pregnancy body and one of its many new quirks? Is it because I'm in my mid-forties and starting to experience the many pleasures of peri-menopause? These all sound completely wonderful, but I need to know what to do. I'm dead sick of having insomnia for about a week every month.

Naturally, she's on vacation until the middle of next week. Soon I will begin the hormone experiment in my ongoing quest for better sleep.

random thoughts: the weightscalator

I went to yoga class after having missed the last 6 weeks. Nothing like that to make me feel 5 years older. Anyway, I suddenly realized that trying to stay in shape in my 40s is like climbing an escalator -- not only do I not get to the top, the pace gets faster and I either have to start running or stop and watch myself sink backwards.

!@%$ that's depressing. Oh well. Back to your regularly scheduled blog reading...

date night and the mom over 40

Date night started early yesterday at 3:00. My mom took on the gracious task of caring for our active, slightly-sick-with-a-cold toddler while we delivered a meal to friends with a newborn and went out to an early dinner.

How early? 5:00. Yeah, we're that couple now. The one who does everything ridiculously early because we loathe the idea of staying up late because the kiddo will never ever sleep in.

I got a table at a hot new restaurant (in a local rag's top 25 list) in a hot neighborhood that focuses on pork and does all of its production in-house. I'm talking sausage, brisket, belly - the works - with a dedication to local and sustainable food. In other words, trendy but a trend I love because it usually results in beautiful food.

We managed to take two hours over dinner - a rare treat on many levels. Near the end, I couldn't help noticing the swarm of yuppies surrounding us (partly loathing the Coach bag at one table, partly admiring the glossy hair and obviously expensive shoes at another). I thought it was pretty funny, all of the showmanship, but I caught myself being judgmental and stopped. Who am I to judge someone because they are young and have more disposable income than me? Why should I care if a guy looks like he spent three times as much on his casual outfit than he'll spend on an expensive dinner for two? I remembered that money doesn't equal happiness. So there's that.

Then there was the young man's hair two tables from us. I'm talking Brillo wig for a beard paired with a hairdo somewhere between Flock of Seagulls and that famous boxing announcer. It was ready to take off! I couldn't help giggling myself silly.

Having left the restaurant around 7:00, we wondered what to do with ourselves. Ice cream down the street? WAY too crowded (who wants to stand in line for an hour for a scoop?). Movie? Eh, too late to start that. We decided to have a beer at a local brewery, and drove over there to find they were about to close. We headed home just before 8:00 and called the evening a success (mostly a night is a success if we get home after our son has gone to bed). I mean, I just can't justify staying out just to prove that I can when I could be on my couch watching my nice TV in my favorite comfy clothes.

will you have any more kids?

I hate getting asked this. It makes me uncomfortable. And yet, whenever I'm in the company of another mother we compare how many kids each of us has and one of us is bound to ask this. Heck, I've asked it myself when it seemed appropriate (then again, how would I gauge that?).

With a bit of hesitation, I said no. We're one and done.

She seemed slightly disappointed for my sake and gently asked why. I told her - I'm 44 and am already tired and overwhelmed, blah blah... her eyes got as big as saucers and she told me she never would have guessed. I smiled and said thank you (and seriously meant it).

Every time I say no, I feel a little sad.

We both feel like we should have two kids, but I couldn't tell you where this is really coming from. Maybe it's the fact that we both have siblings (never mind the fact that we all live separate lives two states away, making real relationships all but impossible). Maybe it's because that's more common than having one (and gee, we do want to be normal don't we?).

Last night we talked about this briefly, discussing how to build relationships with lots of friends and wanting to create the best possible childhood for the boy. Off the cuff, I realized the irony and said "I think the worst thing we can do as parents is somehow make our son feel like he isn't enough."

Ouch. Even as the words came out, it stabbed my own heart.

Occasionally I play the math game: If I conceived by Christmas, oh I'd be 45 when she's born (why do I think it'd be a girl?) and ohmygoodness that sounds so old. Then again, others have done it and lived to tell the tale. Then again, I feel incapable of being a full-time SAHM as it is to one child. I'd lose my mind, not to mention what's left of my figure, forever and I'd have two teenagers when I'm in the throes of menopause. Then again...

Ugh. We'd better be committed to whatever we decide, even if we decide that deciding is too hard.

the tug of war within

This evening, my son was finishing a bit of jello and drinking milk from his sippy cup. Well, that's a tidy way of putting what really happened - he was smashing the jello on his dinner tray and tipping over the sippy cup to get some milk to come out, then watching the puddle explode as he smashed it, then adding more milk, then more puddle smashing... You get the idea.

Normally I whisk everything away saying "All done!" to minimize the mess and to gradually guide him to just stopping or declaring "All done!" when he's finished instead of chucking food and liquids and containers every which way. But today I decided to observe him. I grabbed my phone and shot a quick video. I realized he'd figured out a way to sort of do finger painting with the jello and milk. And it was really kind of cool. Okay, so as soon as I shot the video I cleaned him up and all that, but still.

Now that he's only in day care 3 days a week, I'm starting to see what staying home really looks like. Granted, it's not the real thing. Not really - not when I have the place, and myself, all to myself for three whole days in a row, which most SAHMs don't have the luxury of. But it's starting to feel like... okay, maybe I really could survive this way. Maybe.

There lies my tug of war within.

Who's better off if I go back to work, really? Me? My retirement accounts? Costco?

This afternoon, I came home with the boy from a birthday party and he seemed to be confused as to whom he wanted to hold him. Daddy, then me, then no one, then Daddy... it was a bit awkward. I basically told my husband he needed to spend some dedicated time with our son to make sure that bond stays secure, especially with me spending so much more time with him. It came out a bit more simplistic than that the first time, but we talked about it later.

I want to think that my perfect vision of reality (working part-time until the boy starts school) really is possible. But I don't know that - not yet. I put out feelers, network like crazy, get my website and business networking profile spiffed up. And I wait. In purgatory. While the door of stay-at-home-motherhood creaks open just a bit more.

Meanwhile, I face the possibility of compromising or abandoning my prime earning years as a mid-career professional in my mid-40s (still trying to make peace with that mid-40s thing, but that's another blog post). I'll be the first to admit that I've never really taken my career as seriously as I could have - not until recently. And now that's all being called into question.

Just now I remembered something really important:

Sometime last year, I was at a small group (church) meeting and we were going around the room sharing how we picture Jesus. An image, a representation, what He means to us. I said that I picture myself in a little boat floating on a big ocean with whipping waves and storm clouds - and Jesus is the island in the storm. When, in fact, He's not just the island. He's the boat.

early morning brain dump - mommy guilt, independence day, and me time

okay, so today's blog is my attempt to empty my brain before the start of the day. it would be a journal entry if i felt like writing by hand, but this is a lot easier.

at about 5:00, i woke up, went to the bathroom, came back to bed, and soon after realized i wasn't going back to sleep. random songs started playing in my head - that's how i know. i could lay there with a pillow over my head, wishing myself back to sleep and listening to my husband snore peacefully, or i could get up and journal, a special me-time activity that happens about as often as i get a pedicure which is regretfully far too rare.

i hear some little bumps - is my son whacking his legs around in the crib? no matter. he'll go back to sleep.

fourth of july. independence day.

oh crap. yup, that's him - just said "HEY." go back to sleep, kid. i swear i'm not making any noise, and his door is shut.

we have no plans for this weekend - well, that's not entirely true. we invited my mom up for breakfast so we have an excuse to make an indecent amount of bacon and eggs fried in coconut oil (i'm gonna make banana bread too - why not?). we're meeting people for happy hour friday, and then joining a friend's birthday party dinner saturday evening before we sneak out for a date. i'm feeling good about it.

yesterday, i didn't feel so good about it. knowing that it would be the four of us for four days, i scheduled a drop-off for our son at daycare for monday. i'm giving myself the day off. i know i desperately need it. i've been slammed at work the last two weeks, and home life is a constant buzz from dawn to dusk. i have a really hard time sleeping anymore, and i know it's anxiety plus too small margins in my life right now. i know it's a season, and one of these days i'll wonder what happened to this little toddler who charms the pants off of me even when he's screaming his head off with tantrum #231.

anyway, guilt set in. i'm a crappy mom. why do i need a day off? what the hell do these stay-at-home moms do - take zanax? i'm sure i would lose my mind if i didn't work, and yet i'm so mentally and physically exhausted i can't help but wonder if i would feel "right" by napping every day when my son naps and scheduling the next play date?

it is what it is. we need what we need.

work is going extremely well. i got a tiny raise - just enough to bump me up to a personal salary milestone. it's humbling. and i'm working better, more efficiently and more effectively than ever. not a week goes by that i don't ask the Lord to give me his strength, and i believe this is his hand in my life because my work life is oddly successful to me. it kind of blows me away that, even though i only work four days a week (and one of them from home), i'm pretty sure i do the work of a regular full-timer. i also learned last week that i may become a client rep - a significant step up from my current role as a person who works alongside a client rep. it's more responsibility, which scares me but only because i'm a bit on the lazy side and am weirdly introverted when it comes to my clients (the group of lab researchers that i edit papers and such for). i realized earlier this year that i really have never taken my career seriously - oh, i'm very good at selling myself and getting good jobs with good companies with increasing amounts of responsibility, but when i get settled into a place i also get bored and restless. good grief, i think this is the first time i've really admitted this. i'm in my 40s and i'm not what you call established. i've figured out how to work things to my advantage and move up a notch every so often, but i've also put a really high priority on putting margins in my personal life and i don't work a single minute of overtime if i don't absolutely have to. for those reasons, how i've managed to be successful in my current job is a bit of a mystery to me.

through an odd turn of events i'm pill-free for the next month. i lost my paper prescription during the temporary move, then they called it in without the generic okay so i couldn't get them (i wasn't going to pay a $50 copay thank you very much). oh well. what's the worst that could happen? hahahahahaha...

i think i'll get a massage monday. the place we like to go is next to a really fabulous french bakery/cafe in a recently gentrified, snobbily high-brow-hipper-than-thou, walkable part of town called the denver highlands. it used to be cool and on the fringe, now it's irritatingly inviting.

damn. he's working himself up to a cry. go back to sleep! time for my second cup of coffee. maybe he pooped and needs a change? it would be cruel to let him stew in it.

i have a calendar print-out with every social circle event happening this summer, which is every single day. this is our church's latest creation - creating opportunities for people to just hang out and have fun together. it's alternating with short-term small groups, which i guess will start in september. we're desperate for social interaction, so we're trying some of them. saturday morning play dates in a park? instant win. friday evening at one of a dozen new nanobreweries? i'm so there.

the boy's early bedtime is a sacrifice for us. it makes it hard to do anything in the evening. but it's totally worth it. we get evening quiet/movie/margin time, he gets a solid 12 hours of sleep (usually). maybe when he's six i'll let him stay up until 8. ha!

i love cooking and meal planning and grocery shopping. i hate walking in the door at 5:30 and realizing i have 30 seconds to make dinner. but i found a recipe for sausage kale soup that i absolutely have to try. i tried kale chips a week ago. my son liked them. i thought they were pretty nasty. i told my girlfriend she needs to make me some kale chips or i may never eat this superfood. it's going into a soup where it can mellow out and be palatable, dancing around with the flavors of italian turkey sausage, mirepoix, and beef broth. sounds good, right?

silence. i think he went back to sleep. thank you, Lord!

we're gonna have some good family time, dammit. i think we'll try to go hiking today before it gets hot. afternoon? indoors somewhere. we have two museum memberships that we never use. i won't bother renewing until the boy's old enough to appreciate them - or when he's old enough to do their kiddie activities, which oddly is not far away. so maybe i better keep them up. ugh. i definitely need to drop the gym membership and switch to punch cards. we rarely go anymore. not worth $48/month.

it's 6:20. i think i'm done dumping my brain. going to sit on the patio and enjoy my second cup of coffee. happy 4th of july!

my post pregnancy body 16 months later

Okay, this post is not about squeamish things. It's just about... physicality. I guess. Or rather, part analysis and part reality check.

I knew it would happen. They all say it will happen. But then when it happened, I thought maybe something was weird in my head.

It has happened. My body is not the same as the one that conceived my son.

I've seen pictures of women before and after who's very skeletal structure had changed - even in their faces (T.ori A.mo.s?)- and I was not exactly looking forward to that. Now it's mostly a non-issue because I couldn't be more grateful for my son and I'm completely aware that it's not about me. But still, I have my pride. But why? Why do I have my pride? What price vanity? Do I have to wear mom jeans now? (please God, no...)

Okay, so here's what's weird. I'm almost the same size I was before I got pregnant the first time. Then there was the first loss, and the second loss, and that space of time before my son came along. And now? Uhh... the curves aren't quite in the same place. My waist is a bit thicker. The same clothing size just doesn't look the same.

About two months after the boy was born, I went to a physical therapist to address my nether regions. I felt like the muscles were sagging so much that they would fall out. That, my friends, is a weeeeeird feeling. She made it all better. Recently, I've gone back to the therapist to address my left hip, which is apparently tilted forward a bit (or is it backward? I can't remember). That's taking longer. And I do yoga, dang it! I should be in good shape, whatever that means.

Confession: I was a lifetime member of Weight Watchers before my pregnancies. Now? I find it hard to give a damn. But I am trying to give a damn, I really am. Just not as much of a damn as I should if I want to get back to fighting weight (which, at my 5 foot 9.5 inch frame would be around 160-165).

I want to get into my size 12 wardrobe. Then again, I'm not sure it's worth the effort. But then, I should consider it worthy because I don't want to spend my 40+ years getting fatter and sicker by the decade. I need to be here for my family. Health is seriously important. So is chocolate and wine and beer and ice cream.

I'm finding it especially hard to feel sexy these days - a feeling that comes in handy when you're married and want to at least keep the coals warm.

You see my dilemma?! Watching myself change physically is not so easy.

If any of you moms have advice in this area, please butt in.

what a long, wonderful trip it was

We just spent five days and nights in southern California, visiting friends and family (I grew up there). I think this was an excellent study in reality vs. fear of the unknown. I’m always afraid the worst will happen when we travel or do something out of the ordinary, and I’m almost always pleasantly surprised and feel a bit silly for worrying so much. Almost.

I booked our trip months in advance – at first it was seven nights, but after a couple of months I had a crisis of conscience (I knew we’d be sleeping in a double bed and sharing the small bedroom with the boy), and reduced our stay to five nights. Boy am I glad I did – my son came down with an ear infection and we were in the doctor’s office on the day when we were originally scheduled to leave.

Then I worried about where my son would sleep. I found a service online that rents everything you can think of to make your baby or toddler comfortable – so I booked a crib and a changing table (since Junior is fond of flipping around like a fish out of water during changing times). I booked a rental car and a car seat so we wouldn’t be burdened with carrying it around the airport.

All I can say is, holy shit it’s expensive to travel with a little one. But they aren’t little for long. Next time I think I’ll bite the bullet and haul the car seat with us to save $65. That thing was definitely road-tested and I don’t think he was very comfortable in it.

Teething was another issue. He’s breaking in the last lower canine, and I had forgotten to pack teething gel or something to chew on. I did, however, have plenty of baby ibuprofen on hand which saved our sanity. Good thing they have stores in CA.

Despite the teething, expenses, and ear infection we had to deal with, we had a wonderful time. The boy slept great for the most part (we kind of ignored him when he started babbling at 5 a.m.), and we spent our days watching him soak up the generous affection of grandparents, cousins, and other relatives that took to him as quickly as he took to them. It was a beautiful thing, really.

One of the highlights was introducing him to his cousin who was born through the miracle of IUI about 12 hours before him. Seeing those boys together felt like a dream, like God was just beaming a big smile on our whole family and laughing at their antics along with us. (Until I told my aunt and uncle we were pregnant, we had no idea their son and his wife had endured infertility issues - imagine our shock in realizing our somewhat parallel journeys to parenthood!)

Like all trips, we were grateful to get home and everyone went to bed early that evening. And, like all time spent with family, we felt the pang that comes with the understanding that we all live so scattered from each other (except for my mom, and we thank God every day she’s here). The good thing is, we’re all about a two-hour plane ride from each other so it’s not too hard to book a visit.

Now we just need a big enough house to give them an incentive to come see us.

The day before we left, my stepmom gently asked if we’d be having another baby (can’t blame her for hoping). I affectionately looked my dad in the eye and said “There isn’t enough wine or coffee in the world, Dad. Sorry.” We honestly think we’re just too freaking old – starting a family after 40 is really, really, REALLY tiring – instead, we’re packing our son’s life (and ours) with playdates, church friends, and a really great daycare that we hope will become his school later on.  And, when he’s potty trained, probably a dog.

Here's one of my favorite photos taken on the trip. We went for a walk in a park surrounded by old oak trees, and he's wearing a t-shirt with a cape that the grandfolks bought him - it's so cute I can't stand it! There's something so adorable about this shot, something about boyhood and fatherhood that I can't quite put my finger on. I love it.

happy older mother's day (video)

DH actually found this and showed it to me. It gave me a warm grin. Please enjoy.

http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=50146662n

toughing it out

“Overall, I think this was a pretty successful day,” my mom said. It was Monday, which is the weekday I have chosen to stay home with my son and give him one less day in daycare. She came over early that morning, and we shared some coffee cake and coffee before heading to a hardware store. After the store we headed to her place, and my son took a 1.5-hour nap. While he was sleeping, we poked around in her backyard, and I ended up sawing off a couple sections of tree roots that were pushing up patio bricks. Actually, I was kind of surprised I could do it so easily – proof that picking up a 25-pound kiddo about 342 times a day really bulks up arm strength.  After his nap and lunch, we stopped at the grocery store and then back to my place. She left to take care of some other business. And it was me and the boy until DH got home.

I’m not sure why, but Mondays have become incredibly exhausting for me. Maybe it’s picking him up so often (since he’s not walking yet). Maybe it’s managing him through the things-he-should-stay-out of, irregular teething pain fits, trips to the store or wherever else I can take him to get out of the house, fixing dinner, planning dinner, changing diapers while trying to keep him from jumping off the changing table… On second thought, it’s becoming clear to me why I’m so tired by 6:00 Monday evening.

I must be complaining about this a lot, because DH is starting to suggest that I consider going back to work Mondays and extending our son’s daycare to five days a week. I have a pang of guilt mixed with determination whenever he suggests it, though: guilt because I know how important it is for my son to have more time with us at such an early age; determination because… well, I guess I’m determined to tough it out.

I’m beginning to wonder if I can survive my own determination. It’s an odd type of tiredness I feel, like there’s not enough coffee in the world in the morning, not enough wine in the evening (though I keep that in check, too), and I can’t get to bed early enough. It makes me fully aware of my midlife status, as much as I resent the implication that somehow it’s okay to feel older and therefore weaker. A quick look at the bags under my eyes only confirms the obvious. I’m just not as physically resilient as I once was, and taking care of myself is more critical to my well-being and my ability to handle life’s demands.

I checked in with my best girlfriend, and she assures me that things will calm down when he gets a bit older – say, four. By that time, my son will be done with the odd napping and the teething and at least some of the tantrums (not to mention being potty-trained). I’ll probably be more intellectually tired then, but that seems more doable. In the meantime, I guess yoga is my second best friend. I’m in it for the long haul.

MOTHER'S DAY 2013: True Faces of Rising Number of Over-40 Moms Revealed

MOTHER'S DAY 2013: True Faces of Rising Number of Over-40 Moms Revealed

In a bid to dispel unfounded, negative stereotypes regarding maternal age—and uncover the real benefits to children of the dramatically rising population of women having children after 40—AChildAfter40.com is launching the “Mother’s Day Album: For All Women on the Journey of Motherhood Over 40”. 

A leading support website for later mothers, AChildAfter40.com says the free online gallery is set to reveal the true faces and authentic voices of the growing ranks of women creating “a mother of an evolution” at the very heart of the Western nuclear family. MORE.

http://achildafter40.com/mothers-day-e-card-moms-over-40/

is older parenthood a natural progression?

I've been reading a blog entry from A Child After 40: How Will More Babies After 40 Impact Our Future?"

...and it's got me thinking. It's kind of a chicken-and-egg question. I think one of the questions we, as developed nations, should ask ourselves is this: Is the trend of older first-time parents a cultural shift, or is it the result of a cultural shift?

Decades of encouraging young people to pursue careers and put off marriage and family (particularly women) is bearing fruit in this way. Also true is that our society no longer really promotes the pursuit of marriage and family as high-priority institutions. Increasingly and for various reasons, people just don't find suitable partners until later in life. And if they have trouble conceiving naturally, well that introduces further delays to parenthood.

Are we really so surprised at the rise of 40+ parents?

As to the increasing attention to the subject by the media, most of me wants to respond with a flat "Who cares?"

I have friends who are 30+ and single, some of whom are already starting to panic. How long will it take to find Mr. or Ms. Right? Will I have trouble conceiving? Should I freeze my eggs? These are tough questions that no one can answer, and frankly I don't think it's fair to start putting pressure on them. I do think it's fair to encourage all of us to consider the long arm of time when we purposely decide to delay parenthood (as was the case for me).

Meanwhile, there are voices we aren't hearing from: the children born to older first-time parents who have grown up and experienced this for themselves. What do they have to say about this? Is it no big deal, or are there concerns that we haven't even started thinking about?

I have one friend who fits that description, and she's wonderfully well-rounded and intelligent and married young and has two awesome kids. When I was concerned about starting a family at 40, she remarked that her mom was 40 when she was conceived and didn't think it was a big deal. In other words, don't let it stop you from starting a family. It's worth it.

Next month, my son will be a year old. We're already wondering how we'll find the physical stamina to chase after him once he starts walking (which isn't far away). We wonder how we can strengthen relationships with relatives that are almost all at least two states away, let alone grandparents that he may or may not grow up with. We wonder about siblings.

But you know what? One day at a time.

If God thought it was cool to bring Isaac and John into the world with older parents, then who are we to question the limits of parenthood?

joyful exhaustion, or being mindful of today

Holiday Season 2012 has officially folded, and ushered in 2013. It has been one mind-blowing year. 

I gave birth to our one (and probably only) child. Changed jobs (at the same company). Learned the ropes of daycare, weaning, and multitasking like I've never done before in my life. Embraced many visiting relatives (and went to visit some over Christmas). And generally tried to figure out what life as a wife and mother looks like. 

Honestly, Christmas was an exhausting blur. We flew to Texas and stayed with DH's brother, SIL, and niece. We visited with them plus our son's grandmother, grandfather and step-grandmother. We made some new food discoveries, too: Turns out he loves stewed meat and veggies (the real thing), hates baby food unless it's fruity, and really loves chomping down dried seaweed snacks. Seriously - you must try this on your babe sometime. It's super healthy. I can give him a small sheet to take apart, though it's a bit tidier if I break it up into 1-inch chunks. He also enjoys whole wheat sandwiches filled with cheese or cream cheese. Plus, he's finally mastered the sippy cup.

Sure, it was cool watching my 10-month old son and his 3-year old cousin interact, but we also spent more of our time managing him instead of visiting like I had hoped (not sure what I was thinking there). And my SIL spent most of her time in the kitchen cooking, while my BIL was working 2 of the 4 days we were there. Also got our first taste of traveling with the boy, which even though it wasn’t horrible it was certainly challenging in its own way. We came back with the boy sick with a big cold and DH coming down with bronchitis. Fun. 

We did manage to get out for a few hours yesterday evening to join friends for dinner – other than that it was the three of us. Together. For almost two weeks. With a baby that suddenly crawls 100 mph, refuses to nap properly and entertain himself, and is recovering from a nasty cold. I was ready to pull my hair out.

DH and I talked about how incredibly exhausting it is right now, with our son so full of energy and getting into everything we don't want him to get into about every 45 seconds. And he's starting to prop himself up on his feet, which means walking (and running away from us) isn't far behind. 

If I sound like I'm complaining, well... partly. But I'm also excited to see him approach the next big milestone, and he's really happy and full of energy every day - even when he's clearly not feeling well. He's just a good baby who loves people, eats well and usually sleeps very well. 

If I'm honest, though, I have to admit that I think my current level of exhaustion has a lot to do with my age and only some to do with the challenges of my son's age. It's making me wonder how other 40-plus new moms deal with this. Energy - this kind of energy - doesn't come in a can. Ya gotta dig deep! 

As much as I have tried to focus on the birth of our Saviour - and I have - I've also had really big things in front of me that demanded my attention. Oh well. Such is the life.

I literally pray for supernatural strength on a regular basis, and I marvel at how I am doing as well as I am! God is good and faithful, and I know he didn't lead me to this just to watch me collapse into a state of mental mush. 

2013 will be another transforming year: my son will become a toddler, we'll probably travel again (with some hard-learned lessons under our belt), and Christmas will be even more wondrous because he'll be able to appreciate what's going on.

In the meantime, I have to remind myself to embrace today. Right now, my son is a baby who needs my direction as he figures out how his body works and discovers everything in the world around him. Right now, he drinks formula four times a day and isn't ready for a lot of solid food beyond the easily-mushable stuff. Right now, he's crawling and just starting to stand well. 

Right now is happening right now. Don't miss it.

redrawing the boundary lines

Today I emailed the leader of our church small group to tell her that, although it’s a painful decision and we love them, we simply have to find a group that’s closer to us where we can occasionally participate and feel like we’re part of a little community. The group had relocated to a house that takes us 20-25 minutes to drive to right on the edge of rush-hour traffic. As a result, it was a good week when one of us could go. And that didn’t happen very often anymore.

I hated doing that. I’ve put it off for months. Even though we’ve met with most of these people weekly for nearly two years and have eaten together, laughed together, prayed and seen the healing hand of God together. And now we find that, because of how our son has redefined our lives so fundamentally, we have to back out of pretty much everything and start over with what is possible.

The fact is, group starts right about the time we put our son to bed. And right now, that bedtime is more important than pretty much anything else. It’s more important that our social lives. More important than how much time we get to spend playing with him after being at work all day (which is not much).

You’d think that knowing this is a temporary sacrifice would make the transition easier, and that would be true. But while family is top priority, it also adds to the isolation that apparently comes with being a parent of an infant. We thought we’d become part of some larger community of people with babies, but that hasn’t happened either. Instead, most of the women I know who have babies are also about 15-20 years younger than me, so there’s not a lot of common ground.

I’m grateful to be part of a growing online community of new mothers over 40, but that’s not the same as quality time with friends. And it certainly doesn’t help my husband much, who needs that community at least as much as I do.

Looking back, I started redrawing the boundary lines when I was pregnant. The more tired I got, the more activities I pulled out of and the further back I pulled those lines. I kept redrawing them until I admitted that I pretty much couldn’t do anything anymore. That was pure self-preservation and I didn’t feel a whit of guilt for it. But now I do.

I want to be part of community. I want to give of my time, talent and treasure through our church. Now, though, I just have to admit that I can never really say “yes” to anything but only “maybe” and even then I have to be choosy. I’m genuinely baffled when I see people who have more than one child who still volunteer or manage to break away for social activities on a regular basis. It makes me wonder what I’m doing wrong – is there a magic combination and I’m just off by a few numbers? And here I am working four days a week with my husband and one kid, thinking I’m busy (insert sardonic laugh here).

So I guess I’m starting over. I’m erasing the lines I’ve drawn and admitting I don’t know how to draw them anymore. Maybe I’ve been using the wrong pencil? I’m standing outside the puzzle until I figure out how to fit in again, or at least which side needs to be adjusted so I feel like I fit better and know what that looks like. Until then, it’s no commitments and no Yes’s. Just me. One day at a time.

late or right on time?

Last week my husband and I closed on refinancing our home, which is such a relief for us. A nice perk was having the notary come to us with the paperwork, which saved us some time and stress.

The most interesting part of the closing, however, was the notary who helped us. She was a tall, beautiful woman, dressed professionally, who was originally from eastern Europe. When she first walked in, she noticed my son’s play equipment and commented on them. So I told her a bit about him and his age. She mentioned that she, too, has a son who’s about 16 months old and mentioned more than once that he came late – late in her life, I presumed. She remarked that she hopes he remembers her as a young-looking woman. 

During our time that afternoon, I discovered that she had been married for 18 years and that their first (and only) child was born when she was 43: the same age as me, with a similar home setting. I knew she must have an interesting story, as I’m sure every woman who begins motherhood later in life does. But I didn’t ask for details since it’s really none of my business.

We later-in-life moms really are part of a growing demographic.

I was somewhat fascinated at our common life thread nonetheless. When she mentioned for the second time that her son came late, I smiled and said “I’d say he was right on time.” After all, who am I to say whether someone is a latecomer or early bird? If I had conceived and given birth at any other time, in any other month, I would not have the son I have now but a different child. That’s just biological fact. And, I do believe that God has purposed my son to arrive exactly when he has, and that He does not make mistakes or simply work around mine.

It reminds me of Esther’s uncle when he told her that it was very possible her circumstances as the new bride of a powerful king were no accident. Esther 4:14 NIV “… And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”

fashion and the 40-something mom

Okay, now that I'm down 15 pounds, I decided to take a good, hard look at my wardrobe and make some decisions. The fact is, I have a really nice size 12 wardrobe that could be waiting for me a LONG time. Honestly, I'm okay with that. However, a lot of those pieces won't look so hot on me by the time I fit into them - especially the pants. That, and I'm tired of wearing blue jeans to work most days simply because I'm between sizes and can't predict how long I'll wear any particular size.

I will admit right up front that modern fashion is an anomaly to me. Why do they insist on destroying the female figure with... God help us... empire waists? The last time I looked good in an empire waist was before I needed to wear a bra. I was about 10. And then I see what some teenage girls choose to wear (crazy tight stuff on top and bottom), and I think I'm better off looking tastefully plain. Then again, I'm bored with my wardrobe and seriously need some color. Suddenly I was on a mission.

I did a lot of googling and found a couple of blogs by women who are close to my age, not really "skinny" themselves (though curvy and beautiful), and have at least one pinky finger on the pulse of the fashion world. I read up. I got myself schooled. And then I went shopping. I decided to try the dreaded skinny jeans.

First up: Kohls. I grabbed several pairs from different brands, since I know better than to think one size or style will fit. I hit the dressing room. And I found one pair in dark teal that didn't look hideous! Plenty of stretch with a just-below-the-belly-button waist that's actually flattering enough that I don't totally need to restrict myself to mid-thigh length tops. Feeling confident, I went to Old Navy a couple days later.

The super skinnys from Old Navy? Horrendous. Ridiculous. Just plain dumb, making all the wrong things look bigger. Oh, that's right - I can just wear big flouncy tops to balance out the abomination in my midsection! But then I tried on the Sweetheart skinnys, which turned out to be a more generous cut somewhere between a skinny and straight leg that doesn't cut off the circulation in my feet, and I think I can do this. I bought a winter white pair (may as well be daring) and a red pair. Ooooh... I can't wait to wear those with a caramel-colored sweater and black boots. I'm so gonna rock this look.

Or at least I hope I can rock this look, because today I'm wearing the winter white skinnys with a lilac flouncy top and I'm thinking it doesn't look horrible. I asked my husband and he gave me a mild thumbs-up (he's got no problem being quite honest with me). There's hope for me yet.

Special thanks to: The Domestic Fringe and Musings of a Housewife.